#Tevan fic

[bybobbysbeard]

a WIP sequel to Mixing up the Metaphors

Tommy’s awake. Has been for a while.

He’s watched the soft gray light of pre-dawn slowly illuminate the floor to ceiling windows, lending detail to the sleeping face in front of him. Evan’s bundled up under the duvet, dead to the world. His socked feet are tangled with Tommy’s and one hand has escaped the covers to grasp loosely at Tommy’s shirt.

His face is gentle in repose, the stress and anger that had carved fault lines into his skin smoothed out with the bliss of sleep. His hair is an absolute riot of curls. That expressive mouth is lax and open as he breathes into the space between them. Tommy’s had this thought before, but the colour of that port-wine birthmark perfectly matches the pink of Evan’s pout.

It’s a tired cliché, but Evan looks so youthful like this. Young, lovely, and perfect. What the hell is he doing with a stray like Tommy? Too old to change, too scarred to trust, too feral to accept love freely offered.

He’s struck by that well-acquainted urge to run. To pack his things and get out before it hurts even worse. Before the wound is something he can’t come back from. Tommy’s been a soldier, a pilot, a firefighter. He’s familiar with the feeling of bleeding out. When Evan is done with him, it will kill him.

[screamlet]

8x15/16 interstitial

about 800 words of seriously nothing. i'm fascinated by those two weeks between 8x15 and 8x16, so there might be a few short things set here and there.

---

It's been two days since Bobby died. It's early afternoon and no one has needed Buck yet, so he's cleaning the kitchen and trying not to flip out about Tommy being gone.

Not that he's gone. He's outside talking to someone on the phone, and Buck is doing his best to make this old linoleum sparkle so he doesn't creep up to the door and try to eavesdrop. Still, it's Buck so he can't help but quietly catastrophize.

Tommy has spent every hour since the lab disaster with Buck, and he has his first shift back in the morning. He's probably talking to his captain, or that colonel, or someone about whether he actually can go to work, or whether he's only on ground duty, or whether he's suspended. Maybe he's one of the volunteers from around the LAFD who are taking shifts at the 118 until everyone is back on duty, and he's going to be grabbing his stuff from Harbor and using Buck's locker, and—and maybe he'll be out there, in danger, and Buck will be here waiting for the next thing, waiting for something.

Before Buck can come up with a new set of anxieties that make him feel like his lunch is coming back up, the front door opens and shuts. Tommy's steady footsteps are coming to find him, nothing different about them, the same footsteps he's been hearing around the house for days. Sometimes they're all Buck hears when he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling or the wall or out the bedroom window as a silent horror movie marathon plays in his head.

"Hey," Tommy says as he comes up behind him. He stands next to Buck at the sink and rests a hand on his back. "I was just on the phone with my captain and the chief."

"Oh wow, the chief, huh?" Buck looks down at his hands, thinking that was a little bitchy.

"He's very invested in my reckless insanity that keeps saving people's lives," Tommy replies. "Another spring, another—"

"Yeah," Buck interrupts. If he has to think about where they were a year ago, where all of them were a year ago, he might not make it through the conversation. "So what'd you guys talk about?" Buck clears his throat. "Your shift tomorrow?"

Tommy's hand rests heavier on Buck's back; force of habit, or need, or something, Buck leans into it.

"They said I was cleared to go back, regular duty, nothing on my record. No medal this time since they don't want the whole supervirus thing to get out," Tommy says. "But I told them I'm taking some bereavement leave. At least a week. More, if I need it."

Buck's head whips around, his eyes boring into Tommy's. "What?"

"Yeah, see, they knew I was at the 118. Hence the whole ride-or-die, if they need me I'll come running thing, but I'm taking the leave to support my partner." Tommy's eyes meet Buck's for a moment, then drop. "So I'll be here however long you need me. If you need me."

"Need you?" Buck asks. "Or want you?"

Tommy meets his eyes again. It's that same timid look from their beyond-stupid morning after; they've had other ones since then, better in some ways and (much) worse in others. "I'm okay being a workhorse, Evan. You don't—"

"I want you," Buck says. "In every way, Tommy. Every way."

Tommy nods, even brings himself to smile. Buck does, too; he can't help it. It's been two days of automated tasks and emptiness and pain and helplessness, but he's smiled, too. There have been flashes of happiness, like tiny sparks in this darkness because Tommy's here. Because Buck's not alone. Because Buck's here with Tommy.

Another tiny spark, like a flare shot into the night, as their eyes meet and Buck leans in for a kiss. It's so gentle, barely a press of their lips against each other, but it hurts, too. God, it physically hurts to kiss Tommy and feel—light. Feel relief, hope, even joy. It hurts to feel them, even as it's hurt to be without them.

Tommy opens his eyes, immediately searching Buck's face for something. "So that was okay?"

A smile fights its way onto his face. "As always," Buck says, "It's better than fake mouth static."

Tommy laughs, and Buck feels like he'd been holding his breath until this moment. Tommy should never go that long without laughing, ever again. "I really did myself a favor, setting a bar that low."

"Who said it was low?" Buck asks. "You don't see anyone else up here with us, do you?"

Tommy's eyes drop to Buck's lips and he kisses him again, gentle and light. "No. No, I guess not."

[diazsdimples]

hi! if you're still doing them from the make 'em swoon prompts: pulling them on their lap + bucktommy pleasee <3

Hey! I sure am! Enjoy!

Tommy was early. Tommy was early for their date and Buck was stressing.

They'd organised for Tommy to come over at 6pm, and Buck was going to stun him with his culinary prowess and cook them dinner, after they'd snacked on some of the chips and beer Buck had fished out of his pantry.

Buck had been prepping for dinner all afternoon, getting the chicken marinading nice and early and chopping the vegetables so all he'd have to do was throw them in the pan and sauté them while Tommy waited. He'd been so busy doing that that he'd completely lost track of time, and now it's 5:55pm, he's not put any of the snacks out and Tommy is fucking early.

"Hey," Buck greets Tommy as he pulls the door open, sounding extremely flustered.

"Hey yourself," Tommy says, slipping in through the door. He snakes an arm around Buck's waist and pulls him close, pressing a soft but sweet kiss to his lips. "How are you doing?"

"Better, now," Buck says, letting out a breathy sigh as he lets himself melt into Tommy's embrace. "You're early."

"Yeah," Tommy shrugs, a small, almost apologetic smile on his lips. "I got excited. Can I help with anything?"

"No, no, I got it. Go sit down," Buck says with a wave of his hand, directing Tommy to the couch he'd finally picked out a few weeks back. "Make yourself at home."

Tommy gives him a little salute before turning and walking off, and Buck lets himself admire his ass for a moment, biting his lip before he shakes his head and turns his attention back to the kitchen.

