#but it’s about Tommy it’s always about Tommy being too much like Eddie or not enough like Eddie or just Not Eddie

[bucksboobs]

.

[robinminustherichard]

Fuck(ing) it Friday 😈

Rating: E | Bucktommy

The thing that convinces Buck to stay in LA is Tommy.

Or, to be honest, Tommy's cock. Buck just doesn't know that yet.

After Chim's big speech, nothing actually changed except for Buck being expected to move out with barely two weeks notice; lest he wanted Christopher to be homeless. So of course Buck leaves. He gets a temperature controlled storage unit that can't actually afford to waste money on, and he starts apartment hunting.

The realtor is nice and does want to help him, she tells him that her dad was a firefighter too, but he just can't seem to find anything he likes in anything she shows him. Too new, too shiny, too cold. So he tells her that he needs some time to think about it and starts looking at new cities instead.

He has his sights set on San Diego and he doesn't really know how to tell anyone, so he figures he can go practice by telling Tommy.

Except, that was an hour and two rounds ago, and Buck is now blinking sweat out of his eyes while he rides Tommy into the stupidly plush California king mattress that Buck could never admit to loving more than anything he's ever slept on.

"Fuck, Evan, please," Tommy bites out, not even a sentence. Buck has been moving torturously slow, feeling the burn in his thighs as he moves up, holds, down, holds, grinds, and does it all again.

Tommy probably doesn't deserve it, but Buck feels something harsh and powerful rise up in him when he sees how he's got Tommy begging for Buck's body--feels something click into place when he realizes that for the first time in weeks he's in control here, totally and absolutely.

Buck bites at his lip hard, closes his eyes and lets his head hang back for a moment. He sits up, Tommy's cock just barely popping through his rim. His eyes open when he hears the groan Tommy lets out, quickly followed by a hiss when he realizes that Buck isn't moving.

"Evan," Tommy says, trying sweet. It gets him nowhere, Buck just tilting his head and looking down at him. Tommy huffs, narrows his eyes and tries again.

"Evan, move." It's forceful this time, and it's closer to what Buck wants, but it just isn't enough. He holds his position and when Tommy moves to shoot a hand up and grab Buck's hips, Buck's hands grab at his wrists and pin them to the bed.

Tommy thrashes, and Buck knows the grin that takes over his mouth isn't exactly a nice one. He knows that Tommy can overpower him, that he's got a stronger core and a better eye for grappling, but he also knows that he can't fully get out from under Buck's hold without risking hurting himself or Buck.

"Evan, fucking move or I'll--"

"You'll what, Daddy?" Buck says, forcing his tone to go bored and unaffected. His thighs are starting to shake, but he's going to hold this until he goads Tommy into what he wants.

This was always the problem with you two, a voice in Buck's head says, never just saying what you want.

Buck's too far gone, too deep into feeling like he has a say in what happens to him right now, he feels drunk on it. Buck presses Tommy's wrists tighter and watches his eyes flare open wider.

"That's how this is going to be?" Tommy says lowly, dangerous in a way that excites Buck.

Nothing like feeling afraid of Eddie in kitchen that was only his for a month and a half.

Buck makes deliberate eye contact with Tommy, stares him down and slowly loosens his grip, trailing his fingers down Tommy's arms, skating his blunt nails down Tommy's chest, catching on his nipples. Tommy never looks away, and he doesn't move his arms from where they still lay where Buck pinned them.

"That's how this is going to be." Buck says, clearly and without hesitation, feeling like his whole body is shaking now.

"God, you--" Tommy says, cutting himself off with a harsh breath out. For a moment Buck thinks that he's read this wrong, that he's finally asked for too much, that he's gone and fucked up the last thing that could have made him feel okay, even for one afternoon.

And then he's flipped so fast that he doesn't even realize it's happening until his back hits the mattress. His breath rushes out of him, and he thinks he tries to say something, but any words he could have gotten out are stolen when Tommy grips his thighs harshly and yanks them up over Tommy's, cock sliding in with no resistance.

Buck lets out a long whine, keening and involuntary, and it takes him a moment to realize that Tommy is fucking into him with short and pounding thrusts that jumble Buck's brain and slam against his prostate repeatedly.

"Fucking hell, you come here and tell me you're fucking leaving and then this is how you act? By being a fucking brat?"

Despite how mean the words should be, Buck feels them settle over him like a blanket, like a lap bar on a roller-coaster keeping him in his seat, like the only thing that's tethering him to his body right now.

Buck thinks his mouth is trying to say something but only moans fall out of it, going breathy every time Tommy buries himself to the hilt. He feels wild with it, like he's just crash landed back into his ribcage and is ricocheting around in it.

"God damn you make me fucking crazy," Tommy is telling him before he's grabbed by the back of the next and hauled into a kiss that barely qualifies as one, Buck unable to get his lips to do anything but form a perfect 'O' around the sounds Tommy is forcing out of him, "you can't just leave, Evan, how are you gonna get fucked this well somewhere else, huh? How are you gonna get this needy fucking hole filled hours away from me? Didn't even let me put a condom on and you think you can just leave after this?"

Buck's orgasm hits him like a freight train, ripping a near-scream out of his throat, Tommy never stopping through it all. Buck thinks he whites out a bit, thinks he might be somewhere else for a moment before Tommy's biting down more gently than he deserves where Buck's shoulder meets his neck and letting out a vibrating moan that Buck feels in the walls of his heart.

Buck's floating for a long time after that, or maybe it was a few seconds, he's not sure. He feels good, so good in a way that he hasn't in months. Nothing bad can touch him there, only Tommy's hands, softer than before; gently easing Buck's legs off of his hips, rubbing down Buck's bad leg, reaching up to card through his too-long hair.

"--Evan?" Tommy's voice breaks through and Buck realizes he's probably been trying to get his attention for a while.

"I, uh, sorry," is all Buck can say, looking up at Tommy and swallowing thickly. His throat feels raw and his eyes burn.

"Yeah, that's what you've been saying. Why are you sorry, Evan?" Tommy's face is concerned, his eyebrows drawn together and mouth twisted.

"I said I'm sorry already?" Buck asks, trying to remember but coming up short.

"That's all you've been saying for about five minutes."

"Oh, so--"

"Don't say you're sorry. Tell me what's wrong."

Buck looks away from him then, feeling raw. He blinks a few times and feels mortification settle in for a moment when he realizes that he's been crying.

"I don't-don't--" Buck says, trying to come up with anything that will salvage this one last moment with Tommy, "I don't know. Nothing. Everything."

Tommy's hand comes up to cup Buck's jaw and turn his head, and Buck doesn't fight it even when it brings his eyes right back to Tommy's.

"I'm sorry, Evan. I shouldn't have asked you questions like that when you're coming out of a drop. I'm going to hold you now, and then I'm going to feed you, and then we can talk, and I won't be mad no matter what you tell me."

Buck waits for a flare of annoyance to bubble up in him just like it has towards everyone else who has tried to handle him lately, but it never comes. It's so different, it's to him and not about him, it's reassurance instead of patronization.

"O-okay," Buck manages, wobbly but there all the same.

Tommy makes good on his promise, he reaches into his night stand for supplies and wipes them both down gently and efficiently; then gathers Buck up in his arms and holds him with an arm across Buck's chest and leg between his knees. Buck feels panic flare and die in his throat almost simultaneously, and he lets himself have this for a moment.

[hyruling]

“So you’re… not in love with me?”

“Right, I-I’m not — yeah. Not in love with you.”

“Okay…”

“What’s, uh — how do you feel about that?”

“How do I — honestly, Buck, not great.”

“Yeah you look… I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting you to. Look like that.”

“And how am I supposed to look when my best friend anti-confesses his feelings for me?”

“Is that. I don’t think that’s a word.”

“Jesus, Buck.”

“I don’t know, I mean — d-do you want me to be?”

“…yeah, maybe?”

“Maybe? What does that — you can’t say maybe, you can’t — you can’t say that to me.”

“Why? If you’re not in love with me, why does it matter?”

“Because, I — I mean fuck, why do I have to be in love with you, huh? Because since I broke up with Tommy, everyone just assumes I must be, a-and that’s — it’s — I don’t know.”

“I’m not saying you have to be, but — fuck, never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

“No, it’s — not gonna come out right, just forget it.”

“I don’t care, tell me.”

“Buck—”

“It’s me, come on. I just confided in you.”

“‘Confided’? You blurted it out of nowhere the second we walked through the door.”

“Well you didn’t see the way Maddie was looking at us tonight.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Stop deflecting and tell me.”

“You’re going to think I’m terrible.”

“Eddie, come on. I won’t. I could never think that.”

“Okay. Fine, I just — I don’t even know how to — you’re so good, Buck. And I’ve seen the way you are with people you’re in love with, and I guess I’m just — it’s selfish. But I want you like — like that. With me.”

“Like — what?”

“Like… remembering to get more milk when we run out and I forgot, or putting Chris’ PT appointments and robotics meetings on the calendar. Or getting me that iced latte I never order for myself, just because. Little things, you know, just. Having my back.”

“I — Eddie, I’ve always done those things.”

“I know. And it’s stupid, because you’ve never given me reason to think you’d stop doing any of those things, but if you — when you do fall in love again, you’ll be split between us and whoever you’re with, and I just want — fuck.”

“You want…?”

“I think — I want you all to myself.”

“…”

“Told you it was fucked up.”

“No, Eddie, that’s not — that’s not it, I, um.”

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging now.”

“I think — I mean I know. That I want that too.”

“You want me all to yourself?”

“No — I mean, yes, but. I want to, uh. I want to be — yours.”

“…”

“…”

“And you’re sure you’re not in love with me?”

“I’m, I — Eddie, I can’t. I can’t, unless—”

“Unless? Unless what? Unless I love you back?”

“Eddie—”

“Because I do. I do, Buck.”

“You don’t mean that, I — why are you laughing?”

“Because — Dios. I think we might be stupid.”

“We? I’m being very mature about this.”

“Sure you are, baby.”

“…”

“…too much?”

“No, I — say it again.”

“Which part bud?”

“Don’t be a — stop laughing, you know which part.”

“‘Course I do, sweetheart.”

“God, Eddie—”

“Any others I should try? See if they feel right?”

“No, shut up — stop making fun of me.”

“You’re just so red, it’s cute.”

“They, uh. They do, though. Feel right.”

“Yeah. Feels right on my end too.”

“…”

“Should we… should we see how this feels too?”

“I’ve got a pretty good feeling about it.”

[quintessenceofdust88]

(idk what this is yall. It just came to me and I had to write it. Not particularly Eddie Diaz friendly, but he's not even here, so)

It's a Tuesday night and Tommy can't sleep.

For once, it's not because he misses Evan. No, this time Evan is where he belongs, right in his arms. He is sleeping soundly, more relaxed in slumber than Tommy has seen him awake for weeks now.

That's, partly, what's taking Tommy's sleep away, if he's honest with himself.

Doing his best not to wake Evan up, Tommy untangles himself from his boyfriend (God, it feels so right to be calling Evan that again in his mind), grabs his phone and slips away to his porch, the cool air of the night a welcome sensation.

He stares at his phone. It's 12AM, but he knows it doesn't matter. It never mattered to them. He dials Sal's number and hits the call button.

It doesn't take even ten seconds before he hears his best friend's voice on the other side.

"Everything okay?" He asks right away, cause sure, Tommy knows Sal won't be mad at a midnight call, but he'll worry.

"Yeah, everything's fine", Tommy reassures him, and he hears Sal relaying the message to Gina immediately. Gina is practically Tommy's sister in law, he knows she worries too. "I just... I needed to ask you a question. We're best friends, right?"

"Tommy", Sal says, and by his tone Tommy can tell he's baffled. "Twenty years, man. I think we're past the point of this question"

"I know, just humor me, will you?"

"Fine. Thomas Kinard, you're my best friend. Shall we write it on our diaries too in glitter pens?" He says, and Tommy chuckles lightly, but he does have a point to this.

"Okay, so. If you're very angry at me for some reason, what would you do?" Tommy asks, and then decides to go ahead and just ask what's looping through his mind. "What would it take for you to push me against a wall and threaten to punch me?"

At first, Tommy can hear Sal laugh at the other end of the line, but when Tommy doesn't laugh back, he falls silent. Even though he's not seeing him, Tommy knows there's a thunderous expression in Sal's face right now.

"What's this about?" He asks shrewdly, but Tommy's not ready to tell him yet.

"Just answer the question, please" He says, and Sal sighs.

"I don't know, Tommy, the most likely scenario of that happening would be you being replaced by an alien and I'm trying to figure out if you're the real one. Other than that? Nothing, Tommy. What the hell? We're friends. That's not how friends solve stuff."

"So... Not even if I did something to Gina or the girls?" Tommy pushes.

"Well, first of all that's more unlikely than the alien thing. I know you would never intentionally hurt my family, Tommy. So, no. I'd be pissed, but I'd talk to you. Now tell me what's this about before I send a unit of LAPD to your house to find out who punched you."

Tommy feels a wave of affection for his best friend. He always knew that would be Sal's answer, and hearing it feels good for him, but it makes him feel even worse for Evan.

"It's... Not about me. It's about Ev..." He cuts himself off, but knows it's already too late. "...a hypothetical"

"Hm", Sal offers, and Tommy knows he's not buying it. "Would hypothetical happen to have a birthmark and legs the size of a small country?"

