#Tevan fic

[louiseolivier]

08x06 Delulu

Tevan are at the Italian restaurant. The Hot Waiter flirts with Buck. Buck's kinda oblivious. He unintentionally flirts back. Buck pays this time, and inside the folder with his card and receipt is Hot Waiter's phone number. Buck is a little weirded out because he feels like it's obvious he and Tommy are on a date.

For the most part, Tommy watches Buck and Hot Waiter's interaction in amusement. He jokes whether Buck is he's going to call him, and Buck is taken aback. Then Tommy gets serious.

"We haven't really talked about the kind of relationship you want."

Buck's confused. "What does that mean?"

"Just that there's more than one way to be in a relationship. I've been in a couple that were open."

"Open?"

"We were allowed to sleep with other people."

"I know what it means, Tommy. Is that what you want?"

"I want you to be happy. I want you to know I'm amenable to that if you're interested. Truth be told, Evan, the most important thing is that you're in my life, whether we’re together or not. 

Suddenly, the Ironside siren goes off in Buck’s head, and he’s spiraling.  

Tommy clasps his hand and looks at him like he’s the goddamn sun, moon, and stars. “Think about it. It’s not like it’s something you have to decide today.”

Cue Buck, going to Bobby. “I don’t know what to tell you, Buck, but I’ve seen you two together. I don’t think breaking up is something Tommy is even thinking about. The other stuff...you should talk to Tommy. Be upfront. Be honest. 

Cue Buck, going to Maddie. “Buck, he kissed you while you were still covered in boils. I saw that with my own eyes and wished I hadn’t. I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but he does seem very committed to you. And to be perfectly honest, the open relationship doesn’t sound like something he’d suggest out of thin air. Maybe you said something...”

“You’re blaming me? Come on, Maddie! You know damn well that’s not how I roll. I slept around, yeah, but not while I was in a relationship - and don’t you dare bring up Taylor! Besides, an agreed upon “open” means consensual. I just - how did I miss that this was something he was interested in? Why would he wait six months to bring it up?”

A sound of disgust emanates from the corner of the call center's breakroom, and the Buckley siblings' heads swivel to its location. Josh is sitting at a table, sipping his coffee and rolling his eyes. “You sweet naive baby bi.” He gets up from his chair, sidles up to Buck, and eyes the donuts he brought for Maddie. “I don’t suppose there's a Bavarian cream in there?”

“There’s a jelly,” Buck says. 

“But jellies are my favorite,” Maddie complains. 

“Too bad. I’m about to help your chaotic brother out, so I deserve it.” Josh bites into the donut and gives an appreciative moan. “Oh god, I haven’t had refined sugar in three days. How I missed you.”

“Back to me, please,” Buck says with a whine.

“Look, it’s pretty simple. There are only two types of guys who want to open up a relationship after the six-month mark. Assholes carrying multiple red flags or..”

“Tommy’s not an asshole,” Buck tells him firmly. 

“Considering he’d whittle a rocking chair if you asked him to, I’d agree. Buck, my guess is he’s scared. He's worried that if he doesn't give you a free pass, that you'll get bored with him and leave.”

“That’s so stupid,” Buck cries in dismay. 

Maddie lays a supportive hand on his bicep. 

“It is,” Josh agrees. “But just because your man is a solid L.A. nine doesn’t mean he’s not carrying around a lot of insecurities. Talk to him. Tell him. And hey, if it all blows up on you, send him my way. I’d love to be that man’s shoulder to cry on.”

Buck shows up at Tommy’s door. Tommy is supposed to come to his after finishing his laundry, but Buck doesn’t want to wait that long. “Hey,” Tommy greets him with that scrunchy smile Buck loves so much. 

“I don’t want to have sex with anyone else,” Buck tells him as he barges through the door. 

“Oh-kay,” Tommy says, closing the door behind Buck. 

“Do you want to have sex with other men?”

Tommy crosses his arms, and his head tilts towards the ground. “No. I’ve come to learn that’s not an ideal situation for me.”

Buck scoffs. “Then why suggest it?”

The buzzer on the washer goes off, and Tommy moves towards it to switch out the load. “I don’t know. I’m pretty used to you flirting with everyone.”

“You think I flirt?” 

“Evan, you told the waiter you liked his chinos while eyeing his ass. Most of the time, I think it’s cute how you rile people up without realizing it, but then I have a thought like, what if Hot Waiter would be a better match for you? So I panicked and threw out that suggestion.” 

“Jesus, Tommy. For the past six months, my brain has been consumed by nothing but you. Yet you think I can be swayed by some guy in a comfortable pair of pants? I only want you.”

“I know. I do. You prove that to me every day. I didn’t suggest it because I don’t trust you.” Tommy tosses one of Buck’s hoodies into the dryer and starts it. He can’t keep eye contact with Buck for more than a few seconds, and he looks paler than when Buck first arrived. Tommy’s also picking his middle fingernail with his thumb, and that’s Tommy’s tell that he’s feeling overwhelmed. “Uh, so like, I’m in this for the long haul. I think you’re it for me, Evan, and I don’t want you to ever feel like you’ve settled or...”

“I love you,” Buck tells him with a certainty he doesn’t think he felt even eight hours ago, but it’s the god’s honest truth. “Just seeing you makes me feel so full I could combust. ”

Tommy’s eyes are glossy and he blinks rapidly to keep the tears at bay. He finally locks eyes with Buck. “Loving you has been living in the back of my mind since...I honestly don’t know how long. I’ve been trying to temper my expectations because I haven’t been super successful in relationships. But then you started leaving clothes here, and suddenly you’ve infiltrated my life like no one else has been willing to. Next thing I know, I’m at a funeral for a long dead cowboy. I watched you embrace the memory of a forgotten man, and I realized I couldn’t love you more, Evan. Boils and all.”

Aaaaand that’s it. I’m tapped out.

[half-bakedboy]

waking up slow

Bucktommy | 4.6k | Gen | written for @911reversebang | Inspired by this artwork by @michi-hawkeye

“What are you doing up so early?” Buck asks. “I woke up and thought about breakfast and then I couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause I was hungry,” she explains. “What about pancakes instead?” Buck offers. His daughter leaves the box of cereal behind in favor of wrapping herself tighter around her dad. Buck places her in her high chair before pushing it up against the kitchen island. “I get to help?” There’s such brightness in the way she looks up at Buck that he can’t help but grin back down at her. “Of course you do!" Or Buck makes breakfast with his daughter while his husband sleeps away a night shift and his life is perfect.

read the rest on ao3 | Reblog Michi's art

[sugdenlovesdingle]

Are we still doing this? I'm still doing this.

Have another @bucktommypositivityweek bingo ficlet: cuddling, 118 family scenes, new traditions.

"Tommy." he vaguely heard someone call his name somewhere in the distance but we was too warm and comfortable to pay much attention to it.

"Tommy. Tom."

There was a hand in his hair and someone kissed his temple.

"Thomas. Time to wake up."

He pried his eyes open and looked up into his boyfriend's amused face.

"Hey." he said softly and kissed him again.

"Are we boring you? A familiar voice he couldn't quite place in his sleepy state asked.

"Shut up Eddie, he just came off a shift. He's allowed to be tired." Evan snapped back at the source of the voice, which apparently was Eddie.

Tommy sat up a little and rubbed the sleep from his face, taking in his surroundings.

They were in the garden of Bobby and Athena's new place, Evan's arms around him, and a blanket covering their legs.

"Sorry." he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Bobby had invited the entire team over for dinner, the first of many he'd insisted, and had gone out of his way to make sure Tommy knew the invitation extended to him too.

"You're part of the family, Tommy." Bobby had told him and squeezed his shoulder when he'd personally invited him when he'd picked Evan up from work a few weeks ago.

Dinner had been nice, Evan had helped Bobby with the food preparation, and Tommy had made apple pie from a recipe he found online after Evan had told everyone how good it was.

It had made him a little, or a lot, nervous and his crew at Harbor had been delighted to help eat his trial runs.

He'd planned to help set things up, but unfortunately he'd gotten called into work for an emergency medical transport, and hadn't had time to do much more than shower at the station and put on some clean clothes.

Evan, being the absolute godsend he was, had picked him up from work, with his pie in a cooler in the back of his car, so Tommy would still get the praise Evan reckoned he deserved.

"Nonsense." Bobby spoke up. "I've done a lot worse than doze off after a long shift. You have nothing to be sorry for. "

"Still..." Tommy trailed off, not sure what he was going to say. He turned to Evan. "How long was I out for?"

"Not long. Half an hour. Maybe 45 minutes."

Tommy groaned.

"You should have woken me up sooner."

"Hey no worries man, Jee is out like a light too." Howie told him, stroking the hair out of his little girl's face as she slept with her head in his lap, and her feet in Maddie's.

"Yeah well, she's a little younger than I am. "

"Yeah, old people need a lot of sleep, Chim. " Eddie teased.

Tommy glared at him. He was going to pay for that in their next sparring session. Or maybe he'd find out his new girlfriend's name and number and tell her some embarrassing stories about him.

Or maybe both.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Karen standing next to him with her coat on.

"We're going to head out. We left the kids on their own and Hen is worried they're throwing a party and burning the place down." she told him, ignoring her wife's protests. "We'll catch up soon, alright?"

"Yeah... sorry... I'm usually better company."

"Don't worry about it. You're not the first firefighter to fall asleep on me. And I married that one." she smiled at Hen.

"Yeah, you're not really my type though." Tommy joked and she laughed.

"Likewise."

They said their goodbyes and left and Tommy felt the embarrassment from earlier slowly slip away.

"Do you want to get out of here too and sleep in an actual bed at home?" Evan asked softly.

Tommy glanced at his watch and shook his head.

"It's still early. I'm good now, I promise." he said and pressed a small kiss to Evan's lips.

"Yeah grandpa has had his nap, he should be good for at least another hour now." Eddie said and laughed.

He was definitely calling the new girlfriend, Tommy decided.

"I'd watch my mouth if I were you, Diaz, I have a lot of embarrassing stories to tell about you, and Evan even more." he warned Eddie, making the rest of the group laugh.

Conversations around them picked up again, Bobby complimented his pie and told him he hoped he'd make it for every family dinner from then on.

He and Evan had been together almost a year, and every day since then he'd thanked whatever deity was out there for making him answer Howie's call that day in April, and throwing one Evan Buckley into his life.

"What?" Evan asked when he caught him staring at him. "Have I got something on my face?"

Tommy shook his head.

"I just love you."