Buck flies around like a man on fire as he rushes to get the chips, dip, and beer onto the coffee table. Tommy watches him with a half amused smile playing across his lips as Buck trips over his feet and knocks over a cup. He's dimly aware of Tommy asking questions or making conversation as he hurries around, but he doesn't really reply, too focused on getting everything perfect and the way it should have been before Tommy arrived.

Buck has just placed down two bottles of beer on the coffee table and is about to rush off to grab napkins when Tommy stops him with an arm around his waist, and pulls Buck into his lap.

Buck sits down heavily, letting out a small squeak of surprise, and squirms to get out of Tommy's grasp.

"Hey, Evan, slow down a second," Tommy laughs good-naturedly as he rubs soothing circles into Buck's arm.

"But I-" Buck begins, gesturing helplessly towards the kitchen, where their dinner lays, waiting to be cooked. "I've gotta make dinner!"

"Dinner can wait," Tommy replies, tightening his grip around Buck's waist. He nuzzles at Buck's jaw, pressing a light kiss right the hinge. "Been wanting to hold you all day."

Buck lets out a breathy sigh, tilting his head slightly, and his eyes flutter closed.

"Really?" He murmurs, allowing himself to relax and cuddle further into Tommy's arms.

"Yeah," Tommy smiles, placing another kiss to the underside of Buck's jaw. He slides a hand up Buck's chest, cupping his cheek and pulling him closer until their lips are barely brushing. "Missed you, baby."

Buck's lips twitch up into a smile as his eyes slowly flicker open. He reaches a hand up to tangle in the hair at the nape of Tommy's neck, and pulls him in for a searing kiss.

The angle is a little awkward, with Buck having to lean down and twist his torso, but neither of them seem to care, both content to let themselves melt into the kiss. Tommy's hands roam along the planes of Buck's back, scratching with his blunt nails, and Buck's fingers shivers as the sensation sends zings of electricity down his spine and straight to his slowly-hardening cock.

When they pull away, they're both breathless, panting lightly into each other's mouths. Buck leans his forehead against Tommy's, letting his eyes drift shut and his breathing even out.

"I missed you, too," He murmurs, running his hand through the hairs at the back of Tommy's neck. "You sure you're not hungry right now?"

"Oh I'm hungry alright," Tommy replies, his voice deep and husky, and he reels Buck back in for another bruising kiss, their teeth clicking and lips moving in tandem as they each fight for dominance.

Yeah, Buck thinks they probably won't be eating for a while.

Make 'em swoon prompts!!

Tagging some Bucktommy friends (I think?)

@theotherbuckley @bidisasterevankinard @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @loveyouanyway

@wikiangela @jesuisici33 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @neverevan (lmk if Bucktommy isn't actually something you vibe with and I shall not tag)

[setmeatopthepyre]

several sentences sunday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard. thank you!

here's some more medieval au (also affectionately called 'skog's excuse to write homoerotic swordfighting') for a prompt fill (patching up a wound) that has... become a little longer than I'd initially planned. I am 2k words in and only just getting to the patching up part. it is extremely self indulgent. enjoy!

-

“Again,” Evan grunts, chest heaving, face pink with exertion. Sweat glistens on his forehead, darkens his curls, soaks into the padded fabric of his gambeson.

“Your control is waning,” Tommy points out and swipes at the sweat on his own brow.

The young knight thrusts his chin out mulishly. “It is not.”

It is. His parries have started to rely more on force than on technique, favoring more and more the power in those strong arms and wide shoulders and less and less the twist of his waist, the nimbleness of his feet. Falling back on brute strength may have worked for Evan in the past, but it is clear to Tommy that he is not used to being evenly matched in that regard.

Evan flexes his sword hand, shakes out his limbs, no doubt set on another bout of sparring, no matter what Tommy says. “I was taught that the most important lessons are learned tired,” he says, and Tommy is instantly transported back to the training grounds of his youth, of bruises born of the dull thwap of wooden sticks as he and Howie sparred over and over and over and over. Learn to fight tired, their master had said. When you fight tired, you are stripped down to the essentials. This is how you fight efficiently. Now go on. Again!

“I am sure whatever wise master imparted that wisdom on you, also taught you not to mix exhaustion with sharp steel outside of the battlefield.”

Evan scoffs. “Afraid, old man?”

“Only of having to clean your guts off my blade when you trip over your own feet.”

The way the young knight glowers makes Tommy think he is not used to being told no, that back home he need only to blink those bright eyes of his to have the pretty young maidens and the nobles alike stumble over themselves to cater to his every whim.

Tommy does not cater to spoiled lordlings. Not anymore.

“Again,” Evan repeats.

He will, however, indulge their desire to learn humility.

“Once more, then,” Tommy agrees.

-

no pressure tags for @queermccoy @emphasisonthehomo @trombonechurchill @sugarpenchant @ambernotember @apollabarnes @geddyqueer @beanarie @rcmclachlan @leashybebes @epiphainie

[bidisasterevankinard]

bucktommy + 4 for the kiss prompts, please!

-evnnkinard

hey! thank you<3333

When Tommy finally makes it home after a long hard shift  - wildfires seasons are the worst - he’s met not with warm smiles and hugs and the food on the table. No, he's met with a too dark and cold house, some take out bags in the fringe and his boyfriend nowhere to be seen.

Eating basically all the leftovers, Tommy takes a shower and goes to check their bedroom. He has his suspicion about the AC settings, all the lams off and the curtains closed.

The big mountain of blankets and pillows with his boyfriend's pretty face barely seen but even in almost complete darkness it’s easy to see he’s in pain.

Migraines attack Evan not much, but hard and he can’t take the heat and light.

Carefully, Tommy gets on the bed, hugging Evan slowly so as not to wake him, but he starts moving anyway, moaning in pain.

“Hey, baby,” Tommy whispers, “how are you feeling right now?”

“Hurts,” Evan cries so quietly Tommy needs to consecrate to hear. “Especially here,” he points to his birthmark.

Sadly smiling, Tommy kisses it slowly.

“Mm, kiss it better? I ‘ove it,” Evan yawns and in seconds he’s out.