"And happens to be sleeping in my bed right now" Tommy admits, and Sal sighs.

"Fuck, Tommy. Do you know what you're doing? You know I'll support you even when you're an idiot, but I don't wanna see you hurt again, man, that's all"

"I... I know, Sal" Tommy says, and he can't resent his best friend for looking out for him. "But we talked properly this time. We know what to expect from each other. And I love him"

"Yeah, I know you do, you sap" Sal says, but there's no real heat to it. "How's he holding up? He and Nash were real close, weren't they?"

The irony of Sal asking that question before any of the 118 doesn't go unnoticed by Tommy, but he doesn't want to share too much without Evan's permission.

"He's... Not great", Tommy admits that much. "It doesn't help that, unlike me, he has a very shitty best friend"

"Yeah, well, lucky for him, he has a great boyfriend who also has a very great and handsome best friend" Sal says, and Tommy rolls his eyes fondly. "You should bring him over this weekend. The girls miss you and Gina will want to interrogate him again because the first time doesn't count anymore"

'Damn right!', Tommy hears Gina add on the background, and he laughs.

"I'll check when he's free and text you, sounds good? We'll bring dessert"

"You better. Tell Buckley he'll have five Delucas to impress all over again. Chocolate is the way to go"

"Will do." Tommy promises. "And Sal? I love you, man"

"Yeah, yeah, don't go all mushy on me", Sal grumbles, but then his voice softens. "Love you too, Tommy. Take care"

They hang up, but Tommy doesn't go straight to bed. The story Evan told him, about how Diaz told him he was making Bobby's death about himself, had left a bitter taste in his mouth that has only gotten worse now that he was reassured that, no, in fact, there are no circumstances where it's okay for a best friend to physically assault the other.

Now how to give Evan the message?

[liminalmemories21]

911 - post ep 8x17 ficlet

(caveat that this is mostly based on vibes and episode clips)

He's not sure why he's here.  Except that he doesn't want to go home.  Tells himself it's because he wants to be alone, except if that was true he wouldn't be sitting in his jeep outside of Tommy's house.  He'd have gone .... almost literally anywhere else.  Tells himself it's because his house is too crowded with Eddie and Chris and Pepa.  That's closer to being true.  Except it's not Chris or Pepa he's trying to avoid.  Pushes it away.  He can't deal with it now.

He's not sure why he's here.  Outside of Tommy's house.  A place he's been, but not often enough to feel comfortable there.  Maybe that should have been a clue.  That Tommy only ever wanted to see him on Buck's turf, never wanted to invite him in.  Never wanted to let Buck poke through his bookshelves, and see what's lurking at the back of his fridge, how messy his hall closet is.  Which isn't fair, he'd never asked.  Had been happy to just float, take everything one day at a time until he decided to skip about a thousand steps and torpedo the best relationship he's ever had.

He's not sure why he's here, except at the funeral -- at Bobby's funeral -- Tommy had come up to him, made an aborted move like he was going to cup Buck's elbow, hold him steady, and he'd said, "If there's ever anything you need."  Half smile.  "Well, maybe not a helicopter, I don't think they'll let me steal one a third time."

So he's here.  Because he doesn't know where else to go.  Doesn't want to intrude on anyone else's grief -- doesn't want to be a bother -- doesn't want to make it all about him.  But Tommy had asked.

And he's officially been sitting here too long.  One of Tommy's neighbors is going to call the police about the suspicious man casing the neighborhood.  Hand on the key, about to the turn the ignition, maybe go back to Bobby's church.  Maybe just go to a cafe for a while.  Or the beach.  He used to like the beach.  He should go to a club.  That's the best place to not be alone for a night.  Except the being alone the next morning is always so much worse.

Jumps out of his skin when there's a tap on the window.

Reluctantly rolls down the window.  Has to swallow to get out, "Hey."

"Hey," Tommy says.

He should have brought something with him.  A loaf of banana bread or something.  Tommy lost someone too.

Forces himself to come up with a reason why he's here that isn't pathetic.  "I just, umm, wanted to check on you.  Make sure you're doing okay.  I know Bobby meant a lot to you too."

Tommy tilts his head, studying Buck, and it's uncomfortable and he shifts uneasily in his seat.  "I'm doing okay," Tommy finally says.  "Not great, but you know."  Shrugs.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Tommy doesn't step away, just keeps studying him with that same evaluating look.  "How are you doing?"

"Oh, you know, busy," he says.  "Trying to make sure everyone has what they need."

"Hmm," Tommy says.  "Do you want to come in?"

He does.  Desperately.  Says, "No.  I should go, Eddie and Chris and Pepa are all at my house.  Or, Eddie's house?  I guess.  I'm not exactly sure right now.  Lines are kind of blurred since they're all staying.  You know."

"Or you could come in and I could make you tea, since you came all the way out here."

Tommy's house is not that far out, but he's getting out of the jeep and following Tommy up the walk before he really thinks too hard about it.  Comes to a stop in Tommy's kitchen, fidgeting, thinking of the two loaves of tea bread in his freezer.  He really should have brought Tommy something. 

"Do you like banana bread?" he blurts out.

Tommy's hands don't even pause in making tea.  "It's okay.  I prefer lemon poppy seed.  Why?"

Lemon poppy seed.  He can do that.  Anstell on B shift likes it too, so he'd gone through seven recipes trying to make a perfect loaf during his baking binge.

"Tea," he says, like an explanation.

"Evan," Tommy says softly, and it almost makes him break.  Nobody says his name like that.  Takes the tea Tommy offers him.  Tommy sits opposite him.  "Is Eddie staying long?"

He shrugs.  Has no idea.  "He kind of makes his own hours in El Paso."  Chris will need to go back to school though.  Eddie will take him back to Texas - home to Texas.  He tries not to feel relieved at the thought.  It's just because there are so many people in his house, and he's not used to it.

"I'm glad he made it up for the funeral," Tommy says.  And oh, this is Tommy making small talk.  Looking at Buck like he's a puzzle he's trying to solve, or a bomb he's trying to defuse.  He doesn't think he's that complicated.  He might be primed to explode though.  Mostly he just wants to sleep.  Or stop moving.  Or fold into himself and cry.  Except that everything will still be the same in the morning, so what's the point.

Realizes Tommy's waiting for an answer.  "Yeah," he says.  And he had been glad.  Would have felt unbalanced if Eddie hadn't been there.

He kind of wants Eddie to leave again.  Go back to his life.  Leave him to start to pick up the pieces of what's left of his.

He's not holding up his end of the conversation.  Tries harder.  "How have you been?"

Tommy shrugs.  "Trying to keep busy."  And then, "You asked me that already."

He closes his eyes.  "Sorry.  I'm kind of all over the place right now."

"When was the last time you slept?"

He has to think about that.  He'd had a shift.  Before that?  He hadn't slept well last night.  Hasn't slept well since -- shies away from saying it.  Thinking it.

Faint amused huff.  "If you have to think that hard, it's been too long."

He blinks.  Right.  He should leave.  Tries to make himself get up.  "I'll get out of your hair."

Tommy looks at him.  "Or you could take a nap here."

Tommy's house that smells like him.  Where he can be surrounded by the comfort of Tommy.  "Nap with me?" he asks without thinking.  And wants to die.  "Shit, sorry.  I'm tired.  I should go."

"I can do that," Tommy says.

"Why are you being nice to me?" he asks.  Sees Tommy recoil a little.  "I said terrible things to you  and then I called you up to come rescue me, and you did it without even asking any questions, and I realize I never apologized.  And now I just showed up again, making myself your problem.  And I'm sorry.  I wasn't trying to hurt you, but I know I did, and just because I didn't mean to doesn't make it better.  And why are you being nice to me?"

Tommy looks at him for a long moment, long enough that Buck doesn't think he's going to answer. and then he traces a thumb down Buck's cheek and he wants to lean into it.  "Because I'm in love with you.  And you're hurting.  And this is something I can do."

And, oh.  He tries to remember if anyone's ever said anything like that to him before.

"Me too," he says, just before Tommy's face starts to shutter, and watches disbelief and hope and wariness chase each other across his face.  Reaches for Tommy's hand.  "I'm in love with you too."  Yawns obnoxiously wide, no hiding it.

"Okay, I definitely think we should talk about that more, but maybe after that nap."

He wants so badly.  "You'll stay?"

Tommy's eyes close for a beat, and then reopen, looking at him.  "I'll stay. I promise."

[thetrialsandtribulationsofeb]

no but it cracks me up that all this time buck was walking around with this feeling of “my bro is the most attractive dude on the planet. like, he’s so pretty, any girl would be lucky to have him. i’m kind of jealous of them (joking, of course. or am i?..), but i get it. and he’s also such an amazing dad. and he’s so smart, and so brave, and so reliable, and so funny, and so cool. literally the best person alive. i’m just happy for his girlfriends, ‘cause they get to have this guy to themselves. but also i hope he never has another best friend like me, ‘cause no one is allowed to take my place in his life. it’s all i have”

and eddie was walking around with this feeling of “wow, i just made the bestest friend in the world. he cares about me and he loves my child so much. i want to spend all my time with him. i want to talk with him about everything. i want to listen to him talk about everything. i want to see him every day. i trust him with my life. i trust him with my son, which is even more important than my life. now that i’ve gotten to know him, i can’t really imagine my future without him in it. also, i have this weird swirl of feelings inside my chest when i see him with his romantic partners, but i have no idea what it is. it’s too confusing for me, so my brain is just kind of unable to process it. i trust him with my darkest secrets and i’m not afraid of him seeing me at my lowest, ‘cause i feel like he always accepts all of me with understanding instead of judgment. my life feels empty and wrong without him by my side. i might need him almost as much as i need my son at this point, wow. he’s just the most important person in my life. again, after my son. but i realized that i need both of them beside me to feel happy”

and for 7 years, they genuinely didn’t understand what it meant, because eddie was too inexperienced and emotionally repressed to be able to comprehend what his feelings actually meant, and buck was too unaware of what his feelings for men meant

so all these years they were really just walking around being in love with each other but not having a single idea that they were, because they really thought that this is just how platonic camaraderie feels like -

until tommy's intervention and eddie's move to el paso finally opened their eyes and gave them a new perspective from which they could look at their feelings toward each other and finally be able to understand them

their story gets me every time. like, it’s so stupid and unhinged and beautiful

and something like this really could only happen by accident, ‘cause i don’t think any tv show writer is smart enough to create something so raw and complex as their relationship from scratch

it just kind of happened by itself. and i love it

[alchemistc]

Consider this the emotional sibling of the Eddie Makes It Worse series.

"I have thought about it, you know," Eddie says, and Tommy nearly inhales the straw of his stupidly sweet cocktail. That's what he gets for always accepting the drinks Buck decides a sip in aren't to his taste.

Eddie gives him a hearty slap on the back, and continues before Tommy's done more than wheeze.

"I had to recontextualize like, seven years of my life after Buck met you. After you turned him into an insane person and also somehow a teenage girl with her first crush and no control or understanding of her emotions."

Tommy's too busy trying to stretch the knot out of his neck and breathe through his nose to call him out on gendering his comparisons. In his experience, boys are the ones committing violence for attention. Not the point. So not the point, and he breathed half an ounce of vodka on top of that.

"I'm - sorry, what did you have to think about?"

Tommy absolutely knows what he's talking about. Eddie absolutely knows he knows. It's not quite out of left field, but definitely center field facing a righty before the shift got banned.

"About Buck. Me and Buck. Us and our... thing."

The shock of Eddie being introspective about this enough to be able to articulate it is enough to keep him quiet. He's not a dumb man. Far from it. It's just - in Tommy's experience Eddie tends to avoid looking internally with the same fervor you try to avoid latrine duty.

Eddie's watching him. Waiting for a reaction. They've already done this song and dance, so Tommy's not entirely sure what to do with this. What reaction Eddie's looking for.

"Okay?" Tommy prods, and Eddie rolls his eyes like the diva he is.

"Okay so, I'm saying. I am 100% sure I'm very straight. Because after Buck came out I thought about it."

"What are you saying?" That's his uncontrollably bitchy tone, right there. His eyebrows are probably putting in work. Eddie seems...incredibly nonplussed.

"I'm saying I thought about it."

Tommy rewinds. Considers the context that got them here, at the bar top, gathering a round for the table...Russo, Hen and Karen, Evan... Karen had made some offhand comment about Eddie and Evan that had made Eddie's eyes dart to his like he was looking for signs that Tommy was wearing Nike Zooms.

"Sorry, are you taking this opportunity, in this moment, to tell me you're definitely straight because you fantasized about fucking my boyfriend?"

Two stools down, a woman wearing a pair of neon suspenders and steel toe boots flicks her eyes away from them in the mirror over the bar.

Eddie's eye roll is always a marvel to behold, but this one might take the cake as far as disdainful energy rolling off him like an aura goes.

"Yeah, like you were worried about the physical attraction."

"Are you saying there is physical attraction?" What the fuck. What the fuck. Where the hell is he going with this?

"I'm saying we're each other's next of kin and he's in my will and I may be more subtle about it but I'm just as weird about him as he is about me. It's, like, contagious, man."

Tommy has to give him that point. His insanity levels have increased exponentially since meeting Evan Buckley. Realizing that taking the lid off of that actually made them stronger as a couple had really opened things up.