[cosyvelvetorchid]

It’s done! I finally finished! Topped out at 13,023 words.

A bucktommy alternate meet on Halloween night.

This is honestly one of my favourite fics I’ve ever written. I’ve been trying to better my inner monologues and descriptions (I tend to be better at actions and dialogue so I often rely on them more without always realising) and I think I’ve done quite a good job of describing what both Buck and Evan are thinking and feeling.

Anyway, enjoy 🩶

[alchemistc]

"I am not packing your kitchen, Buck," Maddie says with a hard set to her jaw and a hand planted on her hip, and Evan sends her a warning look over his shoulder, elbow deep in packing tape and half-folded boxes. Tommy is clearly missing something.

"You found the ring cutter in there with the ladles too, huh?" Snipes Eddie from somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom, and before Tommy can get a firm grasp on that Eddie's tipping his head back through the open doorway. "C'mon guys, seriously, you didn't pack this shit up before you forced us all to help you pack?" There's an unopened tube of lube in his hand.

"I'm getting things off of walls and that is all, Evan Buckley," comes Maddie's quick rejoinder, and Buck levels them both with a look.

"That could be for normal stuff! Sometimes rings need cutting! Sometimes you need to - lubricate other things!"

It is, of course, the moment Bobby wanders through the unlocked door.

Tommy's still familiar with the cadence of Hen and Howie, ribbing and mocking a form of endearment for them both, so he's not exactly shocked when Bobby just rolls with it and starts listing off the last fifteen calls they've needed it for. None of those things particularly improve the red rising up Evan's cheekbones, but Tommy catches the grin Bobby's hiding while he sets boxes of pizza up at the kitchen table, cleared of the latest seasonal decor Evan had dragged him through three different department stores to find, not that he could be bothered to care when the very existence of them was all it took to shift Maddie's opinion of him from tolerantly friendly to encouragingly approving.

("This loft was a minimalists wet dream before you were in the picture," she'd told him one evening, after she'd manipulated him into admitting he was terrified this didn't mean the same thing to Evan as it did to him. "He started nesting a month after my wedding, Tommy.")

And now they're here. Watching Evan pretend to be miffed by the teasing while he fights a roll of packing tape.

He's going to miss the upstairs shower, wide enough for two grown men to fit more than comfortably; and the balcony on cooler nights when he could tempt Evan out for a slow dance set to the late-evening traffic; the kitchen island at the perfect height to lift Evan onto and tilt his head up for an angled kiss.

He won't miss the open plan that makes it impossible to do much of anything with a snoring Eddie right below them, the tuba player two doors down who only seems to practice the moment Tommy's head meets the pillow at the end of any random days-long shift, the way the elevator always smells like tuna on Thursday afternoons.

There are things he won't have to miss, of course. Evan, on nights when they just can't make their schedules align well enough to justify the drive time. The extra fluffy towel set Evan had refused to reveal the origin of ("You'll buy your own and leave me, I know you're only with me for my towels."). The pictures plastered to the fridge that Tommy's spent the last few weeks plotting out space for on his own before deciding he'd need a new fridge just to fit them all. The plant he'd bought Evan to appease the grump, the first time he'd dragged him to the farmers market at the ass crack of dawn, lovingly named Herbert. The fancy adjustable bedside lamps Evan had bought the last time he'd caught Tommy squinting down his reading glasses at the book in his hands. Evan.

Christ, he wouldn't have to miss Evan anymore. They'd synched up their schedules more or less as well as they could, but Tommy's spent months now trying to ignore how quickly a sleepless night could turn restful with Evan in his bed - how fitful a night without him there had a habit of being.

Most of the loft is already packed. Evan's wardrobe has been dwindling for weeks now, a box at a time carted from the back of the Jeep up Tommy's drive, through the mud room, down the hall and straight to the closet that had never seen such a shock of color or variety of fabric. They'd sprung for a bigger mattress, once they'd gotten over the sticker shock and remembered how much they'd be saving by paying half a mortgage each with no rent to speak of, and other than the kitchen table most of Evan's other furniture was being donated.

All that really remained were the kitchen supplies Evan hadn't been willing to move until he handed over his keys, a few toiletries, a single drawer of clothes just in case he needed them. Pictures on the walls and stacks of books on the bookshelves - half a decade of life lived in this apartment and most of it was already half unboxed and slowly integrating into the fifteen years Tommy had put into his own solitary life.

Evan finishes taping boxes and makes a beeline for his itemized list, and Tommy has to pretend it's giving him as much grief as Evan's sister and best friend to see the clipboard in action. He's not entirely sure how well he sells it, when even Bobby's shooting him aggrieved looks only to grimace at whatever he finds in Tommy's expression.

And just like that, an hour passes and the pizza disappears; the boxes are loaded into the back of his truck; the kitchen table in Eddie's; and Maddie tugs her brother in for a hug, drags Tommy in for good measure too, kisses them both on the cheek as she leaves; Bobby tucks a wooden box filled with handwritten recipes on note cards into Evan's hand and Tommy pretends not to notice either of their teary eyes; Eddie hefts a six pack out of the otherwise empty fridge and promises to meet them at the house in forty-five.

There's still one picture stuck to the fridge - a candid from the first barbeque Athena and Bobby had hosted after their move, Tommy and Evan backlit by a setting sun, tucked up against each other leaned against a porch railing, and Tommy knuckles at it while Evan does a slow introspective spin to take in the wide expanse of windows and brick. He's still staring when Evan finishes and drifts towards him, hands tucking in at Tommy's waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

"Is this one staying?"

Evan shakes his head, nose digging into the side of Tommy's neck. "Just wanted to keep it out so it could be the first one we put up."

He remembers the night. Karen had gotten him drunk and added him to the wives group chat. May Grant had stolen half his slice of cake right off his plate and dared him to protest. Jee had spent the entire night calling him Uncle Tommy and thrown a massive fit when she realized he wasn't going home with her to read a bedtime story. Christopher and Denny had spent half an hour trying to teach him how to play Fortnite and then been mystified when he trounced them in Mario Kart. He knows exactly why it's significant to him. "Why this one?" he asks, curving into the cradle of Evan's arms.

Evan's so much better with words than Tommy is, and Tommy's just grateful Evan takes his actions for the things he means with them. "That's the night I knew what our something was gonna be," Evan murmurs, and Tommy tips his chin back and angles his head to catch Evan's lips against his own.

[billyharris]

Buck hears the chopper land and knows exactly who’s in the pilot’s seat. He looks over to Bobby, who is talking to Athena and a man he doesn’t recognize. Before he can ask, he’s cut off. “Make it quick.”

Buck grins and turns on his heels. Then he full-on sprints down the freeway, weaving through the sea of passengers and ambulances. He nearly knocks Eddie over and hears him snark something about being ‘thirsty’ to Hen.

Finally, he gets to the end of the make-shift runway they made. Tommy jumps out of the cockpit, looking insanely hot in his flight suit. The memory of him wearing it, and only it, while Buck went down on him a few weeks back flashes in his head. He quickly reminds himself they’re in public. There are too many cameras around for him to get a semi right now. “Pilot Kinard.”

Sauntering over to him, Tommy doesn’t shy away from checking his boyfriend out – eyes slowly scanning over Buck’s frame. “Firefighter Buckley.” He’s the hottest man to walk the earth. “Got a patient for me?”

“A-a patient?” Buck stammers, getting a little (a lot) lost watching Tommy’s lips as he spoke. “Oh y-yeah, the patient!” Buck looks behind them, to where Chim is doing his final check on the pilot Athena and the passengers kept alive through the crash. “He’s stable. Machine got his pulse back.”

“Great. Donato’s setting up for medevac.” They are so close. But they are tragically not touching. Tommy hasn’t even so much as given him a shoulder pat or ruffled his hair. Buck’s vibrating out his skin. He needs his boyfriend’s lips on his right now. “We have five minutes.”

That’s all Buck needs to hear. He quickly looks around; everyone else is busy with other survivors. He grabs Tommy by the collar of his flight suit and slams him against the closest engine. He crashes their lips together, tongue first.

Tommy makes the same surprised moan he did when they made out in the hospital. It takes a second for him to catch up, but he makes up for it by licking the roof of Buck’s mouth and pulling his hair, keeping them as close as possible.

“Don’t ever pull a stunt like this, okay?”

“Mmm hmm.” Tommy mumbles against his lips. Buck knows he can’t really make that promise. As a pilot, there’s always the risk of something going wrong. He doesn’t like to think about it.

Buck kisses his chin. “You’re texting me every time you take off…” Another to his jaw. “… and again when you land.”

Tommy chuckles and Buck can feel the vibration against his chest. “Of course, Evan.”

“Good.” He taps his chest. His strong and firm chest.

Tommy attempts to smooth down Buck’s curls, having messed them up during their embrace. “Once you’re done here, you coming over? I’m cooking.” Sounds perfect, exactly what Buck needs after a day like today. “I wanna hear all about you saving the day – I heard something about a motorbike?” He adds with a tilt of his head. Buck knows exactly what that glint in his eye means.

Giving another quick look around, he bites at Tommy’s lip – unable to hide his playful smirk as he grabs a fistful of his boyfriend’s ass. “Of course I’ll come over…” He kisses past his cheek to bite at Tommy’s ear lobe “… Daddy.” He whispers – just for him.

Tommy curses under his breath and his grip on Buck’s hips tighten. “Evan –“

“Buckley! Stop distracting my pilot.” Lucy yells from the chopper. “Get your ass overhear, Kinard!”

They, begrudgingly, separate. Tommy turns around once he’s halfway to the chopper. “We’re finishing this later.” Buck can’t help but bounce on his heels, arousal and excitement coursing through him. Buck not caring at all about failing the ‘not getting a semi’ plan.

Tommy gets into the cockpit and starts the engine. Wind gusts around them as the blades spin. The chopper starts to lift off, Buck waving at Tommy as he flies away. “Nice to see you too, Tommy!” Chim sarcastically shouts at the sky.

[rcmclachlan]

On this week's episode of Things I Think About While Driving, I was having myself a grand ol' time thinking about all the different times and ways Buck could've met Tommy earlier, and the one I kept coming back to was S4xE5.

Like, right after Buck walks out of Maddie's apartment having learned about Daniel...

He drives.

He drives and drives and drives with no actual destination in mind, operating completely on autopilot, for hours. No music, no podcasts, just the rush of wind through all the open windows of the Jeep and the echoing refrain in his head of so they made one.