[desert--moonchild]

No Harm In Reading A Book 📚

Rated: T

Chapters: 1/? (it was gonna be 3 parts but that doesn't vibe right anymore so we'll see)

The man across from them rolled his eyes before he realized that Buck was sitting there.  He leaned forward, his head tilted curiously to the side as his dark blue eyes captured Buck’s attention.  He was ruggedly handsome with a chiseled stubbled jaw and sun kissed skin from long days in the desert sun.  His hair was fluffy with a dusty sort of tint to the brown that reminded him of his old books.  Buck wanted to run his hands through the curls. “Who’s this?” The man asked with a smirk that seemed to make his deep blue eyes sparkle. “This is Bu—” “Evan!” He cut off Eddie.  “E-Evan Buckley.  It’s, uh, nice to meet you.” He said throwing his hand forward.  “Eddie said you were a friend of his?” The man seemed amused and took ahold of Buck’s hand.  “Something like that,” he said, his smirk softening into a real smile.  “Nice to meet you, Evan. Tommy Kinard, at your service.”

read chapter one on ao3

hey!!! look what i did!!!

finished chapter one of the mummy au i did-- thanks as always to my lovely @andforyouevan for consistently dealing with my "i think i'm gonna finish it tonight!!!" for like three months in a row, you're the best love!! 🤍🤍

some tags: @broadwayshelbay @tiltingheartand @cliophilyra @jacki-daytona @unhingedangstaddict

@ladyeyrewrites @rdng1230 @racerchix21 @bangpop91 @hyperfocusthusly

@thecarrott @bidisasterevankinard @tommykinard217 @weewookinard

@sunnywithachanceofbi @laundryandtaxesworld @ambernotember @actuallyitsellie

@bi-bi-buckleys @cinderellarhea @kinardsevan @xtarmanderx

i don't really have a tag list or anytthing so let me know if you wanna be added or removed!! 🤍🤍

[sluckleykinard]

Fuck it Friday. I was tagged by @weewoowings

Here's a teaser for my current WIP that's a bucktommy/tevan 5+1 cuddle sessions (hopefully I'll be able to finish and post it this weekend)

---

When he wakes up, Tommy has no idea of what time it is, but he does know it’s been a lot more than twenty minutes. He finds himself in full cuddling mode with Evan, who has his head now ducked down, fitting perfectly under Tommy’s chin, arms are relaxed, his hands resting on Tommy’s bicep, and he moves softly, curls ticking his nose a little bit when he does. Their legs are more tangled than before, and Tommy just feels so warm and comfortable, even though they all know this couch is anything but comfortable, he just wants to fight his urge to wake up and go back to sleeping, diving deeper into their cocoon. Despite the couch, he feels rested in a way he hasn’t felt in so long after a nap. He hears soft talking not too far from where they are laying, Hen and Chim, and probably Bobby, sitting by the table.

Tommy keeps his eyes closed, trying to will his sleep back in, even though he feels his stomach protesting in hunger. It’s no use, but being awake isn’t uncomfortable either. He allows himself this moment, even though he knows it can’t ever be more than what it is. Friends nap together, he tries to convince himself, remembering an episode of Friends with Ross and Joey doing basically the exact same thing. It’s completely platonic, he tells himself.

“Ow,” he moans when Evan moves his head, hitting his chin while he moves, body stretching as he comes back from dreamland.

“’Orry,” he mumbles, still very much sleepy and not full back yet. “I’m starving,” he adds a while later, not moving to change that situation, neither does Tommy, with his eyes still closed. “How much more ‘till lunch is ready?” Evan asks.

“I think it’s done already,” Tommy tells him. “We’re the late ones.”

“And no one woke us up?” Evan whines, causing Tommy to snort.

“I wanted to,” Chimney pipes in from where they are sitting. “Hen wouldn’t let me.”

“Not my fault you two looked so cute and cozy in your nap cocoon.” The woman tells them, and Tommy can see her shrugging nonchalantly, even though he has his eyes closed. He smiles softly, certain that he’d never have any of that at Harbor.

“I do feel cozy,” Evan agrees, moving even closer as if to prove his point, Tommy doesn’t protest because it is nice and cozy in here. “Can we eat like this? I don’t wanna move.”

-----

tagging @911onem but no pressure, and it goes for anyone who feels like doing it, honestly

[smuttybucktommyanon]

Evan groans as Tommy’s hands work over a knot on his back. Tommy pauses briefly, making sure it’s not actually hurting him, before continuing. He works methodically across his back, paying special attention to his shoulders and his right hip. He runs his hands back up to Evan’s neck, gently working the muscles there. Evan sighs as he works his thumbs into a knot at the base of the neck.

“Feels okay?” Tommy asks. Evan hums in response.

Tommy moves to the side a bit, starting to work on Evan’s left arm. He works his way from shoulder to elbow, digging out all the tension of the muscles, smoothing his hands back up to Evan’s shoulder and back down to his elbow. He pauses to put a little more of the massage oil on his hands before working on the lower part of Evan’s arm. He works his way slowly down to Evan’s wrist, careful of the delicate bones there, massaging his palm, then each of his fingers. Tommy briefly links their fingers together, then places Evan’s hand gently back down on the bed. He moves to the other side of the bed and repeats the same process on Evan’s right arm.

“Evan?” he asks softly when he’s done. There’s no response from his boyfriend, just a soft gentle breathing that tells him if he’s not already asleep, he’s about to be. He smiles to himself, glad Evan is finally relaxed. He kneels over Evan’s calves, working the muscles of his thighs, shuffling down the bed to work on his calves. He avoids Evan’s feet, but pays a little extra attention to muscle and scars on his once-injured leg. He drops a kiss to the tattoo by his knee, then gently rubs Evan’s shoulder to wake him up.

“Hmm?” Evan opens one eye blearily.

“Turn over?” Tommy asks.

His boyfriend does so, and pulls Tommy in towards him once he’s settled on his back. Tommy sinks down next to him, his head on Evan’s chest and one arm draped loosely across his waist. Evan tangles their fingers together at his waist and presses a kiss into Tommy’s hair.

“Feel better?” Tommy asks.

“So much better,” Evan murmurs, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Tommy promises, gently kissing his chest. “Go to sleep.”

Evan’s eyes close and he’s asleep in the space of his next breath. Tommy adjusts himself slightly, nudging his foot gently up against Evan’s leg and using his free hand to pull the sheet up over them.

[beanarie]

i should call this sentences sunday bc it might be part of a bigger thing but i am le tired. i'm tagging you in my heart, believe

~

Just over twenty four hours later, he brings Evan to the temporary home of the Grant-Nashes. Athena presses pause on nitpicking her children's sad, slow attempt to make lunch (despite the fridge that he knows is packed with enough food to keep the three of them going for a good two weeks) and eyes Tommy.

Evan shrugs and joins the kids, hugging May and squeezing Harry's shoulder before he pulls them into a quiet conversation.

"I'd like you to be a pallbearer," Athena says.

"Oh." Tommy doesn't ask, Are you sure? but it definitely shows in his face because she suddenly looks more determined than tired.

"We need a sixth. And you were there when we met, you know?"

"Was I?" he says. Then it comes to him. "The rooster?"

"The rooster. It was his first week at the 118." Her lips purse into a facsimile of a smile. "I confess, I didn't remember you." He doesn't take it personally. They'd barely interacted in those days. "But after-"

"Evan?"

She shakes her head slightly. "The cruise ship, actually. I asked where Hen and the other knuckleheads found a helicopter pilot willing to fly into a hurricane, and Bobby..." Her whole body goes rigid.

"Sergeant," he says softly.

She tilts her head in mock annoyance. "Call me Athena," she says, her voice husky with unshed tears. "He said, 'Oh, that was Tommy. He was one of mine.'"

One of mine. Jesus.

"You helped give us one extra year together. You helped keep my kids from having to mourn us both. Do this one last thing for him."