"I was having a nice night," Tommy says, and tries to wrangle this conversation back into some semblance of order. "What, exactly, are you trying to tell me?" Eddie opens his mouth and Tommy has to stop himself from smacking his hand across his lips to prevent him from speaking. He points a finger, instead. "If you say you thought about it, I swear to Christ, Diaz..."

"I think Buck probably had a crush on me when we first met. You know - pulling the pigtails, desperate to know way too much about me, that kind of thing."

Great. Cool. Tommy's feeling really good about where this is going.

"And I think I fucking desperately needed someone to love me, no strings attached. And Buck - he did that. No question. Almost from the jump."

Tommy downs the rest of the cocktail in one go. Yep. Still as bad as he remembered.

"So. After you guys got together, I... added some context. You weren't the only one who thought he was pissed at me for finding a second friend."

"What was your conclusion, exactly?"

"He's my best friend, Tommy. Family, in a way no one else will ever come close to. If he called and asked if I had a shovel, I'd be researching endangered plant species before we even got off the phone."

Getting Eddie into true crime podcasts was a mistake. "Ride or die, yeah, we all know."

"See, I don't think you do, Tommy. I really don't think you do."

If they could get to the point, already, Tommy might not have to gouge his own eye out with the cocktail straw poking temptingly out of the empty glass in front of him.

"Because as much as I care about him, as much as he cares about me - we'd never be what the other needed. I'm too in my own head all the time. He's - way too needy." Tommy wants to contest this assassination of his boyfriends character, but Eddie seems like he might actually be meandering somewhere near the point. "And, yeah, sure, I did once attempt to figure out if I was attracted to him."

Jesus fucking Christ. They're in a bar. They have an audience, at this point, even if it is just the lesbian couple two stools over and the bartender who's either needs to tap a new keg or learn how to pour without creating a drink that's mostly head.

"My point is the only reason you should be concerned about me is if you ever piss Buck off bad enough for him to need an alibi."

The words come out before he's had time to filter them through his brain. "Did you get off?"

Yeah. The cocktail was mostly vodka, but there's no way in hell he can blame that entirely on alcohol. He'd had a wallowing jack-off or two featuring more than just Evan, in the months he'd drive past Evan's loft hoping for some rain and for Sia to organically pop up on his Spotify station.

Eddie slides a shot of tequila in Tommy's direction. He doesn't remember ordering those. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Edmundo."

"Thomathan."

Tommy takes the shot without bothering to cheers him. He doesn't deserve the time it would take for his mouth to form the "Salute". Hell, he's not even worthy of a "Cin Cin", not with his face doing whatever it's doing right now.

"Tell Buck he's welcome from me," Eddie says, and before Tommy can do much more than blink he's gathering up all but Tommy and Evan's drinks to take them back to their table.

This feels like a mind game. He isn't sure whether he's meant to be grateful, or murderous. Two stools down, Suspenders swivels to stare at him. "You look like you just got slapped in the face with a fish," she says. The bartender eyes him like she might be thinking of pouring him another shot.

"Hi," Evan says, directly into his ear, and Tommy jolts. "Eddie said you were right behind him. Did your arms stop working?"

"Just his brain, honey," Suspenders chimes in. The woman to her left titters into her hand.

"Give it to me straight," Tommy says, and Suspenders snorts into her drink. "Has Eddie told you about his Thinking About It process?"

"Oh, with the trying to picture enjoying me naked?"

Tommy pinches his nose and makes a valiant effort to ignore the hand slapping down on the bar top to his left, the canned attempt at hiding a choked laugh. "Sure. That. Normal best friend things."

"If it makes you feel any better, I think I got even less enjoyment out of it than he did."

Suspenders wheezes.

"You did it together?"

"Gross, Tommy."

"Oh, sure, I'm the one reacting weirdly to this."

"If it makes you feel any better, we were broken up. And the only reason I even thought of it was - you know. Tech- technically your fault. You were the one wining and dining my straight best friend while I was trying to get your attention."

Suspenders girlfriend is having a conveniently timed coughing fit.

"Am I having a stroke?" Tommy asks, but it comes out perfectly coherent, so knock that off the list.

"Do you wanna go home?" Evan has the ability to switch moods on a dime. Tommy's really never seen someone so good at it. "I can settle the tab. I - are you okay? Do you need - water, or - " he's reaching for a stool " - or we can sit."

Tommy's been resistant to being taken care of since he can remember. There's something to the way Evan approaches it - purposeful, the opposite of effortless - that makes Tommy want to crumble like a house of cards. He snags Evan's wrist in his hand. "Evan."

As usual, that's all it takes to still him, for a moment. The cheeks rise, the dimples grow more prominent, his eyes alight on Tommy's like he's seeing something worth looking at.

"I love you. Your best friend is insane and you're half a step behind him, and I love you."

It's not the first time. Thank fuck, that would be a terrible way to drop that bomb. But it's still new enough not to be casual. New enough to make Evan's cheeks burn a rosy pink.

Evan smirks. "You wanna get out of here?"

He'd been enjoying a conversation with Karen, twenty minutes ago, but he doubts he'd be able to form a single coherent thought anymore. The green demon he's kept under wraps for forever now has somehow both gone dormant and is currently trying to convince him to toss Evan over his shoulder and make a break for it.

Tommy makes eye contact with the bartender. Raps his knuckles against the bar top.

Evan's grin goes a little feral.

[bower-quinn]

Measure

The basketball players give Eddie a really stupid idea. A stupid idea that you find interesting. p in v (unprotected), oral m and f, from friends to lovers

Eddie is strolling through the deserted school hallways when he hears laughter. Confused, he stops. At this time, usually only he and his friends are still around—just like now, since Hellfire has just ended. Strange.

He follows the laughter, which leads him to the locker rooms. Carefully, he opens the door and peeks inside. No one can be heard, but the laughter is definitely coming from here.

The showers, he thinks. He’s about to leave when he hears: “Come on!”

Eddie has two traits he’s a bit embarrassed about but definitely can’t deny: He’s curious and a little pervy.

He sneaks closer and stops right in front of the door. “Come on,” the voice repeats, and now he recognizes Tommy H., “or are you scared?” “Nah,” another voice replies, which he doesn’t recognize, “give it here.” He frowns, confused—what exactly is happening in there?

Then he jumps at the sound of several voices bursting into laughter. It echoes off the tiles and roars in Eddie’s ears. “Only ten?” that’s definitely Harrington. “That’s embarrassing, man.” “Then you show me,” Eddie hears, and the boy sounds embarrassed. “No need to measure, 15.5,” Harrington says proudly. “Oh come on, anyone can say that,” and then a ratcheting sound is heard. “Fuck, the bastard is right.”

Suddenly, Eddie understands exactly what he’s eavesdropping on. The boys from the basketball team are measuring the length of their dicks. He quickly covers his mouth with his hand. A chuckle, deep from his chest, bubbles up, tickling inside. Tears prick his eyes as he suppresses it hard.

If the guys catch him here, they’ll beat him to a pulp. “14,” says Tommy H., “close!” “One centimeter make a difference!” Steve says seriously, and Eddie quietly gasps. Jesus Christ, they can’t be serious?

“Did you hear that?” Steve asks, and Eddie freezes. “No, what?” “That was the biology class. They want their worm back.”

Amid loud laughter, Eddie backs away slowly and cautiously. Nobody will believe him.

When he’s back in his trailer, he lies on his bed, smokes a joint, and thinks. He’s never measured his length before, hadn’t even thought about it until just now. Not that there were ever any complaints. But… he’s curious now.

He puts out his joint and crawls halfway under his bed. Somewhere here… ah, there it is! He pulls out a ruler, slightly dusty but more than adequate. His belt clinks quietly as he unbuckles it, then his pants drop to the floor.

Being high always makes him a bit slow, so deciding whether he has to be hard or not is really tough. With a nod, he decides to test it bit by bit. First like this. His boxers drop to the floor too, then he sits on the bed. He presses the ruler against his crotch and holds his penis against it. Before he can see the number, the door loudly swings open.

“What the hell, Munson?” He looks at you for a second, then pulls his pillow over his lap. Pointless, you’ve already seen everything. You stand there, arms crossed, laughing heartily. Eddie’s face turns bright red, and he glares at you angrily. “What the fuck is this? Do you always have to barge in?” “Sorry,” you laugh, raising your hands in defense, “I didn’t know you were measuring your dick.” “This is my room,” he hisses, “you can’t just barge in here!” “But you don’t mind it otherwise,” you glance at the extinguished joint, sigh disappointedly, then look back at him. You can tell he’s really mad at you.

“Hey Eddie,” you say more seriously now, “I’m really sorry. Should I go?” “Nah,” he mutters, looking down, “you’ve already seen everything anyway.” “Well, I didn’t see much,” you say quickly, trying to save the situation, but he looks at you again, raising an eyebrow. “Cool, thanks?” You laugh again. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I saw a lot,” you bite your lower lip for a moment, “but nothing bad.” “Jesus darling,” now Eddie laughs too, “you make everything so much worse.” “I know,” you carefully sit beside him, careful not to touch his bare legs, “can you explain how you came up with this stupid idea?” “Omg darling,” Eddie leans back, making sure the pillow doesn’t slip, “you’ll never believe me!” He tells you what he overheard, and when he finishes, you almost scream with laughter. Tears run down your face. That’s always the case when Eddie tells you something. One of the reasons he’s been your best friend for years. He always makes you laugh.

Even now, sitting pantsless next to you. A fact that makes your stomach flutter. A dumb, silly feeling you quickly push aside.

“Can you believe it?” Eddie pants and wipes his face, not finding the story as funny as you do, but your laughter is contagious, “15 centimeters? Harrington?” “Hell yes I believe it,” you say, “he definitely wasn’t exaggerating.” Eddie’s head snaps around, a look of disbelief flashes across his face. “No way, you and Harrington?” His voice rises with each word. “Hey,” you raise your hands again, “what’s so surprising about me hooking up with someone like Harrington?” He looks away and snorts contemptuously. “Exactly the other way around, someone like Harrington hooks up with you!” At those words, your heart beats a little faster. His big doe eyes rest on you; you could sit here for hours just looking at them. But then Eddie would start asking questions, and you’d have to explain that you’ve been in love with your best friend for months. No no, never. You’d never do something like that.

“So,” Eddie says very slowly, holding your gaze, “you kissed Steve Harrington?” “That too,” you reply, “but that was the most innocent thing we did.” Eddie’s eyes flicker to your lips for a second. Steve Harrington kissed you, he thinks, so you let kisses happen. Ipso facto, he could kiss you too.

“And then?” You look at him with raised eyebrows. “I’m not going to lay out my sex life for you, especially not when you’re sitting half-naked next to me.” Again, Eddie’s face turns bright red. He’d almost forgotten about that. “Can you go out for a bit so I can get dressed?” You nod, get up, but stay standing. “Okay, just out of curiosity. Did you manage to measure before I came in?” Eddie shakes his head. “That’s probably a task for Future Eddie.”

The way he grins at you. Openly honest. His curls fall wildly around his head and he's wearing that stupid Hellfire T-shirt. The fact that a pillow covers his crotch makes the sight of him even more delicate.

Slowly, his smile disappears and his eyes bore into yours.

“So,” you say very slowly, swallowing and breathing in and out shakily, ”we can measure together.”

Boom. You've dropped the bomb. A little hint, with a lot more behind it. He just stares at you, you can literally see him sorting the words in his stoned head.

“Together?” he repeats tonelessly.

You're about to let it all hang out like a joke, hoping that it hasn't already ruined your friendship.

But then he holds the ruler out to you. His cheeks turn red again and you would love nothing more than to kiss them.

“Don't laugh,” he mumbles, then he takes a deep breath and pulls the pillow aside.

“Oh,” you do. Not out of shock, but out of joy. Seeing Eddie's penis is so much better than you always imagined. And you really have imagined it a lot.

“Don't stare at him like that,” Eddie whispers, ”he's shy.”

“I doubt it,” you giggle and crouch down in front of him. You hear Eddie swallow dryly.

Seeing his best friend kneeling in front of him with his penis exposed. And then your gaze, joyful and...he must be imagining it, hungry, it's almost too much. Every fiber of his body tenses, he has to use all his strength to prevent an erection.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks quietly as you apply the ruler. You smile in response.

“Guess where Steve got his number from.”

“Shit,” the thought of you holding Harrington's cock in your hand, having done the exact same thing to him, is as sexy as it is terrifying.

“Just under nine,” you mutter expertly and then look up, ”good cut”

“Thanks,” Eddie laughs ashamedly and looks away.

Your eyes from below, at his penis. Shit.

“But what really counts,” he hears you mumble, ”is when it's in action.”

“Ah,” he does, ”that...well...”

“I didn't tell you to do that right now,” you say quickly, looking at him again.

Oh fuck it, thinks Eddie, everything's already gone down the drain anyway, what's going to happen?

“Did you put your hand on Steve,” he swallows his anger, ”and then measure it?”

“Not my hand,” you answer vaguely, ”but yes, something like that.”

“Fuck,” as Eddie sees an image in his head, he can't help himself. A groan escapes him and he immediately feels ashamed. But something else happens. The thought of you blowing Steve Harrington makes his cock get a little hard. Not much, but enough to be noticeable.

“Yes, he reacted similarly,” you reply seriously, glancing at his penis.