It would've been an allogeneic transplant. He'd looked it up once when he was watching a 60 Minutes special on Myelodysplastic Syndrome. They would've taken the stem cells from his umbilical cord if the timing was right. Unless they tried it a little bit later, maybe waited a few months before they scraped Daniel's homegrown defense system right out of Buck's bones. He would've been too young to remember the pain and discomfort that came after. He wonders if he cried as a baby more than he would've if he'd been wanted for anything other than the hellfire missiles in his marrow.

And then it didn't work. Defective, right out of the gate. No wonder they've always treated him like a massive disappointment—he is one. He had one job and he couldn't even manage to do that much.

So he drives. He drives and he's furious. He drives and he's inconsolable. He drives and he's sorry. With every street he turns down at random, he moves onto another emotion, and by the time the gas gauge is nudging close to empty and the evening is giving way to night, the only thing he's capable of feeling is tired.

And hunger. He'd only had an apple before he went over to Maddie's.

So he circles back to Glendale Boulevard and decides on the place with a red lion on their sign solely because it doesn't look busy for 8:30pm on a Tuesday. There's even a free space in the little lot next to the building. Thanks, COVID.

It's pretty quiet inside, with a substantial bar set against old wood paneling on the walls, making it feel like an old tavern. He takes a seat at the far end of the bar where the lighting's kind of dim.

Turns out it's a German bar, so he orders a glass of Warsteiner, which he's never had before, and it's got a strong, malty backbone for a lager. The bartender tells him there's a Biergarten in the back if he wants to take his drink outside. 

Buck doesn't want to move from his little corner. It feels safe here, even with his mask off. At least two of the one hundred thousand knots in his back muscles have relaxed since he sat down. He quietly declines the offer, but he does order himself the sausage plate and a glass of Augustiner Maximator once he's done with the Warsteiner, which goes down so good he can't believe it's got an ABV of 7.5%. He orders a second.

He's in the middle of robotically eating a smoked bockwurst he can't taste, thinking so they made one, when the door to the biergarten opens up. A guy walks over to the bar and Buck throws him a cursory glance. Then he looks again. 

The guy is exactly who you'd find on the cover of the LAFD charity calendar: big and beefy, with the kind of high cheekbones that belong on a runway in Milan. Effortlessly handsome. Buck wants to tip his beer toward him, because, respect. He also wants to poke his biceps and ask what his regiment is, if he P90X's or something. Buck isn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but this guy looks like he could throw Buck around like a grizzly bear. 

Buck lets himself be distracted by watching the guy lightly tap his fingers against the bar to the beat of whatever 80s song is playing softly over the speakers. He's always loved people watching; it's a great way to get out of his head after tough calls. This guy is a particularly fascinating specimen. There's just something magnetic about him. Buck's known people like that: they draw the eye even if they're not doing anything to warrant attention. Without even being called, the bartender wanders over to the guy, no doubt drawn to whatever invisible light is coming off him. Buck can't hear what they're saying, but then the bartender turns and points right at Buck, who freezes, caught. 

The guy flashes Buck a thumbs up and asks just loud enough to be heard through his face mask, "How was the Warsteiner?"

Swallowing, Buck lifts the empty glass and says, "Uh, g-good. Full-bodied." 

With a thoughtful nod, the guy turns back to the bartender and says something too quiet for Buck to hear, but he figures it out when the bartender goes and comes back with a glass of what is clearly Warsteiner. The guy takes a sip, pauses, and then moves toward Buck, stopping before he gets too close. "Thanks for the recommendation. Hey, Jay, put his next one on my tab."

The bartender—Jay—gives him a thumbs up and goes to the register. Buck, mortified at the thought of being a charity case, of this guy pitying him enough to buy him a beer, opens his mouth to tell Jay he can pay for his own beers, thanks, when the guy holds up a hand to forestall the protest.

"German beer's not usually my thing. I'm more of a craft beer kind of guy, so really, I appreciate the assist. If it makes you feel better, pay it forward." His cheeks curve up, and in the bar lighting Buck can see there are long legs attached to the guy's crow's feet. He clearly has spent his life smiling. Buck would bet this man has never once curled up in the dark on his birthday knowing for a fact his parents weren't going to even text him and was still disappointed when the clock ticked past midnight and he had nothing to show for it. This guy's parents probably had a golden statue of him erected in their front yard.

Buck musters up a smile that feels like one of the little, weak waves that just sort of roll over the shoreline without any fanfare before dissolving back into the sea, and the guy tilts his head.

"Rough day?"

"Rough life," Buck says, utterly pathetic, and feels like he's betrayed all his friends for even saying it. "No, that's—that was incredibly ungrateful. My life isn't—I-I have a good life. I just learned something today about my parents that, uh, clarified a few things for me about our relationship. It... wasn't great."

The guy taps his finger against the bottle of Warsteiner in his hand, staring at Buck with deep consideration, flaying Buck from head to toe without a word. Then he gives a nod that smacks of commiseration and walks around the bar until he's only two chairs away. When the guy opens his mouth and inhales, Buck can already hear what's coming: surely it's not that bad. You should talk it out with them. You're being too hard on them. C'mon, they're your parents, they love you. 

"That sucks," the guy says, simple as anything.

Out of nowhere, heat starts prickling in Buck's nose and the corners of his eyes, and he looks at this guy and the calm, earnest expression on his face, and... yeah. Yeah. It does suck. It sucks so hard and it has for so long, and all his life he's wanted someone to tell him that, to hear him list every injustice and offer a crumb of support without any pretense or judgment. Buck gasps a laugh that sounds more like he's been stabbed, and he opens his mouth to thank the guy for telling him exactly what he needed to hear, but instead what comes out is... everything. The whole story comes out of him like an unraveling firehose, pulling longer and longer the more he talks, stretching from the day he crashed his bike—"But it wasn't my bike, it was his."—to sitting in Maddie's living room and finally learning the truth: that he hadn't been crazy, that something had been wrong his entire life and the something was him.

"They'd made a box for her—full of all these memories and little trinkets and pictures—and I bet you he had one with baseball cards and his first, like, pacifier, and Skittles, and whatever, but when I asked them where mine was, they looked at me like I had three heads, because human junkyards full of scrap metal and defective blood cells don't get baby boxes," he finishes on a shout. Panting like he just sprinted to Santa Monica and back, he finds himself deflating into his folded arms on top of the bar now that he isn't filled to the brim with 29 years worth of bottled-up grievances. This must be what bulldozed graveyards feel like: scraped clean and ready to be filled up again. Buck is surrounded by five empty glasses, a little mountain of twisted-up napkins, and a complete stranger who hasn't said a word since Buck began, and it's as a good place to start again as any.

Buck closes his eyes and stews in embarrassment for about thirty seconds, then turns his head to look at his audience of one. At some point, the guy had gravitated into the chair right next to him and took his mask off, revealing a stupidly handsome face, and his wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare makes Buck want to throw up a little. It may have been the cleansing Buck'd needed, but the poor guy didn't ask to be part of any of it. Buck doesn't know why he told him in the first place. This is the kind of thing he'd hesitate to blurt out to Eddie, never mind a complete stranger, but there had been something so oddly steady and compassionate in the guy's gaze that Buck had felt like he could trust him with anything. It had been so easy to just... talk. And to his credit, the guy had listened to Buck's entire rant—stopping Buck only twice to ask a quiet, clarifying question—without making a face, snorting, rolling his eyes, or getting up and just leaving.

Face warm, Buck shifts in his seat to try and get feeling back into his left ass cheek, then he opens his mouth to apologize for dumping all that on the him instead of at his next session with his fucking therapist.

But the guy just blinks out of his stupor and flags down Jay, who wanders over sedately. He taps the bar counter twice and says, "Yeah, can you just put the rest of his bill on my tab?"

When Buck sits up with an outraged squawk, the world spins a little, and the guy places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to steady him. He doesn't take it back right away and Buck doesn't shrug it off. The weight feels good.

"N-No, that wasn't—you can't do that, man," Buck mumbles, face hot. His mouth feels a bit gummy.

"I can and I did," the guy says. "Someone should treat you to dinner for putting up with all that shit for all this time. I don't know your parents from a hole in the ground, but I would happily drop 3,000 pounds of water on their house. Jesus Christ, and I thought my issues with my parents were bad."

"I never should've—"

But the guy shakes his head and tightens his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You absolutely should've, actually. If that had built up any longer, I probably would've seen you literally explode on the 6 o'clock news."

Buck snorts a laugh, rubbing his disbelieving smile against his sleeve. "Believe me, it wouldn't be the first time you saw me on the 6 o'clock news."

The guy gives Buck a curious tilt of his head, so Buck clarifies, "Do you remember a few years back when that kid was mailing bombs to people and he rigged that fire engine to explode? And it fell on that firefighter?" At the guy's slow, wary nod, he continues, "I was the, uh, firefighter."

At that, the guy sits up and his gaze goes so sharp that Buck wants to call Jay over and have him slice up some bratwurst on it. "You're with the 118."

Buck blinks, and then the guy introduces himself... as LAFD firefighter pilot Tommy Kinard, who'd gotten his start at Buck's own damn station. Who knew both Chimney and Hen when they were probies, and who watched Bobby walk in and turn the place into a house Tommy could be proud to be part of. Who had been their air support during the Doheny Park gas leak incident.

"That was you?" Buck glances down at the bar counter to make sure it hadn't cracked when his jaw hit it. "Chimney told us afterwards he'd called in a favor from an old friend."

Tommy grins and jauntily points to himself with his glass. "Except Howie was cashing in on a favor I owed him, which means I only owe him like 973 more now."

Over a round of drinks—another Maximator for Buck and a seltzer with lime for Tommy—Buck tells Tommy about who's at the 118 now and confirms which of "the most batshit insane stories I've heard about you guys" are true. He tells Tommy about the rollercoaster ride that was his recovery from the explosion, and then follows that up with being caught in the tsunami and being struck by lightning. In return, Tommy regales him with army stories, including the time he landed a burning helicopter under enemy fire, and his favorite calls from his time with the 118—the fucking rooster has Buck practically crying laughing into his arms. He also tells Buck about Hen's fearlessness in standing up to their asshole captain who was voted the LAFD's Most Likely To Have Been At The White House On January 6th, and how Chimney saved Tommy's literal life. He tells Buck that without Bobby showing up and making them into a family of sorts, without him being in their corner even when they didn't trust him not to abandon them like all their other captains, Tommy never would've found his way back to the sky.

Then Tommy gleefully drops a pipe bomb into the scant space between them with, "And you never would've joined the 118."