"Of course. Athena."

[alchemistc]

my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

Tommy blinks awake and immediately wishes he hadn't. This is his third time waking up, and apparently they listened to him when he asked them to slow down his morphine drip because everything hurts.

The busted leg he remembers - they'd kept him awake long enough to explain that they'd do everything they could to keep it but... Well. No buts, in the end, just titanium and enough pins to make sure he'll never get through TSA quickly ever again. Thank fuck most of his flying he does on his own.

Christ, if he has to get recertified...

Fractured ribs, a punctured lung, three broken fingers but thank god his arms had survived relatively intact.

The bruising on his face screams before the rest of it does, which is just - it's silly, actually, that somewhere in his head he's thinking about how awful he must look. Of course he looks fucking awful, he survived a helicopter crash. Why would he look great? He should look as bad as he feels.

On a scale from 1 to Fuck Off he's very firmly toeing the line into Go Screw Yourself.

The knock startles him.

The startle wrenches something in his neck area, and Tommy groans through the pain. Shit. Screw his dad just that little bit more for providing the perfect genetics for a proclivity for addiction.

Evan.

He's standing at the door, looking apologetic, head ducked a little like he does when he either wants something, or thinks he's done something wrong. Puppy eyes, he'd heard Hen call it once, while she mimed barfing, because Tommy thought it was adorable.

He still thinks it's adorable.

Fuck.

"Hey," he says, in his Hospital Voice. (Tommy is new to this voice, but he's growing more used to it, now: third time awake and it's the third time Evan's been there. In a chair at his side, flirting with a nurse while he wrote on Tommy's chart, now perched in the doorframe looking... a bit grungy if Tommy's being honest. Like he hasn't slept in days. Like those are the same clothes Tommy first saw him in.

Evan dances in the door and it's the first time he's noticed that one of his arms is tucked behind his back. "If that's a bouquet you should know I'm allergic," Tommy says, and doesn't hate the way his voice sounds quite as much as he has in recent memory. He's almost managed to get back the ironic lilt.

Evan's smile widens. "You're lying, and besides, you can't be allergic to every flower. Are you allergic to the corpse flower?" He pauses. Narrows his eyes like he's heading Tommy off at the pass. "You can't say the smell is as bad as the allergies would be."

"I feel like a corpse flower," Tommy intones, and he wonders - is that - is this what - they're just not gonna talk about it? What he'd said, in the air, with half the public servants of the city listening in? Or the fact that Evan hasn't left this hospital in two days? Or whatever he's still hiding behind his back?

Evan steps into the room. Rolls his shoulders with a shit-eating grin. Brandishes the item he's been hiding - a stuffed chicken. There's something sticking to the end of one leg, and Tommy squints to try to make it out. Looks like -

"Bobby got it for you! He said you'd know what the knife was for."

Tommy groans, tips his chin against his pillow, groans again because the pain is radiating throughout his body. Evan steps closer.

"I really wish you'd at least let them give you the muscle relaxants," Evan murmurs, closer, so much closer. Hand on the bed, fingers lifted like he's thinking about squeezing Tommy's thigh, and god - god, he wants that. But they can't just - they're in this whole mess because they talk around shit instead of about it.

Evan sets the chicken on the table next to the bed. His smile is loose and light, but his eyes are worried.

"I'm still pissed they put me on a morphine drip that first day, Evan, it's in my chart not to -." Evan bridges the gap, distracting Tommy thoroughly - fingers soft and light, careful, sliding across his thigh and dangerously close to the crease of his groin. Even if he weren't in a hospital bed he's in way too much pain to even think of getting it up but it's compelling. It's distracting. Tommy never wants him to move his hand.

"Hey," he says, and Tommy blinks. Frowns. Drinks in the sight of Evan's plaintive head tilt and tries to breathe. He hasn't really been this lucid, before. "I have one more thing for you."

Tommy raises a brow. Clenches his jaw. Tries not to freak the fuck out when Evan reaches for the pocket of his likely rank flannel and pulls out a suspiciously small box. No. No, absolutely not, has he learned nothing from Tommy's multiple attempts to get him to slow down.

Evan pops the lid.

Tommy feels the hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest and tries to push it down because laughing right now would jostle so many fucking things and he can't -

"So. Um. I know we - I know we still need to - to sit down and, like. Talk. About things," Evan says, while Tommy stares at the metal-on-velvet. "A-and this isn't me asking for anything. I'm just..." He presses a fist to his eyes, rubs, fingers opening to rub at the scruff on his jaw. "So. I have a spare room. And you won't be able to manage stairs for a minute, and - and I have, like, so much PTO, Tommy, an insane amount of it, and I just thought. While you get your bearings..." Tommy watches him, still quiet. "It really sucked being on my own dealing with a bum leg. And - maybe - maybe we take some time to talk. Crack open that champagne once your doctor clears it."

Tommy stares. Tommy contemplates. Tommy sucks in a deep breath and swallows hard.

"You want me to sleep in the spare room?"

One of Evan's hands is still on his thigh. The other is still palming a house key. His grin is wry. "I would like nothing less, but I thought I'd offer."

Tommy's hand has been creeping steadily towards the one on his leg for a minute now. He makes the final effort, curls fingers around Evans wrist. "Please tell me your mattress is off the floor."

"There's even a top sheet."

Tommy feels his lip quirking. It had been an almost-argument, a generational gap they couldn't bridge, something so small and silly it hadn't seemed worth the time to fight about it when there were better things they could be doing with the bed. He wishes they'd fought about it. He hopes they have a thousand fights ahead of them.

Tommy releases the hand circling Evans wrist, palms the key. Evan beams.

"It's not exactly traditional, but, uh - you have the one watch you refuse to take off for anything, and I wasn't gonna make you like, a paper crane, so..."

"Traditi - Evan, what?"

His smile goes a little coy. "I know there's like, a break in there, or whatever, but - uh - happy anniversary."

Tommy wants to cry. He wants to grin until his lips hurt as much as the rest of him. He wants -

"Come down here and kiss me, you lunatic," Tommy says, and Evan grins as he obliges.

[screamlet]

fic masterpost: acts of intimacy

as promised: everything from the acts of intimacy writing game is now on the ao3. they'll stay unlocked for one week and then i'll lock them to ao3 users only.

ao3 series homepage

---

SHORT FILLS (<1k)

reading a book together

"I'm fine," Evan sobs uncontrollably. Tommy nods, then gently pries the baby book out of Evan's hands. "You're getting the felt wet."

sharing a dessert 

"I couldn't decide," Bobby tells them, "So I made cannolis and tiramisu."

finding the other wearing their clothes

Buck stumbles into Tommy's station locker, clutching a t-shirt to his chest. "Oh. Uh. You're here."

holding hands

It was only when Tommy thought about reaching for a drink that he realized both his hands weren't his own.