“If you want...” you start and he moans again.

“Please,” he whispers.

You put the ruler to one side, place your hands on his thighs and gently push them apart, you need more space. Everything you've been dreaming about for the last few months is within your grasp, literally. You can finally suck off Eddie Munson, your best friend and the most beautiful man on the planet. Your mouth is watering and you swallow.

Eddie is watching you and he realizes that he's not the only one reacting to you physically. YOU are reacting to him in the same way. YOU want this blowjob at least as much as he does. Fuck.

That alone makes him even harder.

“Hm,” you say as you take a seat between his legs, ”your head seems to be doing the work for me.”

“Sorry,” he gasps, ”but that's...hot”

“Then you should see yourself,” you whisper and wrap your lips around his tip. Eddie lets out a soft whimper. He sinks his upper body onto the bed and closes his eyes. Just feel how you lick over his tip and let your lips move further down. Then he's in your mouth, your warm and moist mouth.

“Jesus,” he claws at the sheets, ”Jesus darling.”

Your giggles make his cock go wild and he whimpers again. This is the best fucking blowjob of his life.

Your soft hand wraps around his shaft and massages the place you can't reach. When Eddie is fully hard, you let him out of your mouth with a pop.

Eddie grumbles in disappointment, leaning on his elbows and looking at you. He would love to grab your hair and fuck your little mouth. Until he cums hot in your throat.

But you're his best friend, he would never do anything you don't want or find kinky.

“We'll do that in a minute,” you say, chuckling with amusement when you see the surprised look on his face.

“Where-?” he begins.

“Eddie, please. You're my best friend. I know what you like.”

“I can't say the same for you,” he mutters.

“Hm, I'll have to show you then,” you snap your fingers, ”give me that.”

He hands you the ruler and you have to be careful again, then you beam at him.

“Sixteen centimeters! Winner!”

The way you beam at him, by God, Eddie feels his heart skip a beat.

“But you know what,” you say, looking at his cock.

“What?” Eddie asks, quite breathlessly.

“I think the thickness is much more important. And you, my dear,” you lick over his length again, ”win that in lengths too”

Normally you would have laughed at your pun, but Eddie claws into your hair, gasping, pushing your head back to his cock. Immediately you open your mouth, letting him in.

He starts to move his hips quickly, thrusting into your mouth.

“You feel so good”; he whimpers, ”oh god, so. GOOD!”

Your response is a high-pitched hum, which is all you're capable of. You claw into his thighs, letting him fuck your mouth. Fast, hard.

Then he stops, lets go of your hair.

“I,” he swallows and you know what he's about to say, he's about to come. He's afraid to come in your mouth, even though that's exactly what he wants.

But Eddie looks at you, he was allowed to do what he wanted, to take your delicious mouth with his cock, that's all he wants to put you through.

But you don't pull back, you lick, work your way back down and with a stifled cry he comes. Hot sperm flows down your throat and you swallow with his penis still in your mouth.

“Ah,” he says, ”ah.”

That's all he's capable of.

You lift your head, very slowly. Your spit runs slowly over Eddie's testicles and it makes his stomach tingle somehow.

“Good?” you ask and sit down next to him.

“Babe, that was the best fucking blowjob of my life.”

This serious compliment makes you giggle.

“Thank you.”

It gets quiet between you, you both don't know what to do next. Then you point to his balls.

“You should clean that, they're getting cold.”

It's more of a skip than serious concern.

“Yeah,” Eddie is absent, thoughtful. He takes off his T-shirt, wipes the wetness from his crotch and then tosses it carelessly with his pants. He only realizes that he is now sitting completely naked in front of you when you emit a strange noise, somewhere between a hissing moan and a whimper.

“Ehm,” he says, avoiding your gaze, ”yeah well.”

He was expecting everything. With questions about his tattoos, maybe a laugh because he's untrained, pale. No hair on his chest, just this little line running down from his navel. And that's what makes your restraint go out the window.

With a growl, fuck you really growl, you throw yourself at him.

Your hands find his curls and your lips his. He immediately returns the kiss, moving his lips against yours. Your upper lip pushes between his and he sucks lightly on it.

While your hands pull at his curls, his wander over your back. Under your T-shirt and over your heated skin. As if he's trying to read a map with his fingers.

Your spine is exciting for him, every point he can feel seems new.

“Eddie,” you whisper into the kiss, ”oh Eddie.”

“Yes,” he breathes, ”yes.”

He realizes in that second that you've wanted this for a long time. Just like him. Damn, you could have done this for so long.

He slowly slides his tongue past yours, into your mouth. It feels heavenly and he thinks, “Finally. Finally Finally Finally.”

Your clothes are constricting you, you need to feel Eddie. Everywhere.

When you release your mouth from his, he looks disappointed, but that immediately subsides when you pull your T-shirt over your head.

“Oh baby,” he breathes, ”what nice tits.”

“You think so?” you ask him in mock seriousness as you undo your bra.

“Lord, Jesus,” he whispers. He looks askance at your breasts and sighs softly.

“Lord, Jesus and tits,” you giggle, ”the holy trinity.”

“You're so silly,” he kisses you again, ”maybe I should stuff your mouth?”

“No no, now it's your turn.”

His eyes widen.

“Are you sure, I mean…can I?”

“I'd be offended if you didn't,” you cry out in surprise as Eddie grabs you by the waist, spins you around and pins you to the bed.

“Every time,” he says as he unzips your pants, ”when I've masturbated, I've imagined what it would be like to eat your pussy. Every fucking time.”

“Then do it already!” you almost scream with impatience. Eddie smiles mischievously and pulls down your underpants with your Jeans.

“What a beautiful view,” he breathes, ”how wet you are.”

“Always,” you say, humming as he slides his index finger through your wetness, ”just for you.”

“Just for me,” he hums. Then his tongue glides over your folds, dipping into the wetness. Eddie is a connoisseur, he always has been. He takes in your taste before devoting himself to your clit. He circles it with slow movements, you gasp and moan and arch your back as he slides his index and middle fingers inside you.

“So ready,” he whispers, ”do you think you can take another one?”

As you nod, he carefully inserts his ring finger. He fucks you with three fingers, slowly, steadily.

“Oh god,” a rumble rolls out of your chest as he finds the spot inside you that Steve has always searched for in vain.

“Bingo,” Eddie chuckles, ”the way your pussy throbs.”

“Don't stop,” you beg Eddie, ”please. Please. Let me come. PLEASE Eddie, please.”

“Lord,” he breathes, ”my good girl.”

The orgasm rolls over you like a wave. Your toes curl and goose bumps cover your entire body.

“That was,” you say and then laugh, ”Eddie”

“I know,” he lies down next to you, his cock hard again. But he reaches under his pillow, pulls out a packet of weed and some paper.

“Quick break,” he mumbles, rolling a joint with deft fingers that are still wet from you. The lighter clicks, he inhales deeply, then hands it to you.

“Now tell me, how was Harrington in bed?”

“You mean in the car,” you reply, taking a drag on the joint, keeping the smoke in your lungs and then exhaling in a controlled manner.

“Fine by me.”

“Fine, but not like this,” you laugh again, ”besides, he was screaming Nancy when he came.”

“What did he?” Eddie laughs so hard he chokes on the smoke. What a twat.

“Well, that was okay,” you mumble, taking another drag on the joint, ”I did call out a different name too.”

Eddie looks at you with interest.

“Yours,” you say casually.

Eddie presses his hands to his face, his shoulders shrug and you can't tell whether he's crying or laughing.

“Eddie?” you ask carefully, kissing his chest.

“I'm such a goddamn fool,” he mumbles, ”I could have kissed you months ago. I could have fucked you in your little car.”

He puts his hands down again and remorse is on his face.

“You can still do all that.”

He stubs out the joint, then leans over you.

“I'd like to fuck you now,” he says slowly, ”hard and dirty. But I'll do what you want.”

Hard and dirty, those words echo through you.

“Yes,” you whisper, ”fuck me.”

A dirty grin rolls across his face. But when he stands up, you grab his arm and look at him questioningly.

“Baby, I may be reckless, but I'm not stupid,” he nods to his cupboard, ”I'll get a condom.”

“I'll take the pill,” you say quickly, ”so if you want…”

He stares at you, his cock getting hard again at those words. The thought of feeling you completely is overwhelming.

“Are you serious?”

You nod, wiggle your hands and he lies down with you again.

Your kisses are hot, just like your breath. You're so high from the weed and Eddie. You briefly forget where Eddie starts and you end. You share a skin.

“Darling,” he props himself up on his elbows and navigates between your legs. His tip touches your wet heat and he has to close his eyes.

“Fuck me Eddie,” you breathe into his ear, ”fuck me”

He slides into you.

Fuck, he's so big. And thick. The way he feels inside you, Lord, you can feel him in your fucking chest. If he's going to fuck you now-

“Baby,” he laughs, ”if you keep talking like that, I'm going to cum without making a move.”

That's when you realize you've said all your thoughts out loud.

“Oh,” but the thoughts of that disappear as he moves, no consideration not. Hard, he rolls his hips against yours, his balls slapping against your butt. His rhythm is hard, fast and deep.

After a while, he straightens up without pulling out of you. He lifts your legs and you stretch them out, straight in front of you.

He supports the back of your knees and rams into you again.

This way he can reach you deeper and you cry out loudly. It hurts, but it's a good pain.

“Your pussy is perfect,” he gasps, ”so tight, baby, I've never fucked without a condom.”

“Come inside me,” you beg him, ”I want to feel all of you.”

“Lord give me strength,” Eddie whispers, spreading your legs slightly, looking at your little pussy in front of him, which has now left a stain on his sheet. He collects spit in his mouth and spits on your pussy.

This is the moment you come. You quickly pulse around him and he rams his cock into you one last time.

Together you whimper and your panting breaths fill his room.

“That should be illegal,” he murmurs as he pulls out of you, cuddling up to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, kissing your left breast.

“Hmm, very good,” you purr, ”perfect.”

Eddie puts his head on your chest, listens to your breathing and with his middle finger he pushes his cum, which is slowly leaking out of you, back into you. Over and over again.

He silently thanks the cowards on the basketball team.

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, me and @buckgettingstruck have been going back and forth since yesterday and we have reached enlightenment about bucktommy, and I'm here to share. This isn't an anti post btw, this is us trying to make sense of the relationship in the context of the show.

But imagine you're Tommy. You’ve been closeted for most of your life and you recently came out (yeah, recently, six years is not that long). You left your fiance and decided to come out, but since then most of your relationships — friends and otherwise — have been shallow. For some reason, you don't know how to turn off the instinct to keep people at arm's length.

Suddenly you’re helping your old coworkers rescue your former captain and his wife, and in come Eddie and Buck. 

You hit it off with Eddie. He’s very friendly and you have a lot in common, so you're hanging out with him and trying to get a feel for him. Maybe he’s into guys. Hanging out with him is fun, even if you still can’t find any actual reason to open up to him about your life. You go to fights, you practice Muay Thai, you play basketball. You have fun. 

And then there’s his crazy ass best friend — Buck. 

Buck is spinning out about the two of you hanging out for a few weeks for some reason. You kinda assume there’s something going on with him and Eddie and you try to apologize to the guy. Buck tells you that it's not because he’s jealous of Eddie, it’s because he wants your attention. It throws you for a loop (my attention? You two haven’t really talked since he asked for a tour around Harbor), but your interest is piqued. The guy is hot, and he’s cute in a rambly way so you decide to go for it and it works out in your favor. But in the back of your mind, you know that this dude has some very intense relationship going on with his best friend. You had to bring up Eddie’s kid to get him to warm up to you, after all. But for all you know Eddie is straight, and Buck says he wants your attention. You don’t want anything that serious — breaking off the first engagement was hard enough — and you don’t really have anything to lose by just seeing where this goes. You’ve only been out for six years, so you want to explore. Maybe this could be fun. 

The first date is a bit of a trainwreck, and the dude turns out to be too intense. Somehow Eddie showed up with that girlfriend of his he’s never really talked about, and Buck is spinning out. You decide to cut your losses and go home — even if leaving Buck on the curb was a bit of a dick move. But Buck calls you a few days later. You meet for coffee. He tells you he doesn’t know what he wants, but he wants to try with you. He invites you to Chimney’s bachelor party and his wedding to Buck’s sister as a nice gesture and you figure, what the hell? Why not? Maybe it’s a little much, but he’s trying. 

In your head, you're in a fun, casual relationship because you haven't had the conversation about it being serious. Since Buck doesn’t bring it up or ask you for very much at all, you believe he is on the same page. You keep him at arm’s length so it stays that way — when he talks about almost losing Bobby, the whole Gerrard mess. It’s subconscious, you think, but keep it light and surface level. You don't want something that deep, and he is following your lead. You maybe see each other once a week, considering you both work 24-hour shifts and have chaotic schedules. You go to dinner, you go to the movies, and maybe you make out a little. It's easy and it's fun, and you can stay that way as long as the Buck doesn't push you further. It’s been almost six months now, and beyond venting about Gerrard a few times, he hasn’t even nudged. 