Buck squeezes his eyes shut to try and make his brain stop feeling so swimmy. "W-What? What does that mean?" His tongue is too big for his mouth. His words taste a bit funny, like they're mushy. He hopes Tommy hasn't noticed.

"You said you joined in 2017. That's when I left," Tommy says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who took my spot."

Buck untucks one of his arms so he can reach up to touch the hills and valleys running down Tommy's cheeks, then realizes that probably would be rude and tries to play it off like he was going to scratch the back of his own head. All he does is knock over one of his empty glasses. It takes a few clumsy tries before he successfully stands it back up.

"We missed each other," Buck mumbles. He thinks of what it might have been like walking into the station that day, seeing Tommy sitting between Hen and Chimney, smiling wide as he dished up more spaghetti. Maybe he would've turned that warm light on Buck as he passed him the tongs. Maybe Tommy would've shown him the ropes, got him through his first shifts, and even stopped him from stealing the engine for a booty call. Maybe they'd have met up for drinks just like this after their shifts were over, or as a way to distract themselves from bad calls the way Tommy's distracted Buck all night. Maybe they'd have been a two-man unit, and then when Eddie showed up they'd be a tri...something. Buck can't remember what it's called, but it means 'three'. Maybe Tommy would've been every bit as important to Buck as Eddie, Hen, and Chim.

He's hit with the realization that if he doesn't tell Tommy this, he might die, so he garbles out, "You're important. W-Wait, no. I mean, you could've... you were important... I—y'get the gist."

And Tommy must, because Tommy's smart and quick witted and a good listener, and he's looking at Buck fondly, like he might've done if he'd stayed at the 118 and they'd come through fire together, but he's also rolling his lips inward and his cheeks are trembling.

Buck whines, aggravated, because, "Y-You're laughing at me."

Tommy ducks his head and does, in fact, start laughing.

"'s so rude. Don't laugh at me, 's not my fault I'm defective." Buck buries his face in his arms in embarrassment. The cradle of it is so warm and comfortable he just stays there.

"You're not defective, Evan." Even though it sounds like Tommy's suddenly on the other side of the room, Buck can hear the matter-of-factness in the words. He says it like he'd said that sucks. "But you are drunk."

He's not. He's just really tired and his arms make for a great pillow. He also feels heavy and tight, which isn't good for a firefighter. What if he's called onto a massive scene? What if City Hall's on fire and he can't pull the mayor out because he's slow and weirdly full? What if his career as a firefighter is over?

"That's just bloat from all the beer and sausage," Tommy says from even farther away than he'd been a second ago. "Jay, can I settle up? I'm so sorry we kept you this late. You're getting a helluva tip, I promise."

His name's not Jay. It's Buck. But he'd introduced himself as Evan and... forgot to tell Tommy he goes by something else. But he likes that Tommy doesn't know that, because when Tommy says 'Evan' it sounds like how 'Buck' feels. He wants Tommy to keep 'Evan' in the warmth of his mouth, like how some alligators carry their young. For them, it's the safest place to be.

Buck wants to tell Tommy about the alligators, because they are super cool and only exist in two places in the whole world. He blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed to something hard and cool. The bar stool feels a lot softer than it did a second ago. And it's vibrating.

There's a weight on his knee, shaking it gently.

He must've fallen asleep while watching Celebrity Death Match in the TV room again. Mom's going to kill him when she finds out. "Mads, five m're min's."

"Evan, you need to give me a building number."

"Hmmm...?"

"Your apartment building. I've been driving up and down South Spring for ten minutes. You gotta help me out here. What's your building number?"

"Mmm..." Buck rolls his forehead to chase the coolness. It feels so nice against his skin. He could just sink right into it.

"Evan, c'mon. You can do it. Tell me where you live."

"27 P'plar Road," he mumbles. He blinks his eyes open and catches sight of the rush of lights and road ahead, which blend together like they're about to jump into hyperspace. He's not in Hershey. He knows this road. Sighing, he closes his eyes again. "Oh. 's rowing. 409 at th' rowing."

He blinks awake when he suddenly trips over nothing, and he tries to stop himself from falling but there's nothing except the gaping maw of open space. But he doesn't actually go anywhere. Someone's got an arm around his waist. There's a name for that kind of rude awakening. He can't remember it.

"Two more stairs," the person with him mutters in his ear. "I'm begging you, lift up your feet before we both end up in the ER."

That's fine. He has his own bed there.

"Yeah, let's try to get you into the bed you have here first."

Strong hands lower him onto something soft, and he buries his face in sheets that are cool and smell familiar, his entire body smoothing out like the surface of a lake. Something tugs at his foot, and he rolls onto his back and tries to lift his leg to help, but he's comfy and cocooned in the dark. His sneakers get taken off anyway.

"Evan." Tommy's voice hangs in the air, soft and warm and invisible, and his name sounds like it's precious where it sits in Tommy's mouth. He read somewhere that alligators do that. "I'm going to get you some water and then head out. Do you need anything else?"

In the dark, he somehow lost his body, and he can barely see the outline of Tommy, but he can hear him step closer when Buck reaches out for him. When Buck's hand is caught, he's suddenly so aware of himself, of his blood and bones and every nerve trapped under his skin, and arches a little into the feeling with a quiet moan of relief.

Tommy knows about him. He knows Buck's cells are defective and he still bought Buck dinner and spent the night making him feel like he was made correctly from the start.

"D'nt go," he whispers. He's starting to float away, and he tugs on the hand holding his, trying to bring that steadfast presence on top of him, use it to keep him here. "Stay."

"I absolutely can't do that," Tommy murmurs. His thumb strokes over Buck's palm and it feels like he's dragging his tongue along the length of a nerve. Buck gasps. Something pulls tight and sweet between his legs, and he tilts his head back on the pillow, lips parting so he can suck in air desperately. So he's ready.

"Kiss me," he breathes.

He wants it so bad he almost gags. He wants all that weight and strength to hang over him like a bough, keeping him together, feeding his body what it's screaming for. He inhales deeply and the smell of indelible man fills his nose and the back of his throat, along with the faint hint of smoke and something sharp like snow. He wants a mouth on his. He wants strong, sure hands to run over his ribs. He wants to say I'm full of broken cells and I need you to fill me up with something better, but he's breathing too hard and the words keep blowing out of order. His legs slide open and the sound of them moving on the sheets is deafening. He's so hot, and so hungry. He thinks he's hard. He thinks he's dying.

The hand in his squeezes gently, but then it lets go.

Without it, Buck's going to dissolve. He's going to disappear. He squeezes his burning, wet eyes shut and pulls in a breath that is all wheeze, every part of him a live wire, unsteady and shivering and thwarted. So they made one.

"No. No," Buck sobs. "Y're just like them. You don't want me—no one... why. 's not fair."

The bed suddenly dips right next to Buck's thigh, right on the edge, and the hot press of a thumb against his chin stops him from howling his sorrow and disappointment. When it slides up and just barely brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth falls open. Yes. Yes.

"I'll tell you what." It's whispered so closely that Buck thinks he can feel the wash of breath over his tongue. "You remember any of this tomorrow? Call me, and I'll kiss you as much as you want. I'll kiss the idea you're unwanted right out of you."

Buck exhales in utter relief and sinks into the comfort of the bed as the weight next to him lifts away. He's going to do that. He's going to call and then let Tommy kiss him until he forgets he was ever unloved. But persistence pays off, so he tries one more time, even though he's suddenly so tired he can barely get the word out. "Stay."

"Sleep well, Evan."

+

When Buck wakes up, he immediately wants to crawl into a hole and die. His mouth tastes like there's roadkill in it and there's an egg beater trying to escape his skull by way of his left eye. Whimpering, he tries to bury his face into the pillow but half of it is wet with drool, so he reaches up and throws the stupid thing on the floor. His mattress is comfy. He can just plant his face there and suffocate, no problem.

He has no idea how he got home last night, which is terrifying. Everything after the third Augustiner is a bit hazy. He was talking to some guy who made him laugh, he knows that much. His mind conjures bits and pieces of his mysterious drinking companion: a wide, white grin; large hands; a voice he can hear the cadence and depth of but can't remember a single word it said. After that, he's got nothing.

It takes a few tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and he rolls onto his side to put his back to where the sun is starting to filter through the curtains. The move puts the nightstand right in his line of sight, and when his vision focuses, he pauses.

There's a glass with water on top of it, but it's not the cup he usually chooses. It's one of the textured acrylic ones he picked out when he moved in that he absolutely hates using. Even though they're impossible to break, he feels like he's ten years old when he's forced to drink out of one. All that's missing is a sippy-cup lid.

Although he has to hand it to himself: the acrylic cup was a pretty solid idea, considering he might've knocked a real glass onto the floor sometime in the night and then cut himself when it shattered. Chimney forced Buck to watch Die Hard last year and it was a fun movie, but Buck has no desire to recreate the "shoot the glass" scene.

He slides his face a little closer to the edge of the bed so he can find his phone. It's sitting on the top of the nightstand, plugged in, which is almost as surprising as the acrylic cup. He never remembers to plug his phone in when he's sober, but there it is, charging away. His wallet and keys are also laying next to it. It's such a neat and tidy tableau that, for a second, he thinks he's still asleep and this is one of those dreams where only one or two things is out of place and he spends the entire dream wondering if he's dreaming.

If he were dreaming, though, he wouldn't feel like hard-boiled ass, so someone else had been here and got him squared away. Maybe he called Eddie for a ride home? Buck reaches for his phone and his fingers brush up against the edge of a piece of paper. A receipt? Maybe he took a taxi instead.

Buck squints at it, and he has every intention of grabbing it to look for clues, but he ends up dozing for almost two hours. By the time he wakes up, the sun has invaded every part of the loft, but he doesn't feel so much like he's about to slip this mortal coil. He'll take the wins where he can.

It only takes a minute or two of psyching himself up before he's able to roll into something resembling sitting, and after that he gives himself five minutes to drop his head into his hands and regret his life choices. Once he promises God, the Devil, Zeus, and the purple laser ghost of Prince that he will never drink to such excess again as long as he lives, he finally looks over at the nightstand where his phone is.

It's been set to Do Not Disturb, which is nice. It's not something he ever does, because he's afraid he'll miss something important, and when he turns it off the screen fills with dozens of missed calls and texts from Maddie and Chimney. He takes great pleasure in dismissing all of them. Nothing from his parents, of course. There's also one from Eddie asking if everything's okay because "Chim called me asking if I'd heard from you and he sounds like he's about to start climbing the walls using only his teeth."

It's followed by a text that reads "Bobby says to take your time coming in. What happened?"