---

FICS (1K+)

patching up a wound (2.3k)

Buck, Tommy, and two trips to urgent care.

this stillness (1.5k)

As thunder rumbles in the distance, Tommy glares out the kitchen window. That's not cool. Evan hears it, too, and looks up and around like it's coming for him. He can't blame him for thinking that, not in the slightest.

a sick day, as a treat (1.2k)

On a really good, horny day, Buck might be strong enough to haul Tommy off his living room floor and drop him on the couch. That's not one of those days, though: Buck is sick, Tommy is sick, and they might be better off dying together in each other's arms on the floor of the loft.

[rcmclachlan]

wind finding

buck/tommy

8x14/8x15 spec fic

I wrote this right before my first morning meeting, so if it's rushed and makes no sense, I'm well aware. Enjoy!

+

The very second Tommy went with helicopters, people came crawling out of the woodwork to offer their two cents on everything from industry politics (all dangled carrots and empty promises) to what constitutes a good operator (whoever's actually signing your paycheck at the time) to which jobs would bring in the most money (ditching helicopters entirely in favor of planes) to the best ways to manage stress (avoiding utility altogether).

But the one piece of advice Tommy has never forgotten came from one of his first operators in Afghanistan, who had a face like a mountain crag and every word that came out of his mouth had to first find its way around the wad of dip permanently attached to his bottom gums.

"Being able to find the wind is the only skill you need to nail down, or else you're gonna frag out faster'n you can say 'high as bat pussy'. The odds of being able to see the leaves on a fuckin' tree are less'n nothin' out here, never mind spottin' a fuckin' windsock, Kinard. The second you get in the air, you just listen to your bird; she'll tell you point blank where the wind is, so long as you've got your ears on."

Then Warrant Officer Harold hocked a loogie the size of a crow at the ground and stormed away, shouting, "PRIVATE KEATON, IF YOU DON'T STOP FONDLIN' THAT REFUEL PROBE I'M GONNA SHOVE IT IN YOUR DICK HOLE!"

Twenty years later, Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with the mouth of a glock pressed right above his brain stem, and the second he achieves optimal altitude, he finds the wind.

"You make it look so effortless, like it's just something your body does. Like breathing," Evan had said during their one and only legal flight together, like he wasn't furious that Tommy had woken him up at 3:30 in the morning on his day off to go for a joyride. Even as the sun peeked over the horizon to see if the coast was clear, it couldn't hope to match the sheer brightness of Evan's smile.

If being able to find the wind wasn't practically part of his autonomic nervous system at this point in his career, Tommy'd have no business being in the air at all.

"Remember," the guy with the gun, Remo, murmurs into the headset he'd forced Tommy to give him. "Top of the Aon. We're making the switch there."

"Nakatomi Tower would be better for this sort of thing," Tommy mutters.

Instead of being whipped with the gun, the speaker in his ear crackles with Remo's laughter. "I was more partial to the second film."

Tommy grips the cyclic a little tighter. "That's the worst thing you've admitted to so far."

It's not. Bombing multiple police stations was bad enough, but one of them was right next to a school. The last thing that came through the comms before Remo's buddies hacked it was the 118 being called to 309 Lucas Ave in Westlake North for fire containment and emergency medical assistance.

He glances at the dashboard. Tucked right above the radar is a little photo he'd printed out at his local CVS on a whim while he was getting a 'Happy 80th birthday, grandma!" card for Sal. It's barely anything: a portrait forced to inhabit a 4x4 square, so the quality is extra shitty. But the man in it is smiling brighter than a sunrise over the ocean, and Tommy's heart gives a pitiful thud just looking at it.

Melton would've shit a brick if he'd known about it. Despite what Hollywood would have the general populace believe, having pictures of loved ones on a pilot's dashboard can be a hell of a distraction. It goes against LAFD regs.

But having spent the last month reacquainting himself with Evan's smile and the wild hope that they could have a future together, it felt right to tack the photo up. He was professional enough that he wouldn't let it get in the way of the job.

He thinks of Evan watching him from the bed this morning, tangled up in sheets that smelled like the both of them. He thinks of the blurred, sleep-damp smile on Evan's face as Tommy hid the evidence of what they got up to the previous night.

"You're covering up a masterpiece," Evan had said, voice a little blurred with sleep. "That's some of my best work."

"Let me guess: if I connect all the hickeys, it's gonna turn into a dolphin or something?"

Evan had thrown back his head on the pillow and cackled, and Tommy had thought, We could build a life on this.

Except Evan is pulling tiny bodies out of the ruins of Gratts Elementary, Tommy's got a gun to his head, and Remo's little cell of opportunistic assholes are using the bombings across the city to distract from the 51% blockchain hack they pulled off two hours ago. Tommy doesn't understand crypto for the life of him, but what he got from Harbor's newest probie was something something a blockchain’s distributed ledger was changed and double spending was enabled. At the time, it seemed like a lot of bullshit that boiled down to "they now control the invisible internet money conveyor belt," but at least 200 people are dead, and according to Remo, there are still 70 bombs wired and ready to explode on his say-so.

Unless Tommy flies him and his weird, silent friend to the Aon, where someone's going to be waiting to whisk them away to all points nowhere. Tommy knows exactly how this is going to shake out: the second he lands the bird, Remo's going to bury a bullet in Tommy's brain before disappearing into the wind, leaving the world in shambles. But it won't be enough. Remo will get bored before long—the smart, psychotic ones always do—and then pop back up at some point to do even worse if he has the opportunity.

Ten years from now, they'll make a documentary series about all this. Evan will watch it, because he's contractually obligated to seek out things that will hurt him for some reason, and it'll probably be like cutting open a just-healed wound. He'll spiral until Maddie or one of the others forces him to stop. The series will be called something stupid, like Finding Remo.

That is, of course, if Remo has the opportunity.

Swallowing, throat clicking, Tommy glances at the photo on the dashboard. Evan beams at him from where he's posing like the dorkiest Greek god in the pantheon on top of a boulder somewhere on the Temescal Canyon Trail. That had been a good day. It seemed like the start of a lifetime of them.

He looks away and out the windshield where, up ahead, the Aon stands tall against the sky. But standing taller, and closer, is Library Tower.

Exhaling, Tommy keeps his eyes straight. "Listen, you can put the gun away. It's not the threat you think it is."

"No?" Remo presses the glock harder against the back of Tommy's head, and Tommy stifles a wince. "You think I won't shoot you?"

"Oh, I know you're gonna shoot me," Tommy says, almost cheerfully. He refuses to look any closer at that. "I just don't think you're gonna do it while we're hanging 900 feet above the city."

The pause that follows is probably only a second or two, but it feels like a decade. Finally, the press of metal disappears, and Tommy hears the safety clicking back on.

"You seem pretty calm about all this," Remo says, curiosity making his already light voice positively airy.

Tommy shrugs. "Last year I stole one of these to fly some friends into a category 5 hurricane, then landed it on a capsized cruise ship. This? Doesn't even break a 6.5 on my Crazy Shit-o-meter."