It’s a little weird, though, how Eddie’s always there. And you really like Eddie, honestly, but he’s constantly around. Sometimes it feels like you’re the third wheel here. He’s already there when you arrive for Chimney’s bachelor party, dressed in a suit to match Buck’s and helping set up. Suddenly a few months later you’re being invited to Chris’s Zoom birthday party, where Buck looks just as defeated taking the decorations down as the kid’s father. Buck dislocates his shoulder — you didn’t ask why, and he didn’t volunteer the information — and Eddie is there tucked into the guest chair with a magazine and the shitty hospital coffee, asking about Buck’s recovery and return to work. You do get to stay with him overnight, on his uncomfortable couch and falling asleep as he talks on and on about the corpse he accidentally rented (and alright, why did Buck get mad at him for laughing and not Eddie?). When Buck wakes up with boils the next day it’s not even a question for him to call Eddie. Eddie talks him down a lot better than you could, even if the situation is a bit ridiculous. You don’t miss the way he snaps at you for calling him gross — mentioning your cousin gets shingles is apparently a crime — while he tells Eddie to call his appearance what it is and he’ll believe it’s stress if he says so. But hey, getting boils kinda sucks, and Buck is having a rough go lately, so you move past it. But you don’t miss how Eddie seems to sense that Buck’s picking at his face without looking up from his phone when you’re at the hospital a couple days later because of Hen’s kid. You don’t miss how everyone else gets the good news that he’s going to make it through. Everyone except for you. 

You kinda want what Buck has, if you’re being honest. He found a family at the 118, with really intense people on his six, and you’re hoping that when the relationship runs its course you can stay friends. Maybe you can still keep part of that. Maybe that’s still within reach, even if Buck won’t even show you the text everyone else got. 

Buck goes from zero to a million after that, because he finds out he dated your ex-fiance and his next course of action is to thank you for gay rights and ask you to move in with him.

Up to this point, you thought you were on the same page — light, casual, fun. He didn’t push, but then he shoved you both off a bridge and now you can't ignore the thing that's been in the back of your mind for the last six months. 

Honestly, you have no idea what’s going on with Eddie. The mustache is a choice, and he was doing some funny things with that ring pop back at the hospital, but for all you know, he’s a zero on the Kinsey scale. You know Buck has something going on beneath the surface with how he feels about Eddie, whether he realizes it or not. You knew there was an expiration date on this thing when you started, and you didn’t even mind. You kept it fun and light over the past six months. You kept your distance — maybe a bit too much, considering Abby never came up until now. You hoped maybe you’d get to keep some decent friends once Buck figured his shit out. You knew, even if you tried to ignore it. You tried to enjoy it while it lasted. 

You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t there for a while. Buck, as far as he knew, still knew, was telling the truth. He wanted your attention, your time, you. He’s still figuring everything out, and you thought maybe you had more time. Keeping it casual and slow could only go so far, in the end. 

Buck nudges once, pushes you to consider what it would be like to be in a relationship with him that's serious. He’s talking about living together and you’re panicking a little bit as a thousand scenarios run through your brain, but you can’t see an ending that's not him realizing he has feelings for someone else and leaving you. Another six months, a year, five years — it's all the same. 

You didn’t want to get hurt in this situation, but you will be if you stay. You’ve already hurt people by denying the truth before.

So you tell him — I know how this ends.

You didn’t want to. You never really planned on ending it because you figured he would, but you reached the point where you can't come back. He wants more, and you know that would just end in smoke. Not for him, but for you. 

So you have to break this guy’s heart. And you know if you break this guy’s heart, you’re going to become the villain. You lose the entrance to a family you wanted to be a part of. You lose the friendship you had with Eddie, who is just as goddamn weird and crazy about Buck as Buck is about him. You lose the potential friendship in Buck, in them both, in everyone. There’s only one way out of here now. 

Buck’s somehow still endearing as you end things. You try to nudge him for once, talking about firsts and lasts. He doesn’t get it. You throw in some line a parking spot because the second reserved one Buck got with his loft went to Eddie years ago. You step into the hall, out of Eddie’s shadow, and walk away with nothing.

[dadbodbucky]

god. from every angle that video call hurts so fucking bad like ok. you are christopher diaz. your dad is doing his best. you know this. it still fucking hurts. your mom died and your dad does stuff that scares you sometimes and one day you came home and for the briefest moment you thought your mom was back again, but it turns out it was your dad chasing ghosts like he always does. and that's his best. that's his very, absolute, utmost best. and you have to live with the fact that he loves you and it's not enough to stop him from doing things that hurt you, even if he doesn't mean to. and every time he calls, it's just a visceral, sick reminder of what he did. you can't stop looking at your dad's face and remembering that fleeting, childish hope. and all that's left over after you're done being hurt is the anger.

or you're eddie diaz, and your son is still pulling away. it's been three months and you can't stop scrambling desperately for something, anything you can say to make him come back. you put up streamers. you invite over your friends. you get party hats and noise makers and you pray that this time it'll be enough. this will be enough love and care. you love him so much. you love him so much and it's not enough. your mom doesn't even let you watch the whole happy birthday song.

or you're buck, and you love this kid too. and it's almost like everyone forgot. they forgot that you pulled him out of a tsunami. they forgot that you'll be his guardian if your best friend in the whole world dies. but you're not the one who lost a kid, that's your best friend. you need to be there to hold him together while he's falling apart. and you get this chance to surprise this kid you love while doing something for your best friend, and he doesn't even notice. this kid, who isn't your kid, but you love anyway, and haven't seen in months, doesn't even acknowledge you. and you have to watch your best friend break in half again, and there's nothing you can do about it.

or, frankly, you're tommy kinard. and you're in this new relationship with a beautiful, sweet, thoughtful man. and maybe he's a little close with his best friend, but that's fine, because you like his best friend too. in fact, his best friend is quickly becoming a close friend of yours. and you don't talk much about your past, your family, how utterly fucking lonely you were before this ball of sunshine and his goofy codependent bestie fell into your lap. but they know it wasn't great, and that your dad was kind of a piece of shit. but your new friend, and your newer boyfriend, they love this kid more than your dad could have ever loved you. they put up streamers. they invite you to surprise him because he thinks you're cool. they give you a party hat and your boyfriend is smiling all hopeful and giddy. you never remember your dad being this happy to see you. and all they get is a blank face and a cut signal. they don't even get to sing him happy birthday.

[robinminustherichard]

Fuck it Friday pt2

BuckTommy Reconciliation | Eddie Critical

UPDATE 5/16 -- this scene has been incorporated into an ongoing fic! Check it out here!

"Eddie isn't your competition."

Tommy blinks, having just gotten grabbed and dragged in-between the 118 & 217 engines, faced with a dust-covered and almost crazed looking Evan. It's not exactly the reunion he had been trying to stop himself from hoping for.

"Uh--" he says, but isn't really sure what to say here.

"What did you say to me, when you picked me up out of that hallway? The night in the lab."

Tommy pretends to think, but he knows without having to. The words have been playing in his head since that night.

"I told you I was there, I told you I was sorry."

Evan nods, eyes wide. He's standing just a half step away from Tommy, breathing just a little labored.

"What else?"

"I said, uh, 'you did everything you could'."

Evan nods, and his gloved hand reaches out for Tommy. Tommy lets him, still confused and trying to keep up.

"Bobby made me leave. He made me leave him to die, and I don't know if I could have gotten off that floor if you didn't come for me."

"Evan--"

"No, please, I need to...I need to say this. I was devastated, and I'm still devastated. And you picked me up, you told me you were there for me. You told me that I did everything I could to save him."

"Of course I did." Tommy says, simply and without exaggeration. "Because you did."

Buck nods seriously, and his expression darkens for a moment.

"I have spent every minute since you put me in an ambulance that night trying to be there for everyone else, like Bobby wanted me to be. I've tried to be okay. And you know what my bes-" Evan's voice cracks, he purses his lips a moment in frustration and grief, "you know what my best friend said? That I was making Bobby's death all about myself. That everyone felt like they don't know how to 'handle' me."

Evan looks gutted at his own words, biting his lip but still looking right at Tommy.

"Eddie was never your competition, Tommy. He never will be. Because he's telling me that I didn't do enough to save Bobby, that I make everything into the tragedy of Evan Buckley."

Tommy feels rage well up within him, hot and volatile. He connects his back roughly with the truck behind him to ground himself and lets Evan finish.

"But you--" Evan says, voice cut down to a whisper, eyes blinking rapidly as they water, "you came and got me. Before that, you came when I called. And I have a hell of a lot to apologize for, but Tommy I have never felt anything like what I feel for you before. If you'll let me, I swear to you that every day I will show you how much you mean to me. How much I love you. I will make sure you never think you have competition again."

Tommy swallows thickly, struck by the speech. Evan patiently waits for him to answer, his cheeks getting more red by the second.

"I'm gonna kick Diaz's ass," Tommy says, squeezing Buck's hand, "and I'm going to kiss the hell out of you."

A smile breaks across Evan's face, and it's beautiful in the dying sunlight around them.

"Not necessarily in that order." Tommy says, and grabs Evan by the turnouts, smashing their lips together in a kiss that's definitely going to get him another talking to if they're caught. He tries to keep it brief enough to avoid that, but Evan makes a disappointed sound that stops him from pulling away completely.

"I love you too," Tommy mumbles against his lips, "of course I do. How could I not?"

Their moment is soundly popped then by Gerrard yelling out "Buckley!", and Tommy sighs before reaching out to straighten Evan's turnouts and get a good look at him. They can't help but smile at each other.

"So," Evan tells him, head tilting and mouth smirking in the way he knows always got exactly what he wanted from Tommy, "what are you doing Saturday?"

Tommy scoffs theatrically but it doesn't get rid of the smile on his face.

"That's my line, Buckley."

[steviewashere]

I don't know when I'll have the time to write this, but:

CW: Minor Mentions of Blood, Character Illness (Hanahaki), Use of Queer as a Slur

Hanahaki AU. Steve develops hanahaki over Eddie. It's not because, oh, Eddie's probably straight and doesn't know I'm into guys...

No, it's because, oh, Eddie doesn't want to be very close to me due to previous hangups he has.

Cut to Steve coughing up dark purple, almost black petals. Soft and wet and sticky to his fingers. Then, after some time, they become small buds. Small black rose buds with gentle, prickly thorns sprouting in his throat.

People around them find out quickly, very quickly, that Steve is experiencing Hanahaki. Everybody, sans Eddie himself, finds out they're related to Eddie—even as these black roses symbolize hatred, even as they come close to death and mourning in their meaning—they're still perfectly Eddie in color, shape, and beauty. Obviously, since nobody wants Steve to, y'know, die, they tell him to confess to Eddie.

However, Steve is faced with a secondary option at one of his doctor visits. A surgery. The petals can be removed, the thorns torn out and tossed, his lungs cleared...but his brain shocked empty of all traces of Eddie. All traces. He wouldn't know Eddie as he is now. He wouldn't know Eddie from when Dustin would ramble on and on and on about his new guy best friend. He wouldn't know Eddie as the mischievous troublemaker in high school.

And he especially wouldn't know Eddie as his childhood best friend that he drifted apart from many, many years ago. Nobody but them knows that part.

And soon, through decision, through the fear of death...Steve chooses to forget that part, too. He chooses to remove Eddie from his conscious. Every last part of him. With the decision made, the party members keep Eddie away, Robin goes through Steve's room and hides anything he has of Eddie's—including a little memory box of their childhood photographs, little trinkets he'd receive from Eddie, doodles and crushed flowers...crushed flowers that look similar to the ones Steve coughed up with a note attached to them: "For the prince to my prince. Mama said they're for royal people, and I thought they were beautiful. These are for you, because you're beautiful, too."

Steve kept all of it. Tucked neatly away for nobody but him to see. All these delicate, baby confessions of two queer kids in rural America, waiting for the right moment; though never getting that after a fall out in their relationship.

According to Eddie, the two drifted away due to rhetoric Steve's dad was spouting; rhetoric that was being passed on and spat right at Eddie's face from Steve's mouth. Even if he saw Steve change during and after Vecna, he'll always remember the last big fight in their friendship; the day he was called a queer.

When Eddie finds out, he's beyond devastated that Steve would make the choice to forget him. He gets it, Steve didn't want to die. He knows. But now he doesn't even have a spot in Steve's life? It cuts deep, it hurts.

He knows so much about Steve. Little details. Favorite things. Where his moles are. How he styles his hair. What he looked like before braces, before Tommy, before high school bullshit, before all the traumas. He knows who Steve really is, sweet and nurturing and nearly unbearably kind.

And now Steve doesn't know him. Doesn't love him.

He wishes he knew, because then they wouldn't be in this mess.

But Eddie gets to fall in love with Steve all over again. Shake his hand and introduce himself. Even though he wishes they could meet each other as kids, just like they did. Because Eddie remembers a dorky, geeky, self-conscious, timid little kid quietly asking him if they could play princes on the playground. And Steve remembers Eddie at twenty-one, full grown and stubborn; not the same shy kid, not the bubbly kid...just a man haunted.

But! Plot twist!!!

What if, yeah, Steve does forget Eddie...initially?

He meets Eddie again, for the first time. He gets to know Eddie. He begins a friendship with Eddie.

And then he begins getting these awful...awful migraines being around Eddie. Flashes of fractured, half-formed memories of some kid with big brown eyes and a shaved head, of a kid crouched down in wood chips trying to find a guitar pick he had dropped. Little glimpses of smiles: some with teeth missing, some with teeth growing back in, some with blood-stained lips, some with a blue tint. There's splintering voices, a little boy's and an older man's and a squeaky, pubescent voice—he hears his own name crackled around the edges, hears Prince Stevie cooed and King Steve snarled, soft words whispered through choking sobs and whip wild yelling.