He taps open the message to reply when he glances up and sees the receipt on the nightstand. Abandoning his phone in favor of learning just how much he spent on a DD, he learns it wasn't a taxi at all. It's a note written in an unfamiliar hand on a small piece of drafting paper.

Your car is parked at the Red Lion. Jay said it was OK to leave it there because you weren't in any shape to drive.

Underneath that is a phone number, and underneath that is a single line: Remember—as much as you want. But only if you want.

It's signed "TK".

Baffled, Buck brings a fist to his mouth, because he's not sure what else to do, and when his thumbnail presses against his bottom lip, something hot and shivery pops low in his belly. It's how he realizes he's got to pee so bad he's going to wet the bed if he waits any longer.

After he pisses for what feels like an eternity, downs four Advil, showers the sweat and shame off, he stumbles back up the stairs feeling wrung out but definitely more human. Once he's in a pair of clean boxers, he surveys the room.

There was a stranger here last night, but it doesn't look like anything's missing. He checks his wallet, but all his cards and cash are still there. His sneakers were neatly placed against the wall, out of the way where he wouldn't trip on them if he got up during the night. And there's of course his phone, fully charged for once, and the note.

He sits on the edge of his bed and reads the note four more times. Then he looks up the Red Lion's operating hours, but it doesn't open for two more hours.

Which leaves him with the number and As much as you want. But only if you want.

His mind immediately takes a swan dive into the gutter. It's probably not meant to be as sexual as it reads, but... he's not sure how else he's supposed to take it. TK's blocky penmanship reveals nothing.

Maybe after he was done talking to the guy at the bar he met some woman? Maybe she was the one to take him home, although considering how drunk he must've been, it couldn't have been an easy feat. That she didn't help herself to his money and was thoughtful enough to plug his phone in and get him a glass of water really warrants a thank you.

He looks down at the phone number.

He grabs his phone—100%, what an absolutely wild concept—and taps in the number, double checking it like four times while his finger hovers over the CALL button like an anvil.

What the hell. He's got nothing left to lose.

He taps CALL and brings the phone to his ear. It takes two rings before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

Not a woman. Buck sits up so straight they could use his spine as an I-beam level.

"Uh, h-hey," he stutters, looking around his room, trying to divine any lingering atoms this person might've left behind. "Um, I think you—I have a note with this number on it and—"

Thankfully, the mysterious "TK" stops Buck before he gets a good ramble going, his voice friendly as he breaks in with, "Evan! Hey. Glad to hear the Maximator couldn't keep you down for long. How're you feeling this morning?"

Buck's entire body goes warm as it relaxes from its ramrod-straight pose. "I, uh, a little confused. I don't remember getting home, but I guess I have you to thank for that." Buck pauses. "So, thank you."

"Well, you didn't make it easy." TK laughs, and it shivers down the line right into Buck's ear canal. "It took me a lot longer to figure out you were saying 'Rowan' and not 'rowing' than I care to admit, but we got there in the end. Your place is insane. Did you get a signing bonus when you joined the 118 or something?"

Buck blinks. An image of Bobby winning a fight against a rooster comes winging out of the back of his mind. "That—that's right. You're a firefighter. Uh, do you really fly with Harbor One or am I making that up?"

"You made me promise four times to give you lessons," TK says warmly. "I had to stop you from slicing your palm open so we could shake on it."

Ducking his head with a helpless chuckle, Buck nods, even though TK can't see him. "Yeah, that, uh, sounds like something I'd do. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'd love to take you up."

He doesn't know how he got lucky enough that the person he made a fool out of himself in front of was one of the chosen few who are able to handle The Full Buck without too much of a fuss, but he's so grateful for it. They're a rare breed.

"Anytime you want, just tell me when."

Buck's gaze immediately shoots to the piece of paper he's still clutching in his other hand, and for no reason he can think of his heart rate picks up. His cheeks start tingling with blossoming warmth.

He curls a little into himself, cupping the phone closer to his mouth. "I-Is that what you meant in your note?"

There's a little pause on the line, and then when TK's voice comes back, it's softer. "No. That's not what I meant."

Buck swallows a mouthful of saliva and asks, just as softly, "What does 'TK' stand for?"

"Tommy Kinard."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Buck's eyes fall closed. He thinks of cool sheets under him, and feeling heavy and safe in the dark. His belly clenches with something like hunger. He bites his bottom lip and then licks it.

"... Evan? You still there?"

He doesn't know why his body feels like it's being pulled in a million different directions, or why the first thing he thought of when Tommy said "Evan" was baby alligators, but he does know this: on the worst day of Buck's life, Tommy Kinard made it easier to bear. He kept Buck company, kept him distracted, and then kept him safe.

I told you not to go, he thinks out of nowhere.

"Look, Evan, it's completely fine, and I promise I won't be offended if you don't want—"

Evan Buckley was born to fix someone else. He has defective cells and has never once been enough for anyone, and that sucks. But he's still here and this life is his whether it was meant to be or not, and he does want.

Buck opens his eyes.

"Hey, so, what are you doing Saturday?"

[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

Curls | Bucktommy

In the bathroom, Buck is grimacing in the mirror, swiping his hands back and forth over his freshly cut hair. His eyebrows are furrowed with indecision; was this a good idea? He hears the front door open.

“Evan? Where are you?” Tommy voices rings out.

“Up here,” Buck calls back, he closes the bathroom door most of the way before Tommy gets up there.

“Oh there you are, what are you doing?” Tommy tries to push open the door but Buck stops him.

“I got a haircut from the place Hen suggested. You’re not allowed to laugh, okay?” Buck’s voice is hesitant.

“I promise I won’t laugh, did they botch it?” Tommy replies with total sincerity. This time Tommy can open the door and step into the bathroom. He examines Buck’s hair, very relieved it actually isn’t botched or a buzzcut.

Tommy takes it in and can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips. His boyfriend looks damn fine; curls in full force and not reigned in like how Buck usually styles it. The hairdresser added a fade making his neck look a lot longer.

“What? It’s awful. Your silence is making me nervous,” Buck rambles out.

Reaching a hand up, Tommy carefully pinches a wild curl and is surprised how soft it is, not at all crunchy with gel. His hand slides down to touch the equally soft hair on the back of his head. He absolutely loves it. “It’s definitely not awful. I always love your curls, babe. I like seeing your natural hair be free for once, and it’s so soft too. You look really really hot actually. It’s trendy for sure, but not in a bad way.”

Buck is still frowning at the mirror and rubs his fingers on the side of his face. “She even shaved off my sideburns,” he pouts and Tommy laughs.

“They will grow back in no time.” He wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and rests his chin on Buck's shoulder, watching him still fuss with his hair. “You know, it does make you look undeniably not straight, if that’s what you were going for.”

”Not really my intention, but I mean I’m not, so I guess it works?” Buck huffs drops his hands. “I’m itching for my gel, I feel so naked without it.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s just new, it’ll grow on you.” Tommy smiles, catching Buck's eyes in the mirror.

“Hey, what about your natural curls, huh? I don't see you easing up on the hair products.” Buck turns his head to look at Tommy.

“Shhh we're not talking about me right now,” Tommy replies and slides a hand up to cup Buck's jaw and kiss his lips. “I'm sure there's something in the pilot handbook about hair regulations,” he mumbles against Buck's mouth then promptly leaves him in the bathroom.

When Buck walks into work the next day he’s greeted with a wolf whistle from Hen, “Damn, Buck! I knew my girl would make you look fresh! You’re looking damn fine.” And he can’t help but smile at the praise. He gets compliments and light teasing from the rest of the crew. Maybe he can live with it.

One of their calls is at the famous gay night club, The Abbey, in Santa Monica. One of the cages that the dancers was in fell with the dancer trapped inside of it. Buck and Eddie had to break out the saw to get the dancer out, luckily he walked away with minor injuries.

They attracted a small crowd of the other dancers- all in skimpy speedo like underwear. Most of them had their eyes on Buck, giving him flirty compliments and asking if he’s ever been there. At first Buck was confused why he was getting most of the attention from these objectively hot men, especially when Eddie and his stache was right there.

Oh right, the hair, he thinks. The ‘undeniably not straight’ hair style he is sporting right now. He couldn’t help feeling a small blush creep into his cheeks.

His attention gets pulled back to one of the dancers, “Are you single? I know it’s really forward of me, but I thought I’d shoot my shot.” At least he’s polite about blatantly hitting on him.

“Oh wow I’m really flattered but yeah, I am taken,” Buck says proudly. He takes out his phone and shows the dancer and his friends his phone lock screen - a selfie of him and Tommy from one of their recent dates. Buck is laughing and Tommy is smirking at the camera with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Oh my God! I know that guy! That’s Mr. August from the 2019 LAFD calendar! I’ll never forget that year,” one of the dancers muses.

“Lucky bastard,” another one says to Buck, which makes his smile grow wider.

Tommy’s phone pings with a picture from Chimney, which there is no doubt this was his idea. It’s of Buck in the middle of a row of speedo clad club dancers. He doesn’t have his jacket on, so it’s just the fire T-shirt with red and yellow suspenders and the turn out pants. He’s holding an ax resting on his shoulder with the cockiest look he could muster; a sexy smirk on his lips with his left eyebrow cocked. The dancers around him are all looking at him, hamming it up for the picture acting like he’s the hottest thing on earth. Tommy couldn’t agree more and immediately makes it his phone background.

Yeah, the hair is growing on Buck.

[watchyourbuck]

The thing about Tommy is that he’s very pretty. Everything about him is intoxicatingly attractive, and no matter where they go, people follow. Men, particularly.

Buck isn’t necessarily the jealous type. He’s had his fair share of protecting ex girlfriends from creeps and dudes who won’t back off, but this is different. This feels like a constant, extremely symptomatic migraine.

Of course girls throw themselves at him, but the mere fact that they have no chance makes it less angering. It’s the studs, and the twinks, and the huge men who put their hands on his man. That cup his ass almost as a greeting gesture. That play with his hair, and whisper in his ear.

And Tommy isn’t stupid. He knows he’s being flirted with, but since he could never have eyes for anyone who isn’t Buck, he doesn’t see the need to be rude. So he keeps it at ‘No, thank you’’s, and polite, refusing smiles. And yes, that’s yet another one of the qualities Buck loves about him. Because he doesn’t like violence. But then again, it fires up the unwavering possessiveness brewing in the pit of his stomach.

So Buck’s gotten creative. Now that they’re officially a couple, and go out on dates every weekend — to different places, if he might add —, he’s had to get handy with the way he lets people know Tommy’s his.