Remo laughs, and Tommy hears the tell tale rustling of the gun being holstered. Thankfully the rotors completely drown out the sound of his heart pounding, which would otherwise be audible from space.

"Let me just say that of all the pilots I could've kidnapped, you're by far the most entertaining."

"Thank you," Tommy says seriously.

Below them, the Walt Disney Concert Hall is lit up for the night's show. They'll be passing the BoA Financial Center, and from there it's only a couple of minutes until their destination.

"Hey, uh, since this does end with me getting shot," Tommy ventures, trying to keep a lid on the massive amounts of adrenaline that are being dumped into his bloodstream. He must be visibly vibrating. "Could I... could I make a call?"

Remo snorts. "Let me guess: 9-1-1?"

Okay, that's kind of funny. Tommy cracks a grin. "Not quite. I have someone... I have someone, and there's something important I need to say."

One of the drawbacks of a helicopter's cockpit is there's no rearview mirror, which would really come in handy right now. He has no idea what Remo's face is doing. He has no idea if he's looking at his silent companion and having some kind of wordless conversation, if Remo is the kind of guy who would grant the last wish of someone he's using.

Finally, after what feels like years, Remo says, "You get ten seconds. You'd better make them count."

He's done more with less. "That's fair. But I'm either going to need you to call it for me or let me hook into an open line."

The air inside the helicopter seems to squeeze inward. "An open line?"

"My... my boyfriend's LAFD." He bites down on the inside of his cheek as they pass the BoA Center on the left, and hopes against all hope that Remo isn't too much of a homophobe to deny the request.

But surprise, surprise. Remo only laughs and says, "How romantic. Urs, get him on an open line to his firefighter boyfriend. It's the least we can do after everything he's done to help us."

Tommy can't see what Urs is doing, but his headset crackles with the familiar static of a live comms line.

"Ten seconds," Remo reminds him. Below them, the roof of Library Tower seems both miles away and impossibly close.

It's all he needs.

"This is LAFD pilot Tom Kinard. Evan Buckley, if you're listening, look in the drawer to the right of the microwave. There's something in there for you." He quietly undoes his harness and kills the engine. "It's yours. It's always been yours."

Just as the AW139 is about to clear the roof of the tower, Tommy shoulders open the door and kicks off into the sky.

The wind is blowing southeast.

+

"N-No, no, no, hey, it's okay, don't fight it, you're okay—hey, I need some help in here! He's waking up! Tommy, they're going to take it out, just wait."

There's a tree trunk growing out of his throat, but trying to move it is impossible, and the effort takes everything out of him. So he gives up, gagging and drifting in and out, then decides to just climb the entire length of the tree to get a look at the view. From there, it's just a matter of finding the wind and floating away with it.

The next time he surfaces, there's something hard over his face, warm and humid, and when the clouds clear from his vision he's able to see two things: Evan's wide-eyed expression of relief, and a giant orange poster board in Lucy's familiar, blocky handwriting that says 2 DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

There's a 1 in front of the 2, but it's crossed out.

"Hey!" Evan breathes, and the mattress at Tommy's hip dips a little under his weight. "H-Hey, there you are. Morning! Well, not, uh, morning exactly—it's like 8 o'clock at night—but you're awake!"

"I am." It's muffled by the oxygen mask.

"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Evan leans in, blocking Tommy's view of anything else. He hasn't shaved in a bit, and the hair at his temples looks a little greasy. He's the most gorgeous thing Tommy's ever laid eyes on.

"No pain," Tommy rasps. "M'body's full'f cotton."

Evan smiles a little. "Yeah, they've got you on the good stuff. I can't tell you how many bones you've broken, because it seems like they're still finding them. The doctor did say he'd never seen a pneumothorax quite like yours before, though. He keeps bringing other doctors in to look at your scans. I think a couple of them cancelled their surgeries so they could watch yours yesterday. You're like a celebrity. You've got, like, four tubes in you sucking the excess air out."

For a second, Tommy has no idea what he's talking about. Pneumothorax? How'd he manage that? Lucy's gonna give him shit for the next year.

Then, like a breeze kicking up from the west, it all comes sweeping in. Something starts beeping a little erratically. "Did—did he... he didn't... did... R-Remo...?"

The words are slow and thick, like they have to climb over the broken branches the tree had left behind, but understanding lights up Evan's face almost immediately. He thinks Evan must be holding his hand, because there's pressure on his fingers that feels like it's coming from another room.

"He didn't," Evan says softly, but there's a sparkle of brutal satisfaction in his eyes that Tommy can't look away from. "The helicopter went down like a sack of bricks after you ditched it. It took out the coffee shop in the library. Before you ask: they close at 2:30, so no one had been in there for hours. No one was hurt. Except, well, what's his name."

Tommy closes his eyes and breathes in the canned, almost metallic stuff they're feeding him through the mask. It's so pure, it makes him a little dizzy.

"Good." His sinuses prickle hotly. "Good. That's..."

"Hey, hey, shhh," Evan coos, and Tommy opens his eyes just in time to see Evan press his mouth lushly to the curve of the oxygen mask. Despite whatever they're giving him, Tommy's lips ache with the need to feel that kiss.

"Evan," he whispers.

When he pulls back, Evan's got a wide, almost gleeful grin tugging the corners of his mouth to his ears. He looks like he's about to blow up a Gotham City school bus to try and draw out Batman. Instead, he lifts his left hand.

The lights in the room are low, so the ring on Evan's finger doesn't really glint as brightly as it should, but the light in Evan's eyes is almost blinding.

"Drawer to the right of the microwave, huh?" He laughs a little, like it's bubbling out of him, like he can't stop it. "How long had that been in there?"

It takes a moment for Tommy to pick through the cobwebs in his brain. "Mm... got it... after we did that flight over... hm... Channel Islands."

Evan stares at him, then his bubbly laughter morphs into maniacal cackling.

Tommy glances down at his hands to see if they gave him a button for the pain meds he's on. He's going to dilaudid himself into oblivion.

"That was four months into..." Evan uses their joined hands to wipe away the tears beading on his lashes. "When I asked you to move in, you ran away so fast you left a trail of dust behind you. But you bought an engagement ring four months into dating me?"

"In my defense," Tommy says, suddenly very jealous of Remo for dying a fiery death in the LA Library coffee shop. "I knew... you were it for me. You, on the other hand, had no idea... hm... what you wanted. Asking me... to move in wasn't—it wasn't about me."

Pursing his lips, Evan ducks his head and doesn't deny it, but when he tilts his chin up, the only thing on his face is bare, earnest truth. "I knew I wanted you, Tommy, any way I could have you. I didn't know what that looked like, and not knowing made me... I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to cling when I panic."

Tommy thinks back over the last month—how every time he showed up on Eddie's doorstep, Evan practically threw himself at Tommy, clutching at him like he was afraid Tommy might go back down the walkway and leave; how getting up to take a piss or grab a Gatorade meant leaving the bed, and the look on Evan's face every time was like watching a car crash—and squeezes Evan's hand. He thinks he does, at least.