He looks Eddie straight on at one point, his face open with concern, but all he sees is an angry, sobbing, red-faced, wet-faced little Eddie talking with Steve, "You think I'm...I'm a dirty queer? Why would you say that to me? No...no, Steve, keep your voice down, keep your voice"—and then, quieter, a whisper—"I thought I could trust you. I know I like boys, but that was a secret. You're an asshole, Steve. Go fuck yourself."

And when he blinks again, Eddie's concerned face staring back at him, all Steve does is cough and cough and cough. Eventually, he's hunched tight into himself and spitting directly into Eddie's palm. Out comes a fully formed black rose.

A bud that hadn't bloomed, that hadn't been removed. Sharp thorns and wet petals and an eye that swirls and swirls and swirls.

It all comes back to him, then, staring at that flower, floundering backwards, catching Eddie's eyes in a daze.

It all comes back to him.

How much he's always loved Eddie Munson.

Anyway, just like, a hanahaki surgery gone wrong, I guess. Like they all think it works until, y'know, it doesn't. They get close again and it floods back in. The very thing he tried to get away from.

I imagine that after Steve coughs up that fully formed rose, Eddie squishes it in his palm. The thorns cutting up his hand, the petals crushed between his fingers. And then he just...eats it. Like fully puts it on his tongue, chews it up between his teeth, and swallows the whole damn thing—yes, even the thorns. There's blood in his mouth, petals between his teeth, blood and drool on his hand.

And he lunges forward to grab Steve's face, to kiss him so roughly they could be devouring each other. And all they taste in each other are the bittersweet ghosts of black rose petals and the metallic harshness of one another's blood; Steve had hacked up blood, too, from the thorns cutting his throat.

And when they separate?

"You were the first boy I ever fell in love with," Eddie confesses, "you're the only boy I've ever loved. There's been nobody else in that place, Steve. Only you, after everything, have remained."

Okay. Now I'm done. I promise I'm done rambling. Would this be interesting as a fic? I don't know. It's fine.

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Halfway out the door, but it won't close

Yeah, I'm still mad. The show flatly refuses to address the emotional fallout of the events that take place on it, so I guess I'll do it myself.

Title from Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift, because I love a T Swift lyric as a fic title.

Read the whole thing below, or on AO3.

For the first time in a long time, Buck wants to run. 

The roots he spent so many years putting down washed away more easily than he ever could have imagined, and that hurts. He’s always known Bobby was important—the linchpin of the 118, in addition to being the father Buck always wanted—but Buck was somehow still surprised when things spiraled apart so quickly and so completely without him. 

And Buck gets it. He does. Everyone is retreating into their own corners, taking comfort from their families, and that’s good. He’s glad everyone has that kind of support system. He’s glad they have families to lean on, and to grieve with. 

He just wishes he had someone in his corner too. 

And Maddie’s got him—he knows she does. If he called, she’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But she’s pregnant. And Chimney almost died. And Bobby did die, making sure Chimney got out. They have a lot going on, and Buck doesn’t want to be selfish. 

Besides, he’s managing. Sure, he wishes he didn’t feel quite so alone all the time, and he wishes that all of the ways he’s trying to help weren’t fundamentally selfish, like they apparently are, but he’s dealing. The hardest part is that he’s been doing his best to be what everyone else needs—to live up to Bobby’s last words—and he’s falling short. He doesn’t—he’s really not sure what else to try, at this point. 

It really doesn’t feel like anyone wants him to keep trying. 

The temptation to pack up his jeep and just choose a direction is intense. He doesn’t, because he promised to take over Eddie’s lease, and Maddie’s baby is coming, and maybe there’s something Athena will need from him at some point, but he looks at the horizon on his way to work and all he sees is freedom.  

He compromises, and requests a transfer. The 118 doesn’t mean what it used to, to him, and maybe at another house he can get up for work without feeling like the grief is going to pull him under. Maybe at another house he’ll stop wanting to take a hard turn onto the freeway, and drive until he loses track of where he is. The 118 is already changing anyway. Eddie will head back to Texas, and the team will get a new captain at some point, and Buck isn’t at all sure that he can see someone else in that seat. Maybe this way he can keep his love of the job, even if it feels like he’s lost just about everything else he cares about. 

And then the building goes down, and the 118 pulls together to help. 

Buck withdraws the transfer paperwork. He doesn’t want to feel disloyal to Bobby’s memory. Going to work every day at that station, like things can ever go back to the way they were before, still makes him feel like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s paralyzed; every decision he wants to make feels like the wrong one. 

What he really needs to do is start looking for an apartment. Eddie and Chris are coming back to LA, and of course Buck is going to give him them their house back. He’s happy they’re returning—obviously he is. And the house never really felt like home anyway, aside from—well. It’s never felt like his, is all, aside from one bright, hopeful morning in the kitchen. 

He tries not to think about that too much. The warm light, and the billowing hope in his chest, and Tommy’s familiar scrunchy smile before everything went sideways. It’s too bright to look at for long, so he’s gotten used to locking it away again. 

He should call Tommy, probably, but it feels like it’s been too long. Tommy took a lot of risks to help them, and came to the funeral when Athena asked, to round out Bobby’s first team at the 118, and Buck didn’t even call him after. Never really thanked him. He’s got some texts on his phone—how are you really doing?—that he never responded to, and a couple of voicemails he hasn’t listened to. So yeah, he assumes that window is closed, no matter how much Tommy put on the line for him—for them. 

It’s one more thing that Buck used to have and doesn’t anymore. 

Buck is quiet at work, and the team thinks he doesn’t see the worried glances and the wordless conversations. No one asks him about anything, so he doesn’t share. He spends a lot of time thinking about how he used to picture his life, where he thought he’d end up. 

It should be enough, to have what he has now. He has his sister and the 118. He’s loved, certainly.  He matters to people—he knows he does. But it doesn’t feel like quite enough anymore. He knows everyone lost Bobby, and everyone is dealing with it in their own way, but he doesn’t think he should have to feel like an afterthought, or an inconvenience. He has the vague sense that he shouldn’t have to keep making his grief smaller, but he does it anyway. What else can he do?  

Eddie sets a firm date for his return, and he keeps telling Buck that he doesn’t have to move out, but Buck does. He does have to move out. It’s just—it’s the right thing to do. He thinks it is, anyway, but maybe he’s making it all about him again. He can’t tell anymore. 

Buck goes on calls, and he gradually packs his life back into boxes and labels them, and he goes to look at apartments. He doesn’t find any that he likes. They’re too small, or too dark, or in the wrong neighborhood, or they just don’t feel right. Big shock there—nothing feels right to him. 

Buck knows his realtor is frustrated when he tells her the kitchen in one of the units faces the wrong direction, and he gets it; he’s frustrated with himself. 

Buck goes back to his—to Eddie’s—to the mostly packed house, and he finally admits to himself that he’s not really looking for an apartment. 

He goes to see Gerrard, with a request for vacation this time. 

“It’s a good chunk of time,” Gerrard says slowly, from behind the desk where Bobby should still be sitting. 

“It is,” Buck agrees.

“Sometimes staying busy is better, in these situations,” Gerrard says. Buck can tell he’s trying to be gentle about it, but all he can see is Tommy’s shoulders hunching when Gerrard all but called him a fairy at the medal ceremony. He doesn’t waver. He holds Gerrard’s gaze until the man looks away, clears his throat, and signs the request. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Buckley.” He sounds irritated, and Buck feels a little better. He also hopes he knows what he’s doing, but he has a good feeling about it. He’s optimistic, maybe, for the first time in a while. 

Buck shows up to his next shift with a countdown clock in his head, and the rush of relief he feels almost makes him dizzy. He’s got another ten days before his time off starts, but it’s sitting there on the horizon now, an emergency exit, an escape hatch from his life.

He feels steadier now that he can see it up ahead. He’s a little more settled in himself, and he knows everyone sees it. His friends exchange relieved glances when they think he isn’t looking, and some part of him wonders why they can’t just talk to him. He wonders why they couldn’t just sit him down and tell him they were worried, but maybe that’s unfair. Maybe everyone is doing their best, and Bobby’s loss is just insurmountable. It feels that way sometimes, like Buck won’t survive this. It feels like all the bonds tethering him to his life snapped at once, and they’re just dangling now, the severed edges fraying by the day. 

Buck doesn’t say anything about the time off. He works and he smiles at his friends, and no one eats together or makes plans to hang out after work. He tries not to be too hard on himself for giving up—for betraying the last thing Bobby asked him to do. He tried—he really did—but he just can’t anymore. He can’t throw himself into holding everything together when no one seems to want to be held. 

He hopes Bobby would understand, but he can’t be sure.  

The day finally comes. Buck’s stuff is packed into his jeep or his new storage unit. He works his last shift and still doesn’t say anything. He thinks about it, but he’s not sure what he would even say. He figures his friends will have questions when he doesn’t show up for the next shift, but that’s a couple of days from now. Maybe by then, he’ll be far enough away to have found some answers. 

Buck makes it a little over an hour into his drive, heading north, before he has to pull over; he’s crying so hard he’s afraid he’s going to hit something. He takes the next exit, doesn’t see the number through his tears, and parks in the first parking lot he finds. He turns the car off, leans over the steering wheel, and gives in to his sobs. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he takes one deep breath, and then another. He feels calm for the first time in a while, emptied—for the moment—of the deep, terrible sorrow that’s been suffocating him for so long. He cleans off his face and then sits up straighter and looks around. He’s parked near a Jack-in-the-Box and he’s suddenly starving, so he goes inside and orders about half the menu. He goes back to his car to eat, windows down, staring unseeing at his surroundings as he thinks. 

Getting even this far out of LA, he feels like his brain has rebooted itself, like he’s stepped out of a fog and can suddenly see clearly again. He considers what he wants to do next. 

He could turn around. He could drive back into the city, and find a place to stay for a couple of weeks while he keeps looking at apartments, and he could use the time off to get settled into a new place. He could rebuild his routine. The thought of it makes a pit of dread open up in his stomach, so that’s a no. 

He could keep going. He could get back on the road, head north the way he planned, drive until he feels like stopping and find a place to stay the night. He could do that for weeks—he’s got six of them before he has to be back at work. It’s what he should do, probably. He could rely on himself, learn how to be alone. Only he feels like he’s already pretty good at that. He’s been alone a lot in his life, and he knows he could do it. But six weeks on his own suddenly feels a lot more like loneliness than freedom. 

Buck tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. With this unexpected—and almost certainly temporary—feeling of calm and clarity, he’s suddenly confronting some uncomfortable revelations. 

Underneath the grief and the helplessness he’s been feeling for weeks, he’s angry. He’s angry at Eddie for getting in his face, and for implying that he didn’t do everything he could to save Bobby. It felt like shit to hear it, and Eddie was a dick for saying it. He’s angry at the rest of the team, too. For not taking him seriously. For assuming he was as fine as he seemed, even after losing someone who was more of a father to him than his own father ever was. For not even asking where he was moving to when he left Eddie’s house. He loves Chim, but maybe he was wrong; maybe Buck doesn’t owe it to Bobby’s memory to stay in a place where he doesn’t really feel seen anymore.

Buck knows he’s a lot—he can be a lot. But he also knows that he’s grown up in the last few years. He’s loyal, and will do anything for the people he loves. And even before Bobby died, he wasn’t getting that back from his friends. He understands why—they all have lives, and kids, and it’s been a crazy year for everyone. But he consistently made the effort to be there for them, and it doesn’t feel great that no one could find the time to do that for him. 

Well. One person did. One person always showed up for him.  

Maybe Buck doesn’t actually need to get out of LA for six weeks. Maybe he needs some space from his friends and family until he’s got a better handle on his anger with them. But maybe he doesn’t have to spend the next six weeks alone. 

It’s entirely possible that Buck’s silence the past few weeks closed that door for good. But Tommy’s been texting and calling, even though he’s not getting anything back, so maybe it didn’t. There’s only one way to find out. 

It’s early afternoon by the time Buck parks in front of Tommy’s house. He doesn’t know Tommy’s schedule anymore, but he gets lucky—Tommy’s truck is parked in the driveway. Buck’s hands are sweaty all of a sudden, and some of the conviction he felt earlier has drained away. There’s enough left to propel him out of the jeep, though, and up the steps onto Tommy’s porch. 

He rings the doorbell and waits. It’s only a few seconds before Tommy opens the door. His face creases with surprise when he sees Buck, but his eyes are warm. 

“Hi,” Buck says a little awkwardly, and then he barrels on before Tommy can say anything in return. “I want to be friends,” he blurts, without really meaning to. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up and then furrow as he frowns, and Buck watches his eyes shutter, the way they did in the kitchen that morning. “For now!” he adds hastily. “I’d like to be friends for now.” 

Tommy’s expression does something decidedly judgmental before he gets a handle on it. He’s such a bitch sometimes, and Buck likes him so goddamn much. Loves him, in fact, but he thought about it the whole drive here, and he’s a mess right now; if he says it for the first time today, neither one of them will ever trust it.

“Maybe you should come in,” Tommy says slowly, and his tone is so neutral that Buck winces. It’s fine. He can fix this. Tommy’s willing to at least hear him out. 