He orders with him at the bar, makes sure to say ‘my boyfriend’ and strategically places his hands on parts of Tommy’s body that would get him punched if they weren’t together. It works, for the most part.

But there’s always that one guy who can’t take a hint.

“You’re like a Greek god,” he whispers and Buck rolls his eyes. “Greek gods shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s a twenty-something year old dude that looks like he’s missing a college class. He’s wearing a tank top and eyeliner and he’s about a second away from earning himself all of Buck’s un-contained rage.

“I’m not alone,” Tommy says, pointing at him, and god bless his heart. “This is my partner.”

Buck bends forward a bit to wave enthusiastically, but it comes out bitchy. He’s almost sorry but then the guy barely acknowledges him, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and rubbing circles on the exposed skin. Tommy’s hand tightens on his hip, keeping him still.

“You know, I’m very flexible,” the guy says and Buck is currently making a deal with god to grant him patience. “I could show you just how much.”

“Oh, you’re not showing him anything,” Buck barks, right from over Tommy’s head. If he has to get on his tippy toes to do that, well, the other guy doesn’t have to know.

“Evan,” Tommy warns, but it’s endearing, it carries no threat. He turns his head to the kid and tilts it. “You should find a guy who’s interested. I’m not.”

Buck absolutely preens, a cocky smirk settling on his face. He’s about to claim victory when he notices the guy’s demeanor doesn’t change, and he actually steps closer. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing, daddy.”

Nope. A surge of something primal and almost maniac courses through his body, and before Tommy can do anything about it, Buck’s rounding him and taking the guy’s wrist and squeezing it. He’s shorter than Tommy but significantly bigger than this kid, so he towers over him easily. “Take your hands off him if you want to keep them.”

The kid’s face contorts in fear. “What’s your problem, dude!”

Buck laughs, his only point of connection to reality being Tommy’s hand on his belt loops, holding him in place. “My problem,” he says, his voice deeper, “is that you can’t seem to take no for an answer. He’s told you he’s not alone. So, back off before I make you.”

His eyes shift from Buck’s to Tommy’s, who Buck can only guess has a soft but unreadable expression on his face. When the kid isn’t defended by Tommy, he snags his hand back, scoffs and takes off.

Buck watches him until he loses him to the crowd, then lets out a big breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He turns to Tommy, expecting to find judgy or at least annoyed eyes. He doesn’t.

“Not that I wanna encourage you,” Tommy says, sitting on a stool to pull Buck closer, right between his legs. “But that was really hot.”

Buck huffs out a laugh but it’s vaguely one. “I’m just— he wouldn’t stop touching you. You’re, ugh, you’re—!”

Tommy tilts his head, chasing after Buck’s gaze when he looks to the side. “You can say it.”

Buck bites his lip and stares. How could he not, after all. “You’re mine,” de declares, definitive and on the verge of angry. “And I don’t like men touching what’s mine.”

And he knows. There’s a fine line between sexy possessive and psychopathically controlling, and he’s walking it like a rope between two buildings, but the look on Tommy’s face and the unmistakable sight of the front of his pants growing tighter doesn’t help him get off the high horse. “We can always make a scene,” Tommy shrugs, getting up again and cornering Buck against the bar.

Buck’s eyes darken, even through the pain on his tailbone. His arms surge forward to wrap around Tommy’s neck and bring him down. And if they do make a scene, if they do make out messily and desperately for everyone to see, then it’s truly not his problem what they think. As long as they know who Tommy belongs to.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Okay, so this is a little inspired by @dazzle02's post right here. Enjoy! 🥰

"Let me move in with you," said Evan.

And.

And Tommy looked up at Evan.

Blinking.

There wasn't anything particularly special about tonight. Neither of them had that bad of a shift the day before, all things considered. It was after dinner. They were both in pajamas watching Shark Week. Besides Shark Week, there wasn't anything life-altering or important that would have made Tommy remember this lazy Thursday night.

But then again, something amazing always happened with Evan around.

Life-altering was Evan's modus operandi.

They met when Tommy was flying them into a hurricane. They got together after Evan maimed one of his best friends. Their second official date was at a last-minute hospital wedding when the original wedding had been canceled.

Dating Evan was nothing Tommy had ever experienced before.

And Tommy never wanted to stop.

"What?" Tommy laughed, not sure if he heard that right.

He was staring up at Evan. His head was in Evan's lap and Evan just - he kept playing with the curls in Tommy's hair; staring down at Tommy like he never wanted to look away from Tommy as he said, "Let me move in with you."

And it harkened back to that beer Evan still owed Tommy.

That Tommy was never going to let Evan give him. No, Tommy loved the idea of still being tied like that. To forever joke about the beer Evan still owed him.

"You want to move in with me?" asked Tommy.

And it wasn't that Tommy was against it. The moment Evan brought it up, all Tommy wanted to say was yes, yes, of course, Evan, yes.

But.

They had only been dating maybe four months at this point. Tommy wasn't against the breakneck pace Evan seemed the most comfortable in, but at the same time, that was a big decision. And that wasn't to say that Tommy didn't believe that Evan would want this, but it was always good to be absolutely sure.

"You've got a kickass garage. You've got the best beer in town. I heard a beast lives here. Why wouldn't I want to too?" asked Evan.

"Evan."

"Tommy."

Tommy snorted.

"Tommy, I hate my loft. I hate my fucking loft. I got it with my girlfriend Aly because she liked it, and then she almost immediately broke up with me. I haven't been able to decide on a damn couch in that place. I don't know why I have two balconies," said Evan, "But none of that is even why I'm offering this."

Tommy laughed.

"Offering?"

"Tommy, I - I miss you," said Evan with all his heart; a little broken.

Tommy reached out; placed a hand on Evan's cheek.

"Evan. I'm right here," said Tommy softly.

"I miss you when I wake up and you hadn't slept over. I miss you when I try out a new dish and you're not there to taste-test it. I miss seeing you just randomly reading Chef's Choice or The Dos and Donuts of Love or - or How to Find a Princess or Better Than People or The State of Us on your couch whenever I walk into your house with the key you gave me. I miss the lavender you insist on making your house smell like. I miss you when I get in my car and realize we won't be carpooling. That you won't insist on driving and I won't get to play you music as we start our drive early so we can take a scenic way to my work or yours. I just miss you. All the time. I want to fucking live in your pocket. Which is a lot. I know. But I want that. I want you. And I'm so sure you want that too."

And.

And okay, if they were being honest.

"Evan, I - I wake up and it feels empty if you're not here. If you're not sprawled on top of me when I wake up. If you're not laughing and insisting that we take a shower together. That if we do, we'll be saving water. Despite the fact that you know full well that it takes double the time with how distracted we get. I miss you when I walk up to my coffee maker and you're not there to play the 'guess how Tommy takes his coffee' game that I think you're failing on purpose at this point - "

"No, I'm not," said Evan like a liar.

"Oh, I know you are," laughed Tommy, "But I kind of love that because it's still fun. And I miss you when you're not there to get into my Mustang with that jerry-rigged contraption of yours that somehow forces Bluetooth to work on my stereo. And how you keep showing me all these new and amazing songs I never would have dreamed of finding on my own."

"People are sleeping on Kehlani," said Evan.

"Yeah. I know," agreed Tommy, "And - and I miss you when I don't get to kiss you goodbye and hear you say you'll see me after your shift. And I miss you when you're not there to pick me up or if I'm not there to pick you up and you kiss me hello and ask how my day was and tell me all about yours. And I'm not saying we need to be glued together. But I am saying that every moment I get with you makes my whole day better. My week. My month. My year. My life. And, uh. I don't know, maybe you owe me moving into my house."

Evan laughed.

"Oh, I owe you now, huh?"

"I mean, you offered. Pay up. Move in."

Evan laughed harder, leaning down to kiss Tommy. And it was an awkward angle, and the kiss was a bit messy, but it left Tommy breathless; left Tommy swimming in overwhelming yes.

"Okay. I guess I'm moving in," said Evan happily, his smile soft and so excited.

"Yeah, you are," said Tommy as he pulled Evan back into another mind-blowing kiss.

[uravisioninacone]

bucktommy fic recs - all completed (part two)

teach me how to dance with you by goodboybuck (prettyboybuckley) - 'buck explores the wonders of gay sex (slowly, with a really patient, sweet Tommy guiding the way and while having a lot of fun)'.

an outlier that should not be counted by dadvans - 'buck knows a lot of random trivia. tommy falls in love with him one fact at a time'.

prescribed burn by wakeupnew - 'tommy's busy fighting a wildfire at the edge of the angeles national forest, but every time he checks his phone, he has an increasingly unbelievable series of text messages'.

a night in september by brewrosemilk - buck tells tommy he's gonna marry him one day.

everything you say is a sweet revelation by sisypheandreamer - 'buck really likes tommy and has sex with him about it'.

in your eyes by lunardeath - buck finds out how old tommy actually is and gets kind of slutty about it. it's also really sweet.

i could be the one (or your new addiction) by milominderbinder - 'five times buck had to put a dollar in the mentioning tommy jar, and one time nobody was around to catch him'.

if you go down to hammond you'll never come back by trysetmeonfire - eddie and tommy talk about buck at the wedding.

some more bucktommy fics! sorry they're all quite short, i'm waiting on a whole bunch of longer ones to be completed before i read and recommend them :/

anyway, enjoy!!!

[kinardsevan]

the rhythm of your heartbeat

The first time it happens, Tommy wasn’t even supposed to be there. He’s coming off from a twenty-four-hour shift and Evan’s been sick for four days with the flu. Initially, they had avoided one another because of the illness. Still, Tommy had decided midway through his shift that he couldn’t go another day without seeing his boyfriend, which is how he found himself tiptoeing into Evan’s loft at eleven PM. 

The apartment is fairly dark, and mostly silent except for some ambient sound coming from the TV in the loft. He toes his shoes off at the door and then heads up the stairs, walking up them as quietly as possible. As he comes to the top of them, he can see Evan curled up facing towards the stairs, snoring softly. He drops his work duffel near the side which he’s claimed as his. 

He ducks into the ensuite bathroom and slips out of his clothes, dropping them into the hamper. They spend enough time between each other’s places at this point that all the laundry gets washed together. Granted, there have been a few items Evan conveniently fails to return, but Tommy’s not complaining. 

He slips back into the bedroom in just his briefs and stops at the dresser Evan recently invested in. The younger man has enough clothing and other accessories to take over his entire closet, and when sleepovers started becoming more common, he wanted Tommy to have space as well, leading to said purchase. 