"Do you... know what it looks like now?" It takes almost all his strength to get the words out. A wave of exhaustion rolls over him, and he pinwheels a little with it. Kicking his way back to the surface takes concentration.

Evan lifts his hand again. The ring fits his finger perfectly. "It looks like you, about to fall asleep."

Another wave bowls him over, and he fights to keep his eyes open. Lucy's stupid poster blurs like someone's upturned a can of Sprite over it.

"I'll be here when you wake up, and so will half the LAPD and a bunch of people from the FBI. You're the hero of the day," Evan murmurs, and Tommy grumbles a little. "But, hey, Tommy. Before you—how did you know? How'd you know I was it for you?"

Even as he's being pulled down into the dark, he looks up, and he sees the surface roiling, dancing with the light of an old sunrise that couldn't hold a candle to the phenomenon of Evan Buckley's smile.

"Found th' wind," Tommy mumbles, drifting down, down, down. "'s easy. Like breathing."

[setmeatopthepyre]

several sentence sunmonday / mystery monday

tagged by the effervescent @rcmclachlan, thank you friend! here's a little snippet of pothos | pathos

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6

-

Eddie swallows. “I can’t be away from my kid, Tommy.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Even if I don’t-- I don’t even know if he wants me there." It's a hard thing to say out loud. "And it means leaving everyone, my friends, my life here, behind. It’s… I just, it’s not my life if he’s not in it.” He glances over at his friend, sitting on a chair across from him, leaning in with a concerned look. “Sorry, it’s not like you, or Buck, or the 118 don’t mean anything to me, but…”

Tommy hums. “Storge.”

Eddie frowns, glances up. “What?”

Tommy gives a half-shrug as he straightens. “The ancient Greeks had different words for different types of love. There’s philia, the love between friends, but what you’re describing is storge, the natural love a parent feels for their child. It's something different. You can’t compare them.”

“Huh. Did you get that from Buck? That sounds like a Buck fact.”

Tommy huffs a laugh, tilts his head. “Probably.”

“Alright, smart guy. Educate me,” he says, grateful for the distraction. “Are there any other kinds?”

“Sure,” Tommy says, looking up in thought for a second or two. “Eros, of course--" Eddie drily echoes his of course, Tommy ignores him, "--That's the intimate kind, desire. The love for the beauty within a person." Then, as an afterthought, "Also the name of a god.”

“A god of love, huh?”

“One of them.”

“Sounds nice.”

“If it's requited, sure.” Tommy says, and Eddie glances over at him. He's staring down at the bottle between his palms.

“Any other kinds?” Eddie prompts, hoping to nudge him out of his mind a little.

“A few. Philautia, self-love.”

“Like…?” Eddie makes a jerk-off gesture, trying to keep a straight face, which pays off when Tommy laughs.

“Sure," he says. "I guess that would count.”

-

tag list for those who requested tags for this fic under the cut ↓

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly @nochance-noway @manifestingchaoticvibes @hyperfocusthusly @frogsinflannel @beanarie @rcmclachlan @sad-girl-hours23 @ambernotember @apartmentsmoke @bidisasterevankinard @agentpeggycartering @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @daughterofscotland @chococara25 @jujuberry136 @alejaan91 @ferrigno

let me know if you wanna be added or removed!

[bidisasterevankinard]

Little present for @station18908 <333

Buck can see the gears turning in Tommy’s mind and, before the man can even say anything, he puts his finger on his incredibly big chest hidden by the blue of his flying suit and looks him dead in the eyes.

“You’re n-not doing it.”

“I hadn’t said anything,” Tommy holds his hands in surrender.

“You didn’t need to! You h-have this special look ‘I’m going to self-sacrifice myself for fun or to save others. I don’t know myself’!” 

Tommy, 118, Athena and FBI agents stare at him like he’s crazy.

“What? That man,” Buck points to Tommy, “wants to pilot the helicopter full of radioactive bombs and you look at me as if I’m crazy?”  

Buck loves how Tommy blushes and it actually just confirms his words.

“Evan, that is our only chance.”

Buck shakes his head, hiding his tears.

“No, no, no,”  he pushes his finger in Tommy’s chest again, harder this time, “You can w-walk away on me. As much as you wish,” Buck feels the anger and he knows he’s close to roaring, “but don’t you dare die on our kid. I always was left behind, I won’t let you be a deadbeat father on them. If I needed to, I’d make you love them. Drag you with my hands to every important event, make you learn to braid and cook homemade purees,” Buck knows his finger left the bruise on Tommy’s tit. He doesn’t care. “Now, you shut up and make yourself invisible and let Army and FBI do their fucking job.”

Tommy blinks on him for a long moment and the pregnant pause feels really much not in place of a possible radioactive explosion.

“Copy that. Not self-sacrificing for me ever again,” Tommy nods, and stays closer to him, intertwining their fingers.

Buck nods to him.

They will talk later about all of it. 

[maikelfist]

Can we please talk about the first time Tommy lifts Buck?

Tommy and Buck find themselves pressed against the door of the loft, Buck's back hitting the wood. They barely managed to get through it because the idea of not kissing is unbearable. Their tongues are tangled together in a heated kiss, and Buck begins to slide down, losing his footing as he melts into Tommy's embrace. He revels in the sensation of having to lift his chin to meet Tommy's lips, is addicted to the way Tommy settles comfortably in the V of his legs, as if he owns the space.

Buck is more than happy with their position, but Tommy seems to have other ideas. With a growl, he squeezes the back of Buck's thighs and heaves him up, dormant instinct making Buck wrap his legs around Tommy’s waist, his arms tightening around ridiculously broad shoulders.

God, the sound Buck makes. He’s had orgasms that were less loud than the noise of pleasured shock he just moaned into Tommy's mouth. Tommy is looking up at him now, and it's almost funny how familiar that sensation is in a position that is otherwise so very much not. Buck can't even imagine how red his cheeks must be with how lightheaded he feels.

Tommy pauses, a hint of fond amusement in his eyes at Buck's wide-eyed expression. “That okay?” he asks gently. Another thing that Buck likes so so so much about Tommy, how he always checks in with him.

The warmth that swells in Buck’s chest helps him gather his thoughts amidst the euphoric rush, enough to stammer, “I-I think I just—felt the creation of a new pleasure hormone in my brain.”

The laughter bubbling out of Tommy sounds like it was startled out of him. “Yeah? What're you gonna call it?”

Buck can’t help but mirror the joy on Tommy’s face, squeezing him tighter with both arms and legs just to feel that this is actually happening. That Tommy can carry him. “You really expect me to think right now?” he breathes.

A grin curls Tommy’s lips, and there’s a cockiness in there that is so very well deserved. “No. No, I don’t.”