He follows Tommy into the kitchen, and sits on one of the barstools at the island while Tommy makes two cups of coffee. He slides one over to Buck and sits at one of the other stools. He’s got his expression under control now, and Buck hates it. Tommy’s so expressive when he’s comfortable that this carefully polite mask feels like a slap. 

Still, Buck feels more relaxed right now than he has in weeks, just because Tommy is sitting across from him, watching him, and yeah, he should probably start explaining. 

“I put in for a transfer,” he says, and there go the eyebrows again. Buck smiles despite himself. “I withdrew the request, later, but then I took some time off. Kind of a lot of time off, actually.” He has a thought, and he looks up. “S-sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Tommy shakes his head. “It’s fine, Evan. I figured you were busy with your family.”

“Not, uh. Not so much,” he says, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. “It’s”—he waves a hand—“everyone has their own families, you know?”

Tommy’s frowning at him now. “You’re their family too,” he says slowly, like it’s an obvious truth, and that does it. The tears come, and so does the whole of the last few weeks, words spilling out and over each other as Buck tries to convey his loneliness, and helplessness, and what Bobby said, and how hard he tried, and how no one seemed to want that, and then Eddie—

He loses the thread a little bit, and he’s not sure what he’s saying. He’s trying to get the important parts out through the tears, but he’s not sure he’s even making sense anymore. And then Tommy’s arms are around him, big and warm and grounding, and he stops talking at all and just cries for a little while. 

When Buck is composed again, Tommy takes a step back. Buck wishes he wouldn’t, but he holds out his hand and Tommy takes it, and that’s something. There are some things Buck still needs to say. 

“It got a little jumbled earlier, so I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but I, uh. I gave Eddie his house back.”

“You said,” Tommy says, and squeezes his hand. 

“I didn’t find a new apartment,” Buck admits. “I was going to go on a road trip, just drive for the next few weeks, stay wherever I felt like staying.”

“That sounds nice,” Tommy says. 

“It did at first,” Buck says. “Then it sounded really lonely.” Tommy makes a soft noise in his throat. “So I—I turned around and came here instead.”

“Because you want to be friends,” Tommy says slowly. 

“Because I want to be friends right now,” Buck corrects. “I absolutely want to try again. I wanted to try again last time, before—but I screwed it up.”

“Pretty sure I screwed it up,” Tommy says. 

Buck shrugs. “Maybe we both did. I want to do it right. But I’m a mess right now, and I don’t want you to think that I’m only here because…because everything else in my life is falling apart. I want to choose to try again when we’re both solid.”

Tommy nods, but his gaze stays on the countertop in front of him. “What if”—he clears his throat—“what if you get your feet under you, and realize this isn’t what you want?”

“I won’t,” Buck says, calm and sure. He tugs on Tommy’s hand to get him to look up. “Tommy, I won’t. I’ve been missing you for months. The only reason I want to wait is because I want both of us to know for sure that we’re building on a solid foundation, okay?”

Tommy stares for a long moment, searching his face, and then he gives one short nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

Buck can feel the smile stretching over his face. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and smiles back. 

“I thought you weren’t ready to move in together yet,” Buck says without thinking, when Tommy shows him the spare room. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “This doesn’t count. This is me helping out a friend, like everyone should do.” His tone is pointed, and Buck tries to ignore the little burst of pleasure he gets from knowing Tommy is mad on his behalf. He can work on being less petty about it later. 

“Yeah?” Buck asks. 

“Evan,” Tommy says, leaning in. His voice is low and intimate. “When I actually ask you to move in with me, you’ll know it.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks again, and it’s a lot breathier this time. 

“Yes,” Tommy says with a smirk, and Buck briefly wonders how committed he has to be to the friends thing. He watches Tommy saunter out the door, heading for the kitchen, and he firmly reminds himself that waiting is the responsible choice, and will absolutely be worth it.  

He’s by himself for the moment, but he doesn’t feel alone at all. He looks around the spare room, at his clothes hanging in the closet, and the soft blue comforter on the bed. Tommy put fresh sheets on it earlier, and they smell faintly of lavender. He sits on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and breathes. He feels good here, safe and comfortable and wanted. 

He knows his grief will be back, and the real world will intrude sooner rather than later. He’ll have decisions to make, and explanations to give when the team realizes he’s gone. He and Tommy still have a lot of talking to do. 

For right now, though, he can smell the faint scent of lavender, and Tommy’s body wash underneath that. He can hear the sound of Tommy moving around in the kitchen, and birds chirping at each other outside the window. His hand moves over the comforter, and he feels the echo of Tommy’s palm against his. 

Buck blinks his eyes open and smiles to himself. He’s not okay yet—not by a long shot—but for the first time since Bobby died, he knows that he’s going to be.  

[steddieas-shegoes]

black swan

for @steddiesportsau prompt 'dance'

rated t | 3331 words | no cw | tags: ballet dancer steve, ballet dancer eddie, high school, steve has bad parents, not canon compliant, getting together, sort of strangers to lovers

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

Steve stops dancing when he’s 12. His dad insists it’s time for him to “grow out of it” and “play a real sport.” It’s fine. It’s not like he’s the best in the class and on a fast track to an invitation to the New York Ballet or anything.

He starts swimming because he has the build for it and it’s easy.

He starts basketball to make his father shut up about being on a team.

The worst part is that he’s good at that too. Not great, not like ballet, but good.

He makes both teams in high school, even makes varsity basketball his sophomore year. He’s captain by junior year.

Sometimes, he stops by the studio he used to dance at, between classes, just to check in with the director and make sure everything’s going well. She always asks if he wants to come back. He always wants to say yes.

****

On his 18th birthday, his parents are gone, and he’s lonely. Nancy’s busy, and even if she weren’t, they aren’t anything except friends. Barely that.

Tommy and Carol have written him off now that they’re going away to college in the fall, and he wouldn’t want to have them over anyway. They’re on a different path than Steve, always have been. He’s just been so desperate for connection, he’s let everything slide.

Just before dinner, he drives to the dance studio. There’s not many classes happening on Tuesdays, but maybe someone will be there to let him in. He doesn’t see any cars in the parking lot, but there’s a light on inside.

The door is unlocked, and music is playing from the back room. It’s a much smaller room, designed for solos and duets only, not group routines. The music is not ballet music, but it could be a jazz or tap routine.

The man dancing is beautiful, in loose sweats and curly hair up in a bun that seems like it’s barely hanging on. He moves gracefully, but there’s an edge to it, something Steve always wished he had, even though he didn’t technically need it. His pointe shoes are torn, much more worn in than what’s recommended for anyone, especially men on pointe.

Steve’s amazed, the way he moves to a song that’s mostly heavy drums and guitar, makes it look like a classical piece as his arms and legs do everything the way Steve used to. He resists saying anything.

Then he catches sight of the man’s face.

It’s Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson dances?

“What the fuck.”

Eddie freezes, turns to him, falling to the flats of his feet. He looks caught out, as if he’s doing something wrong. He must be allowed to be here if the place is unlocked for him. Eddie might be a terrible student and definitely deals weed out of a lunchbox, but he’d never break into a dance studio just to use it.

He looks like he’s gonna run.

“Wait,” Steve says to stop him before he can. He steps closer. “How long have you danced?”

“Uh, five years?”

So they never took a class together. Steve was worried he’d somehow forgotten.

“Did you always take classes here?”

“I’ve never taken classes here.”

Now, Steve’s confused even more. He’s lived in Hawkins for at least 10 years. He remembers when he started living with his uncle. His first day at Hawkins Elementary set the tone for the rest of his time in school; Tommy and a few of his friends making his life miserable because of his much too large flannel shirt and greasy hair.

Steve had stayed quiet then, just as he did for most of middle and high school.

“How are you in here then?” He asks.

“I’ve had a key for two years. Ms. Laseaux made sure I had one when she had to cut her evening hours during the week,” Eddie explains. “I swear I’m allowed to be here. Don’t call the cops, please.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna call the cops. If you say you have permission, then you’re good,” Steve hates that Eddie still looks like he might run. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is it okay if I watch?”

“Uh.”

Eddie’s music stops and the silence is almost as loud as the heavy music.

“It’s okay if not. You’re just beautiful,” Steve says honestly.

Eddie’s face flushes red and Steve has an immediate and overwhelming urge to see how far the blush goes. He shakes the thought from his head.

“Um. I guess I can start from the beginning?” Eddie offers.

“I’d love to see the whole routine,” Steve smiles.

Eddie rewinds the tape and starts it again, gets into position, and changes Steve’s life.

It’s even more beautiful from the start, a whole story unfolding before Steve’s eyes. Instead of the music being a distraction, it builds the emotion. Steve hasn’t seen anyone dance quite like Eddie.

Eddie seems a little nervous, but he never falters. He knows this routine well, front to back, probably back to front, too. It’s stage-ready and Steve wonders if he’s ever performed it outside of this room. He doesn’t think anyone else could possibly know he dances, at least not this well. He belongs on a stage.

He feels water on his cheek and he reaches up to wipe it away. He’s crying.

He remembers the time his mom cried at his first solo during a recital, how proud she was of him, and how proud he was of himself. He wonders if anyone has ever been that proud of Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks.

The music’s stopped and Eddie’s breathing hard from fifth position. Steve’s tears are still falling.

Eddie’s hands cover his face, wiping away tears that just won’t stop.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s amazing; You’re amazing. Please tell me you perform somewhere,” Steve sniffs, smiles at him. “Did you get a senior solo last year?”

“No,” Eddie says quietly. “I can’t afford the fees for actual studio time and it’s required to perform at the recital. But I get to come here once a week and get it out of my system.”

Steve is about to offer to use all of his savings to pay for whatever Eddie needs. He has to get out of here, dance on bigger stages, be seen by people who can get him where he should be.

“The timing of the arabesque, Eddie, it’s beautiful. The leaps are textbook. The way you timed that kick with a cymbal crash. I mean, everything. You’re so technical, but emotional, and it’s like it takes no effort for you. You could easily get into a ballet school or a company,” Steve is talking and Eddie is still holding his face. He’s probably still crying.

“Thank you, but this is kinda it for me. I just love dancing,” Eddie takes his hands away and Steve instantly misses them. He knows he’s feeling a bit lonely– it’s his birthday, after all– but he liked how warm they were, how the blisters across his palm seemed to rub just right against Steve’s cheekbones. “You seem to know a lot.”

“I danced when I was a kid. Here.”

“Really?” Eddie seems genuinely shocked. “I thought you were, like, a stereotypical jock guy. No one’s ever mentioned you.”

Steve laughs, but he feels a pang in his chest. He knows why no one talks about him here. Most of the history of him being here was erased at his dad’s demand.

“Pretty much from the time I was potty trained to when I was 12. I had to quit,” he doesn’t feel like going into a deep dive of why he had to quit while he’s standing in the room he had to do it in. “I still come by to see Ms. Laseaux when I won’t interrupt classes. She was my instructor for six years of my life. She put so much into my lessons.”

“Were you good?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs again. He’s not as confident as he pretends to be most of the time, but he’s sure of one thing: he was a phenomenal dancer.

“I was her best student.”

Eddie nods like he was expecting that answer.

“She mentioned wishing she could’ve had me earlier. Said she would’ve done anything to pair me with her star.”

Steve wishes more than anything he could’ve danced with Eddie. They would have been unstoppable. His dad would’ve never allowed him to dance with another boy, but the thought still makes him warm.

“I’m sure she would’ve had us in New York or Boston or Europe the second she could,” Steve smiles fondly. “She tried to bribe my mom into going behind my dad’s back for nearly a year.”

“I’m guessing he’s not okay with his son dancing like a fairy?” Eddie’s lip curls up in disgust.

“Bingo.”

“Well, join the club. That’s why I didn’t start until I lived with my uncle, but he couldn’t afford to put me in real classes,” Eddie explains. He’s rolling his ankles one by one while he stands there, something that Steve knows is a nervous habit, one he had backstage before shows. “Ms. Laseaux was a bit sweet on my uncle when I first lived with him. He didn’t have much time for dating, but I think they would’ve fallen in love if it weren’t for me. She wanted to do what she could to help, even when it was obvious they weren’t gonna work out.”

Steve does remember one visit only a couple years after he quit where she talked about a nice man who fell into some unfortunate circumstances, and how she wished she could do more than help his nephew out.

“She’s always been amazing. I wish I brought my slippers, I could’ve at least stretched and tried to learn some of that,” Steve gestures towards Eddie. “Not that I’d do it any justice with how long I’ve been out of it.”

“If you were as good as she says, I think you’d catch on quick enough,” Eddie smirks. “I have an extra pair if you think you can fit?”

It’s a huge no usually. Wearing someone else’s broken in pointe shoes is just asking for bad luck and injury, especially if you don’t know the dancer well. As nice an offer as it is, Steve should say no.

“I could try,” he says instead.

Eddie’s beaming smile silences any doubt he had in his head that this would be a mistake. He rushes to his bag in the corner and pulls out a practically brand new set of shoes.

Steve is hesitant to take them when he offers.

“These look…shouldn’t you be trying to break these in for your own feet?” Steve doesn’t know why he’s wearing torn up shoes when he has these. They look nice, and he recognizes the brand when he turns them over in his head. They are nice. Some of the nicest shoes you can buy without getting into the thousands of dollars range.

Eddie shrugs. “I like these.”