The fresh laundry is still in the basket on top of it, and Tommy pushes a few things around before pulling out a clean t-shirt and sweats, both of which Evan has commandeered for himself in the last round of laundry. He slips into the clean clothes before walking back around the bed and sliding into it. Evan doesn’t stir, but still lets out a soft sigh, as though he’s aware of Tommy’s presence then. 

He’s midway through a news article on wildfires in Australia when it starts. At first, it’s just a few twitches, which leads him to card his fingers through Evan’s hair as he has on so many nights before. However, instead of that calming him down, it seems to only exacerbate the issue. Instead of settling, he starts to thrash in the blankets and begins clawing at his throat. 

“Evan,” he murmurs, setting his phone aside and sliding down on the bed as he shakes his shoulder. “It’s a nightmare, baby.” He pulls gently at Evan’s hands to keep him from hurting himself while his other hand remains in his hair, still trying to calm him. He’s babbling incoherently, but Tommy can hear the panic rising in his voice. Tommy shakes him again, this time a bit more firmly. Evan’s hand shoots up, but Tommy catches him by the wrist before he can hit him. “Evan.”

His eyes flutter open and he glances at Tommy, and then his wrist in Tommy’s grip. Tommy smiles solemnly at him, releasing his grip on his arm. 

“Hi,” he says softly as Evan reorients. “You’re okay. You’re awake now.” 

It takes a minute for Evan to collect himself, and then he’s curling himself into Tommy as a strangled cough escapes him. 

“Hey,” Tommy cooes, wrapping his arm underneath Evan. “It was a nightmare. It’s okay.” 

Evan shakes his head as he stays curled up in Tommy’s sizeable arms. 

“It was the lightning strike,” Evan murmurs, his voice shaking. 

Tommy shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. He’s certainly had his brushes with death, but never to the point where his heart has actually stopped beating. 

“I got you,” Tommy murmurs, pressing his lips into Evan’s hair. 

—

The second time it happens, it’s the one time of year when California gets hit with rain, and it’s been coming down in LA for well over a week. They’re both coming off a shift and Tommy has planned a weekend at home for them. He’s first to get off and their schedules haven’t lined up in days, so he pulls out all the stops. He orders in from the Italian restaurant they had their disastrous first date at, but has since become one of their favorite spots. He also has fresh flowers delivered, Evan’s favorite movie queued for after dinner, and if he’s really feeling energetic…the bathtub jacuzzi is freshly cleaned. 

But things do not start well. When Evan arrives, he’s on the razor’s edge of a panic attack, having had another lightning strike be the 118’s last call of the night. Plans get rearranged and instead of dinner and a movie with the option for a bath to end the night, the bath starts the evening…with Tommy outside of it. And it’s not like he cares that much; it matters more to him that Evan is okay than it does that they bathe together. 

After the bath, though, Evan is clearly spent both physically and mentally. Tommy decides to table their evening for the next night, and after tucking Evan in, he proceeds to clean up everything he had laid out for their date night. 

It’s as he’s coming out of the shower across from his room that he hears him. He’s crying in his sleep; no, actually, he’s damn near wailing. That same panicked tone has wrapped itself all the way around his throat and he’s kicking and clawing out of the blankets like the bed is trying to take him alive. 

Tommy storms across the hall in nothing more than a towel, water still dripping out of his hair, and practically yanks the blankets off of Evan as he stammers “Wake up, baby. Wake up, wake up, wake up.” 

Because this time it’s fucking terrifying. 

He’s shaking his shoulders with a vigor he’s previously only used on unconscious victims on a call, and he barely manages to catch Evan’s fist as it comes flying out towards him this time. Evan damn-near jackknifes in the bed as his eyes shoot open, his most recent panicked breath still caught in his throat. When his eyes finally meet Tommy’s, there are tears in them. 

“S-sorry,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to the bed. “N-nightmare.” 

Tommy shakes his head as he reaches up and wipes the tears from his own face before pulling Evan into him. They cling to each other as though letting go might end either one of them. 

“That was a night terror,” Tommy replies, his voice gravelly. He turns his head towards Evan’s, burying his face in his hair as he kisses his temple. Evan shifts his head a moment later, resting his cheek against Tommy’s shoulder as his breathing evens out. They sit in silence for a beat, Tommy rocking them gently back and forth

“So tired,” Evan murmurs after a few minutes, his voice laced with sleep. 

Tommy nods, kissing the back of his head. “I know, baby. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.” 

—

The third time it happens, they had passed out in Tommy’s bed after a movie date following two long shifts. Tommy is woken from a dead sleep from Evan jerking underneath him, trying to get away from whatever it is that’s scaring him. They’re spooned together, but Evan has already escalated from twitching to jerking by the time Tommy is awake enough to realize what’s going on. 

“I don’t want to,” Evan whines, and it’s the first time Tommy’s heard him say something intelligible in these night terrors. He rolls his boyfriend onto his back, still trying to shake the sleep from his own head as he tries to wake him. 

“Come on, baby,” he states, still weary. “Wake up.” 

“Don't go. I'm coming,” Evan whimpers. His hands shoot out and Tommy catches them, pushing them aside as he continues to shake Evan by his shoulders. Still, he’s not responding. And just like last time, he’s becoming more frantic by the second. 

“Please.” The sound of his voice makes Tommy feel like someone is physically breaking him into pieces the the sheer begging in his tone. His own throat is tight, watching the man he loves struggle like this and not even be conscious and capable of stopping it. 

“Damn it. Evan, wake up,” he growls, his throat burning with tears that are threatening to fall. Evan’s fist flies up, and this time, Tommy isn’t quick enough. The punch lands on his jaw, but the connection also wakes Evan, and when his eyes open, Tommy is looking down at him with his hand on his face where Evan has just struck. 

“Oh god,” Evan mutters. He’s only half-awake, and yet entirely aware of what’s just happened. “Tommy, I’m-…I’m s-so sorry.” He slides off the bed and backs himself towards the wall before sliding down against it, his eyes darting around the room. 

Tommy frowns, stroking his jaw a few more times before he stands and circles the bed to Evan’s side. He sits down on the floor next to him and slips his hands behind Evan, around his waist. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly, pulling the younger man into his lap. As he does, Evan curls into him, and for someone the same height as him and maybe 50 pounds lighter, Evan has never felt so small to him. 

Tommy slips his left hand between both of Evan’s, up towards his face until he has his jaw in his hands. He turns Evan’s face towards him, presses their foreheads together. 

“My jaw isn’t made of glass,” he murmurs as Evan rocks back and forth in his lap. Evan nods, but he won’t open his eyes, even as tears slip out of them. 

“Oh babe,” Tommy murmurs softly. 

For a while, they stay in that position. He doesn’t push Evan to talk, or ask unneeded questions. They sit in silence as Tommy lets Evan process. Still, when he can tell the tears have stopped, and Evan’s breathing has returned to normal, he has to ask. 

“What’s the nightmare about?” 

Evan rests his head on Tommy’s shoulder, traces his thumbs over the veins on the back of Tommy’s hand where he’s holding in between both of his own. 

“The lightning strike,” he replies. “But I’m at the top of the ladder, and I look down, and you’re standing there, telling me to come down. And when I try to, that’s when the lightning hits. I try to get to you, but I can’t move. And when I finally can again, you’re gone.” 

Tommy takes a deep breath, fully aware of why that would be so upsetting, even just from his side of the story. He’s thanked every diety under the sun since he day he realized he was falling in love with Evan Buckley that the man didn’t stay dead after that lightning strike because he can’t imagine a version of his life that doesn’t have Evan in it. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs softly, bumping his nose up against Evan’s forehead. The younger man lifts his head, catches Tommy’s eyes. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he tells him softly. “At this point, you’re stuck with me, come thunder or lightning, rain or shine.” 

Evan lets out an audible sigh and closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy. There are more tears threatening to fall, but he breathes through them as he pulls Tommy’s hand into his chest, placing it over his heart before wrapping both of his arms around it. Underneath his grip, Tommy can feel the thumping of Evan’s heartbeat, and its a feeling he’s grateful for. More than that, it’s a feeling he can’t imagine having ever previously lived without. 

[screamlet]

fic: what are your intentions? (COMPLETE)

pairings: buck/tommy, tommy/omc’s, canon background pairings rating: E, section word count: 26k total word count: 142k status: complete tags: tommy pov, canon divergence, character study, queer themes/culture, angst, hurt/comfort, internalized homophobia, found family- THE WORKS. with a happy ending because i wouldn’t do that to you.

Summary:

It’s Tommy and Buck—the family they find and the family they make.

Excerpt:

On Tommy's first day back at Harbor, his locker has a sign taped on the door that says 142 DAYS SINCE KINARD'S LAST HERO BULLSHIT. When Tommy gets through his first two weeks back, they have Maddie, Howie, and Jee-yun over for dinner. Evan bakes him a cake. "I think this is the first cake you've ever made me," Tommy marvels. "I can't believe I asked to marry you before I tasted your cake." "There's a child here," Evan hisses. "There's a Chimney here," Howie hisses, too.

[buddie-buddie]

let me go home (i'm just too far from where you are)

9.5k - T - established bucktommy

Tonight is going to be perfect.

The dinner, the wine, and then, when the moment’s right, he’ll ask Evan to move in. It isn’t the grand proposal Tommy’s saving for later on down the line, but it’s the first step. And it’s one he can hardly wait to take. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer. He’s washing the last of the dishes when he hears Evan’s car door closing in the driveway. Tommy wipes his hands on a towel, excitement bubbling in his chest as he heads to the front door, ready to greet his boyfriend. 

When he swings the door open, his words die in his throat. 

Evan stands on the porch in front of him, pale and hollowed out, his eyes distant and unfocused. His hands tremble where they hang at his sides, covered in blood. Blood stains streak across his t-shirt, every inch of him radiating exhaustion and something deeper, something raw. 

“Evan," Tommy breathes, his heart lurching. “Are you okay?”

Evan doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Concern washes over Tommy in waves. His mind races with possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last.

“Evan,” he tries again, more insistent this time.

read on ao3

[cosyvelvetorchid]

So here’s where we’re currently at with it, lol!

Sorry for the delay. Technically I did finish it but it wasn’t enough—it needed fleshing out more and more inner monologues.

Which basically means that the smut portion (honestly i feel like the most beautiful love scene I think I’ve ever written) has ended up at over 5k words!

Anyway, I just need to finish the end portion which will probably only be 2 or 3k more words so won’t take too long. It will definitely be up by this evening (Nov 3rd) UK time.