Tommy's mouth finds his again, and Buck happily allows Tommy to do the thinking and heavy lifting for him.

—

“...Tommytocin. Kinartonine. Tommamine?” Buck mutters to himself later in bed.

Tommy, half asleep, squints at him and asks, “What are you mumbling?”

Buck, still lost in his thoughts, responds, “I’m coming up with a name for that new hormone.”

It takes Tommy a moment to grasp what Buck means, but then he huffs in amusement. “Shouldn’t you be naming it after yourself?”

Buck looks at him, his brows furrowed as he states the obvious. “No? I’m gonna call it after the person who caused it.”

Tommy shakes his head, the same fondness that tugs at his smile making him pull Buck closer and kiss his birthmark.

With that warmth between them, Buck's mind drifts back to his thoughts.

[no-goodbyes-no-regrets]

Here's a little "nobody knows we're back together" ficlet that I definitely didn't write while avoiding the prompts in my inbox.😅🙊

---

"Buck! Where are you? I've been banging on your door for the last fifteen minutes, your neighbours are going to call the cops on me soon." Chim said when Buck finally answered his phone.

"Chim? What's going on?" He asked, still half asleep.

Two minutes ago he'd been warm and comfortable, asleep in Tommy's arms, planning on enjoying the fact neither of them had anywhere to be for the next three days, and now his brother in law was yelling at him over the phone.

"What's going on is that I'm outside your door and I need you to open up before I get arrested for disrupting the peace."

"That's not a thing." Buck mumbled as he reluctantly untangled himself from Tommy's grip and looked around for something to wear.

He put the call on speaker as he pulled a hoodie over his head and was vaguely aware of Chim telling him it was most definitely a thing while putting on a pair of sweats that may or may not be his.

"Where are you going? Come back to bed." Tommy mumbled, reaching out for him. His hair was a mess and there were pillow creases in his cheek, but Buck thought he'd never looked better.

"Someone's at the door. I'll be right back." he leaned down for a kiss and only just managed to resist the urge of letting his boyfriend pull him back into bed with him.

"Hurry back."

"Yeah, I'll get rid of him and then I'm all yours."

"I can hear you, you know." Chim's voice came through the phone. "And will you just open the damn door already?"

"I'm coming, relax." Buck mumbled and dropped a kiss in Tommy's hair before making his way down the stairs. He hoped whatever Chim's problem was, would be an easy fix and he'd be back in Tommy's arms soon.

They'd been back together for a few weeks now, after Buck had finally decided to call Tommy, and then show up on his doorstep when he hadn't answered.

They'd yelled and cried until they'd both been exhausted and collapsed into bed together for the best night's sleep either of them had had since the break up.

The next morning they'd decided to keep things to themselves for a while, to actually enjoy dating and getting to know each other without friends and family getting involved.

As far as he knew nobody suspected anything, though that could be changing soon.

Buck rubbed the sleep from his eyes and opened the door.

"Finally! Your neighbour from down the hall is this close to calling the cops on me." Chim held up his thumb and pointer finger, barely an inch apart, as he walked into the loft, followed by Jee-yun who was holding onto his other hand, looking unsure of what was going on.

"What? Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"No I suppose not." Buck mumbled, closing the door behind Chim. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? I'm here to drop off your niece, who you agreed to watch today while both me and Maddie picked up extra shifts."

"Wait, what? When did I agree to that? Why are you working an extra shift?"

"I don't know, the second child that's on its way maybe? Or the family trip to Korea we've got planned for next year? That I told you about. More than once."

"I... Uh... Yeah... Ok... Right."

And whoever you've got up there can either leave or get down here and deal with you watching your niece." Chim said, raising his voice slightly and yelling up the stairs." I heard you talking to someone so don't try the there's no-one there thing."

Buck sighed.

There was no way Chim was going to let this go. And if he was, Jee would tell him or Maddie by the time they came to pick her up.

"Babe, are you awake? Just put some clothes on and get down here a minute."

"Babe? You call your hook up babe?" Chim asked but Buck ignored him.

They heard the bed creak and there was some shuffling upstairs.

"I think I've got your sweats, just grab mine." Buck called out and did his best to ignore the looks Chim was giving him.

"You've got a guy up there? Well good for you, getting back out there after Tommy. You're not getting out of babysitting though."

Buck gave him a slight shrug and just kept watching the top of the stairs.

He could tell the exact moment Tommy came into view and Chim recognised him without even watching either of them.

Tommy slowly walked down the stairs, still half asleep, and wearing Buck's clothes. He gave Chim a half wave as he shuffled past him and over to Buck.

"Morning." he pressed a dry kiss to Buck's lips and then turned to face Chim. "Morning Howie. I hope you'll forgive me for not giving you a good morning kiss, I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

"But you will kiss me before brushing your teeth?" Buck teased and Tommy tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

"I think we both know I've done a lot more than that without brushing my teeth and you didn't seem to mind."

Buck laughed a little but decided not to argue with him.

"When did this happen? When did you get back together? Are you back together?"

"We are." Tommy confirmed, slipping an arm around Buck's waist and sleepily resting his head on his shoulder.

"We got back together a few weeks ago but we wanted to keep it quiet for now." Buck explained. "But I guess everyone will know within the hour now."

Chim looked at them, trying to process the information, until suddenly the loud music from one of Jee's favourite shows started blaring through the loft.

Buck kind of regretted teaching her how to work his TV.

"I... You... But..." Chim stammered then focused on Tommy. "Wait... When you blew me off last week when I wanted to take you out to karaoke..."

"I had plans with Evan."

"I can't believe it." he mumbled and turned to Buck. "But you're still baking."

"We bake together. And some of the stuff I've brought in the past few weeks was store bought." Buck explained. "We just wanted to enjoy being together without everyone else getting involved. I'm just... tired of everyone telling me what to do or what I feel. I want to be with him, I love him."

Tommy lifted his head and smiled.

"I love you too." he said and the two of them shared a kiss.

"I... am happy for you guys." Chim settled on. "and you're going to tell me exactly how and when this happened." he gestured to the two of them. "But I'm running late for my shift and we need the money so..." he trailed off and quickly walked over to Jee. "Sweetheart, daddy has to go to work now, ok? You be good for your uncle Buck and uncle Tommy."

Jee nodded, barely paying attention to her father, eyes fixed on the TV screen. Chim kissed the top of her head and turned back to Buck and Tommy.

"Maddie will pick her up after her shift. She'll text you when she's on her way." he told them, making his way to the door. "You owe me a drink and a night of karaoke, Kinard."

"Sure. Text me. We'll pick a date."

"Sure. If you think you can fit me in between work and making out with my brother in law." Chim joked. "Ok I have to go. Have a good day guys, and please don't traumatise my daughter." he laughed and walked out the door, only to come back in right away. "Don't think this means you can elope when you get married. I need to see you all dressed up and standing up in front of everyone. Just so I can remind you I got you together." he paused and looked at Tommy. "Just don't give him a clipboard."