“But these cost a fortune. How did you even get these?”

“I saved up for them. I’ll break them in when I can’t wear these at all anymore,” Eddie smiles, nudges his shoulder to make him put them on. “C’mon, you need to stretch.”

Steve listens, walks over to the corner to put the shoes on, stretch out his legs and back, groaning when he pops his shoulder. He’s been a little tense all week, worried that his parents would come home for his birthday and expect him to do some kind of business dinner.

This is a much better way to spend his birthday.

Eddie is…frolicking might actually be the best word for it. He’s not exactly dancing, but he’s not really walking either. Steve almost gets too caught up watching his movements to finish what he’s doing.

“Do you want me to show you this one or do you wanna show me something first?” Eddie asks. He sounds excited, maybe even more than Steve is.

It’s not like quitting dance meant Steve actually stopped dancing. He just only did it at home, and had to make sure he was alone, which has been increasingly more difficult over the high school years. His friends practically lived at his house, even when he didn’t want them to.

But he’s still out of practice, and probably not nearly as nimble as this dance would require. He’s not sure what he would even show Eddie. His last dance recital was six years ago, and he doubts the tape with his music is even here anymore.

“Um, you can show me some of yours. Maybe the drum part?” Steve’s voice shakes with sudden nerves. He hasn’t had eyes on him while he danced in a long time. He wasn’t built like this the last time he properly danced, either.

Eddie smirks. “The whole song is the drum part, but I know what you mean.”

Steve blushes. Eddie takes position in the center of the room, leaving enough space for Steve to stand next to him.

They look at each other in the mirror. Steve nods.

Eddie moves so fluidly, even when he’s going slower to show Steve. It’s like he’s a waterfall and Steve’s the river below, waiting to take what he’s giving to move it along in a beautiful and seamless way.

It hits Steve when he’s watching Eddie turn that if Eddie’s never taken a proper class, he must’ve choreographed this dance himself.

“Steve?” Eddie’s hand on his arm startles him from his thoughts. “Need me to do it again?”

“Sorry. Yes, please,” he doesn’t know why he can’t focus, but Eddie continues to show him three more times and he still doesn’t quite get the timing right. “Sorry, I think I’m just distracted.”

“Why don’t you show me a routine you’re familiar with?” Eddie asks.

“I’m not sure I remember any enough,” Steve tries to say, but Eddie shakes his head.

“You’re a dancer. You remember.”

He’s right. He may miss a few steps here and there, or get the timing just a bit off, but he can remember most of every routine he ever did on a stage. He does it without music, something that Ms. Laseaux always made him do before recitals to ensure he knew the timing in his head.

He doesn’t pay attention to Eddie’s reactions until he’s done.

He’s breathless, and not just from the dance. Eddie’s eyes are shining, and his lips are parted in a way that makes Steve want to slip his tongue between them and taste him. He’s a bit thrown by the thought, but only because he hasn’t had those kinds of thoughts in a long time. Not since Nancy broke up with him.

Eddie stands from the floor and walks over to him, still seemingly in shock over his dancing.

Steve’s ankles are sore, and he’s a bit mad he chose the hardest dance he ever did. His heart is trying to beat out of his chest. His legs are shaking.

Eddie cups his face, eyes searching his.

“You should have let her bribe your mom,” he says quietly. “You belong on the stage, too.”

Steve feels tears prick his eyes and it’s ridiculous to be crying for the second time in front of Eddie, but he’s a little overwhelmed.

“I miss it,” he chokes out. Eddie nods because he knows. Maybe not the same way Steve does, but he knows his own yearning, his own pain at being unable to perform the way his body is capable of. He might be the only other person in Hawkins who understands him. “I shouldn’t have let him stop me.”

“You were a kid, Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I do now,” Steve sounds more sure than he thought he could with tears streaming down his face. “What can he do now that I’m 18 other than cut me off? He won’t. My mom wouldn’t let him and his business partners would think less of him.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. He looks away for a moment, his lips moving around words Steve can’t hear. When he looks back at Steve, he looks heartbroken.

“Is today your birthday?”

Steve nods. He’s not sure why Eddie looks so upset. This is turning into one of the best birthdays he’s ever had and he’s starting to feel relief that he finally feels brave enough to stand up to his dad.

“And you came here?” Somehow, he sounds even more upset.

“I didn’t really want to go anywhere else,” Steve tilts his head as he answers. “This is always where I’ve felt the least lonely.”

“Dance with me.”

They danced already. A little. But Steve thinks he means something different now.

“What do you know?” Steve asks, a flutter in his chest at the thought of touching Eddie, lifting Eddie, feeling Eddie against him.

“Swan Lake?” Eddie asks.

“You know Swan Lake? How?” Steve doesn’t mean to sound rude, but he’s a little shocked someone who’s never even taken a ballet class would know the most famous pas de deux.

“I have eyes and an uncle who buys me tapes of famous ballets from some guy in Chicago. They’re shit quality, but I watch them so often, I’ve taught myself.”

“You’re amazing.”

Eddie laughs. “Let’s see if I can pull it off first.”

Eddie rushes over to the corner, searching through the tapes on the shelf. Most of the popular ballets are there, and Steve knows every piece from Swan Lake is probably on the top. All the seniors tend to use those for their solos.

He finds what he’s looking for and slots the tape in the stereo. Steve knows there’s a slow start to the music, and it allows plenty of time for them to get into position.

It’s easy falling into this with Eddie. They don’t even discuss who will take which part, they just fall into what’s natural. Steve hasn’t spent as much time en pointe as Eddie clearly has, so he takes the male lead, happy just to have his hands gently guiding through the dance. He’s not meant to be the star of the show, and he wouldn’t wanna be as long as Eddie’s the one front and center.

When they finish, it’s easy to close the distance between them, lips brushing together in the gentlest kiss Steve’s ever experienced. He immediately wants more, but he waits.

He may have been leading the dance, but he doesn’t want to lead with this.

Eddie cups his cheek, still catching his breath.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

It throws Steve off. He almost forgot it was his birthday. He got so caught up in just being around Eddie, dancing, feeling this freedom he only ever felt at the studio.

He doesn’t remember the last time he actually celebrated his birthday. It had to be before high school, even though he remembers Tommy insisting on throwing him a party at his own house with his own food and beer for his 16th. That was less for his birthday and more for Tommy to show off that he knew Steve Harrington.

“You’re okay,” Eddie says.

Not asking. Telling.

Steve believes him.

The next time they kiss is in Eddie’s van, not even ten minutes later, after Eddie asks Steve where he wants to go for a birthday dinner, his treat.

“Benny’s?” Steve asks.

“You sure? Just the diner?”

Steve nods. “My parents are gonna drag me to some five star restaurant next week where the only decent food will be the dessert they don’t bring enough of. I want greasy shitty food and a milkshake.”

Eddie kisses him a third time and puts the van in reverse.

They’re both sweaty from dancing, and neither of them should technically be out this late on a school night, but Steve’s not alone.

It’s his birthday, he got to dance, and he’s not alone.

[drfranklangdon]

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.

[alchemistc]

kiss me on the mouth, love me like a sailor

"Can we talk?"

He feels like every fucking part of his body is on fire. Like if he takes a deep breath and blows it out his bones will shake themselves loose and disintegrate, leave him a pile of skin and muscle oozing on the porch and just over the threshold where he currently has an arm banded across the frame. His elbow digs in and he wonders if the last thing he'll ever do is leave a Tommy sized imprint when the lightning strike turns him to ash on the doorstep.

Evan takes a deep breath.

Waves him in.

This is nothing like the last time he was here.

He's not sure what he'd expected before - for sex to fix things, for them to go back to the flirty innocence of fresh-blush romance even though six months is long enough to start nailing down what the hell you want out of a relationship. He's loved before. Lost, before, plenty of times. Sometimes his own fault, sometimes theirs.

Tommy has a bad habit of playing fast and loose with the people he orbits, a satellite that flies too close and then gets flung away for the trouble. Flinging himself away, usually. And what a hell of a job he's done at it.

"Uh, what - what are you doing here?" Evan asks, and Tommy shoots him a wry smile. Shakes his head, because there's a quip on the tip of his tongue that could completely derail his entire purpose in showing up here.

The purpose being to crack open his chest and see if Evan's interested in pressing his fingers to the steady, if currently overworked beat of his heart.

"Saw you on the news," he tells Evan, and takes a deep breath. He's unpacked, decorated. It's weird to see this place in the daylight, laid out with furniture, pictures on the walls, soft touches of decorative charm making themselves known. Lighter than Eddie's touch, more whimsical. Gayer, his brain supplies, and he shuts down the stereotype in his own mind and tries not to judge himself too harshly for it. "I wanted to..." He'd practiced this shit. In a mirror, harsh overhead light showing him all his flaws, trying desperately to figure out how to avoid that crook in his jaw, the pained dimple, before remembering that the whole point was to lay himself bare and let the chips fall where they may.

"I... I was gonna call," Evan says, and Tommy's eyes shift up to him from their perusal of the filmy curtains.

"Why didn't you?"

It's Evan's turn to purse his lips, and he's never been as good at hiding shit as Tommy, or maybe he's just never bothered to try. Hiding isn't his default setting.

"I don't know," he says, and he does this thing - this adorable, frustrating thing - shoulder tipped inwards, neck bent and bright eyes looking up through his lashes, and Tommy wants. Wants this all to be done, and over with, wants to just know whether or not this is going to mean anything in five minutes, an hour, a day. The last time he'd pictured a life with someone he'd been so far underground that radar wouldn't have recovered him. Six months is barely anything to go on, he'd had years with Abby before he'd even asked and -

He reminds himself this isn't all or nothing. He just has to - to talk about it, and not make any stupid fucking jokes or deflect how he's actually feeling. Lay it all out there and brace for impact.

He wishes he was drunk. Drunk drivers make it work - loose limbed and malleable, nine times out of ten they walk away from deadly accidents, and maybe with looser lips he wouldn't have to brace as much.

"I just... Didn't."

Which is fair. Tommy'd implied essentially the same thing the last time they'd managed five minutes of conversation without trying to maul each other's faces off. Or hurt each other in new and horrible ways.

That part was always easier. God, they'd fallen into bed so often and in so many fun new ways that Tommy had spent the first month with a semi any time he even thought about Evan. Even that first time there hadn't been a hesitant bone in his body.

But the other parts - they'd been sweet, with each other. Half a dozen inside jokes before Tommy took him on an actual third date, a constant stream of texts that Tommy had participated in just as readily as Evan. He was a brat, unruly and half-insane and Tommy had eaten it up, played into it, encouraged just as much as he tried to temper it. And it'd been nice, to have someone who let him take care of them.

Those parts had been good too. Evan, who always knew when not to push, Evan who grinned up at him around a mouthful of cock, Evan who was greedy with Tommy's time and didn't apologize for it.

"How are you?" Tommy asks, after a beat too long, because he'd heard enough to know that Evan had been without the rest of his team through that whole ordeal and he knows, he knows how much that has to have fucked with his head.

"Is that why you're here? You wanna know how I'm doing?"

"I always want to know that," Tommy admits, and swallows around the panic of honesty. "Not why I'm here, though. Not really."

Evan's eyes narrow. "Do you have a shift, later?" The tone is all brat, pointed, maybe a little annoyed. Not veering into pissed, yet, but maybe they'll get there.

Tommy breathes, and it hitches in his chest. Fuck. Jesus. He can do this. "No," he admits, and Evan nods. Points to the couch.

"Sit. I'm - I want a beer, do you...?" The vague gesture towards his kitchen is the end of that question.

"Just the one."

Evan disappears around a corner. Tommy's not a lightweight, by any means, but he is the kind of person who follows all the outdated recommendations regarding drinking and driving - a single beer leaves him stuck here for a good forty-five minutes.

Shit.

Fuck.

Evan knows this about him. Has teased him about it a few times, laughing because he'd only ever served people in resorts and they'd always been a little more lax about what constituted an over-serve, but he'd still memorized the card that gave BMI + time allowed for a given amount of alcohol.

At least they're both aware this is gonna be a rough conversation.

He hopes it'll be a good one, eventually.

Evan startles him by leaping the couch and nearly crash-landing into Tommy's side, two bottles clutched between beefy fingers that clink against each other as Evan readjusts. Close. Closer than Tommy had expected when there's a perfectly good chair right there.

The starter boyfriend thing had always come with Evan's knowledge that he could be a little less careful, do a little more roughhousing than he was likely used to from a partner. Tommy had leaned into it because most of the men in his orbit trended smaller, slighter, and it'd been a novelty to get shoved around just the way he liked by someone who could possibly overpower him, if it came down to it.

That night, Evan had been desperate, needy, and not afraid to use his body to get exactly what he wanted.

And Tommy had let him, like always, without ever telling him why.

When Evan hands him one of the bottles he shifts his weight just enough to wedge his knee into the side of Tommy's thigh, persistent pressure and an unnerving amount of eye contact and a curious tilt to his head.

Tommy isn't fucking ready.

"So. Talk," Evan says, and tips the bottle against his lips, neck stretching, eyes careful, his body language so at odds with the clipped tone of his voice that Tommy immediately has to fight the urge to bolt.

His thigh twitches under Evan's knee and Evan looks at Tommy like he knows exactly what's on his mind.

Tommy swallows back a mouthful of spit, takes a swig.

And he starts talking.