**********

Here’s another little sneak peak for you 🩶

———

• Listen, Tommy was an exceptionally humble man—never a braggart or particularly egotistical, but he’d been with enough men, experienced enough men, who put him on a pedestal that he could tell when they couldn’t quite believe that Tommy Kinard had kissed them.

Which, in all honesty, baffled Tommy. He was a 40 year old man, with a childhood full of trauma, a 10 year stint in the military that left him with some, at times, really fucking gnarly PTSD—both of which he was still unpacking in therapy; a house that, although he owned, was fixing up at a far slower rate than he had wanted, which continuously had it looking like a building site and not the most calming of spaces to come home to after a tough day work. He had a father he hadn’t spoken to for almost 10 years, a 1969 Plymouth Barracuda in his garage that he could never find the time to actually bring back to its former glory and a cat with an incontinence problem.

All in all, Tommy was not the man that so many others seemed to admire.

And yet.

Evan Buckley was looking at him as though Tommy had reached into his soul and rearranged the atoms that made up his whole self•

So I’ve done that thing again.

Was supposed to be writing a ficlet as part of @bucktommypositivityweek bingo (I’m behind as I was sick for 2 days) and I’ve ended up with over 6k words and I’m probably only just over the halfway mark.

Oops.

It’ll more than likely be up here and ao3 at some point today (Nov 2nd) as a big fat one shot.

Here’s a little sneak peek because I love you bloody weirdos in my phone and you deserve all the nice things 🩶

P.s it’s a Halloween themed alternate meet au (No corpses were harmed in the making of this story)

****

“Oh, uh, this is Tommy. I didn’t think you’d mind I brought someone? Figured as he’s former 118 it’d okay?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer and walked straight to the kitchen to get a beer.

“I’m trying to train Lucy to be more polite but it doesn’t seem to be working.” Tommy informed him .

“You should try tequila.” Buck advised

“Thanks for the tip.” Tommy smiled. “But really I hope it’s okay? I’m not crashing your party am I? Evan? That’s your actual name? Or is Buck?”

“Uh, Ev-Evan is fine.” He said having no idea why. “And no-no, you’re not crashing. Although, you’re not wearing a costume.” He furrowed his brows as he looked up and down Tommy’s body.

“I’m dressed as someone who just got off a 48 hour shift.” He said deadpan.

“Ah. Now you say that I can totally see it. Very original.” Buck remarked.

“I’m known for my originality.” Tommy replied with a smirk. Buck smiled and was it getting hot in his apartment? He should turn on the AC.

[alchemistc]

Taking care of Evan is a novelty, for Tommy.

It had taken them a few missteps, a few hesitant months of learning each other, to really fall into it the way they have now, so he doesn't take for granted the way Eddie pats him on the back and slinks out the door before Evan can go another round of conspiracy theory debate with him, doesn't take for granted the way Evan pouts his ass off all the way to the car knowing Tommy is going to take the doctors instructions not to sleep on a flat surface to heart, doesn't take for granted the way he lets Tommy shoulder his weight on his good side in and out of the elevator, or the sullen twist of his lip while Tommy plops him in his arm chair and heads upstairs to grab them both something to sleep in.

Evan's already got his laptop set up in his lap by the time Tommy makes it back downstairs. It's an argument in the making, Tommy knows it, and yet -

"Don't start," Evan says the moment Tommy tilts his head, like he knows exactly what Tommy's going to say, and Tommy shifts on his feet, lifts a hand up to sluice through his messy curls, and Evans eyes dip closed, a low hum rumbling in his throat.

"You should rest," he says, and Evan's eyes drift open, sliding up to meet Tommy's stubbornly.

"Billy Boils ruined date night, Tommy, and now I don't even get to sleep next to you."

"Will it make you feel better to know neither one of us is enjoying your mattress tonight?"

Evan's gaze darts towards the couch, and he can see it bubbling up - the protests that he's fine, that at least one of them should be comfortable, that it's not necessary - and then they fall away. It'd been a fucking gift, the first time Evan had just let himself be taken care of, and Tommy doesn't take for granted the way Evan's shoulders drift back down from his ears, the pink of his cheeks as he shoots Tommy a pleased look through his lashes.

Tommy tweaks an earlobe and one of Evan's hands drifts up from the keyboard to snag his fingers and squeeze, and Tommy aches, bone deep. No one has ever let him in like this. No one has ever accepted Tommy's desperate need to take care of someone quite like this before.

"Half an hour of Billy Boils and then it's time to sleep, Evan."

The hand around his squeezes, again, before the bratty little look returns to his face. "Yes dad," he snipes, and Tommy flicks a freed finger against his earlobe in retaliation this time.

All in all it's probably closer to an hour. He's in the bathroom, halfway out of his jeans before he decides he should get Evan a pillow now, before the day fully catches up to him, and Evan sneaks a few ass-grabs while he's trying to situate the thing comfortably. Halfway through a quick shower Evan presses through the bathroom door under the guise of brushing his teeth, but once he's rinsed the conditioner out of his hair he catches Evan's lingering gaze, toothbrush long forgotten in his hand, and Tommy has to shoo him out despite how tempting his little come-hither look is. Dried and dressed, he ends up taking three separate trips up the stairs, first for a pillow and blanket of his own, then again for the hoodie it takes a lot of gentle maneuvering to get Evan into, a third time for the bottle of ibuprofen he left up there on maybe the first trip.

By the time he's switching out ice packs and setting a glass of water down, Evan is fully immersed in his rabbit hole, and Tommy is exhausted.

He knows even as he's shutting the light behind him off and drifting to the sound of Evan's voice that it's a losing battle to try to pull Evan from his deep dive. It doesn't stop him from trying one last time before he's lost to the pull of sleep.

---

The thing is, no one's ever let him take care of them like this before.

He's dated the stubborn assholes who refuse because of some lethal combination of ego and masculinity, dated the guys who take one look at him and make some startlingly off base assumptions that somehow still crop up in the gay community as often as in hetero circles. He's always sort of assumed it was a failing on his part - the inability to communicate his desire to be of service, a terrible taste in men who do nothing to compliment his personality.

He'd held the door open for Evan, hand gentle on his back as he guided him into Micelli's, that first time, and he'd watched the pulse in Evan's neck skip and the shy way he'd ducked his head and nearly bumped into the hostess stand, and that alone had made it a hell of a lot harder to abandon Evan at the curb than he'd have liked.

He's never dated someone new, before, and maybe that's part of it too - he'd come out just in time to slam head first into a bunch of labels and roles, with no anchor points, no cadre of queer friends to help him navigate, and he'd run the gamut of shitty one night stands, casual hookups, semi-casual dating, one serious relationship that had made him seriously consider setting down his landing gear and grounding himself for good.

He'd been six months back into the dating game, after a long hard look in the mirror and a frankly terrible conversation with his father, when Evan Buckley stumbled his way into a drawn out handshake and a comedic series of events that had culminated in Tommy being tastefully mauled in the lobby of an emergency room while three nurses tittered behind their hands.

It hadn't taken him long at all to realize that it hadn't just been nerves that made Evan's heart rate jump, in the doorway of an Italian place on his first date with a man.

It was the little things, at first.

A grimace when Evan tilted his head against the back of the couch and Tommy's hand had curled around his neck and searched out knotted muscle - a bone deep sigh when his fingers pressed in and Evan was putty in his arms half-a-minute later.

Evan halfway down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, shoulders hunched in while he scrolled, and Tommy had muted the Kings game to ask him which records Gretzky had broken in LA like he couldn't list them off all in his own, drawing Evan out of his daze just enough to get him to stop hunching quite so much.

The first night he'd let Tommy take him apart, sink into the core of him and pepper the freckles littering his back with kisses, and after, in the soft quiet moments after Tommy'd rolled away to grab a washcloth and Evan had murmured his sleepy protest, he'd blinked open his eyes at the touch of the warm towel glancing across his skin and there'd been something there in his eyes that Tommy hadn't wanted to face head on in that moment - it was the surprise he'd latched on to, because if Evan thought he wasn't worth a little aftercare than Tommy could at least disabuse him of that notion.

On a long weekend they'd spent fucking on surfaces in Evan's loft neither of their knees were young enough for, Evan had hummed his gratitude for the breakfast Tommy dragged himself out of bed to make and then spent the next week avoiding making plans with Tommy until Tommy weaseled it out of him that he felt like he was taking too much, asking too much, accepting too many gestures without reciprocation.

Tommy'd spent their next 24 off together disabusing him of that notion, too.

Six months in the lesson seems to have finally stuck. Evan seeks it out, usually unconsciously - head tipped towards Tommy's mouth to accept the kiss to his birthmark he knows is coming, leaning into the warmth of Tommy's shoulder while they're standing in line together, wandering off to a table on the patio the moment they make it to their favorite coffee shop because Tommy had memorized his coffee order within the first two weeks of seeing each other, a bratty eyeroll and a hidden smile when Tommy slid a plate in front of him while reminding him that no matter how much research he did on killer bees, he'd still need sustenance to actually make it through another shift with Gerrard and said bees.

He'd spent a good month there in the middle giddy with the freedom of it, practically high off the feeling of finally, finally finding a place where his sometimes over-the-top fussing landed in all the right ways.

Evan tucks his half-drunk coffee into the vee of Tommy's legs when he excuses himself for the bathroom and Eddie glances up from his phone, the sight of his raised brow somewhat diminished by the noise he makes when he pulls the ring pop tucked around his thumb from his mouth.

"Please tell me you're not indulging this curse thing."

There's a rise of something in his chest he shoves back down, because he finds the whole Boils thing just as ridiculous as Eddie does, and Evan doesn't need defending, anyway. He sighs. Tries to convince himself he's just imagining the tense pull of Bobby's shoulders, just behind him. "Let him have his flights of fancy," Tommy says, and Eddie rolls his eyes, makes a sound that is suspiciously similar to a whip cracking, and settles back in with his phone and his ring pop.

Behind him, Bobby does nothing in particular, but if Tommy were reading into it, he'd say he slumps a bit.

Evan scoops his coffee back out of Tommy's lap with a grin just as Howie is returning from Denny's room. "How do you feel about a trip to Temecula?" he asks, and Tommy's known for a while now that he's in this for the long haul, but the lack of hesitation on his part before he agrees reminds him of just how fucking deep in he's let himself fall.

Eddie's next up to sign Denny's cast, but he makes sure to make eye contact when he mimes cracking a whip just out of Evan's line of sight.