Chapter Text
The first time it happens is an accident
It’s one of those rare instances where their schedules somewhat align with each other - Tommy’s on standby so he isn’t technically off off - but it’s good enough to have Buck inviting him over to the loft just to have him around, just so they can be near each other.
They’re already a movie deep into tonight's episode of what's been affectionately dubbed as Buck’s Cinematic Education Journey, which, honestly, is entirely Chimney’s fault, thank you very much.
∞∞∞
“Hey, Top Gun!” Chimney had called when Tommy’d strolled into the firehouse late one evening after Buck’s shift.
And, Buck’s not stupid, okay? He knows what Top Gun is; his boyfriend is a pilot for fuck sake, he gets that reference, but then Tommy’s beaming back a “hey, Goose!” and Chimney’s biting back something about an “Iceman” and Buck is well and truly lost. He meets Hen’s eyes across the room and she’s wearing a similar expression to him, but one that looks far more familiar on her.
Ah, so this must be a regular thing then.
"Hey," Tommy greets him when Buck shuts his locker and walks over to his side.
"Buck, my man-" Chimney interrupts before Buck can get his greeting kiss and, yeah, any hope Chimney might have had about Buck being on his team is immediately dashed, "-you have taste, surely you think I'm more of an Iceman?"
"Uh, sure, Chim," he says in a way that sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.
The weight of everybody's gazes descending upon him makes him rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. He looks to Hen for help but she just gives him a pitying look and holds her hands up in a 'hey don't drag me into this' kind of way.
Traitor.
Chimney blinks at him. "You have seen Top Gun, right?"
Buck suddenly feels like he's stepped in front of a firing squad.
"I mean, I've heard of it, I know what it's about," he tries, with little success. "You know, pilots, planes, kinda homoerotic."
Tommy snorts next to him and tries to hide his laugh behind his hand which Buck thinks is a travesty because it covers up the way his nose scrunches when he finds something properly funny, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, and-
"You really need to get your boyfriend some taste, Tommy," Chimney says, interrupting his train of thought before it can veer off into definitely-not-safe-for-work territory.
Buck only has a second to recognise the way his stomach swoops at being referred to as Tommy's boyfriend, before he's being betrayed by the very same man who chimes in with a: "I think you're right."
∞∞∞
So they'd started with Top Gun.
And then Buck had asked Tommy about his favourite movie so they'd watched Love Actually, and then he'd introduced Tommy to Backdraft, and then there had been The Breakfast Club, and Carrie, and Rocky, and The Princess Bride, and Road House and-
And then he'd kind of lost track of them.
It's one of Tommy's choices tonight, and Buck’s not not watching the movie, he knows it’s got something to do with dancing and that one of the girls is pregnant, but how can he be expected to stay focused when Tommy’s so… reactive next to him. He smiles in all the right places, sometimes it’s just a small quirk of his lips and a huff of air exhaled from his nose, and sometimes it’s one of Tommy’s blinding smiles - the type that has his nose scrunching and his eyes crinkling in the corners. It’s the type of smile that makes Buck want to kiss him senseless.
“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Buck says, tilting his head so that he can look at Tommy properly.
“Hm?” Tommy hums back, taking a second to tear his gaze away from the screen and meet Buck’s eyes. He blinks once, twice, and then has the audacity to smile shyly at Buck, as if that smile alone doesn’t make his spine turn to goo. “I can uh,” he starts, laughing in a way that Buck recognises as self-deprecating. And oh no no no . That just won’t do. “I can get pretty into my movies. We can turn it off, if you’re not enjoying it, I mean-”
“Hey, no.”
Buck shifts on the couch, tucking his left leg under the right and twisting so that his body's angled toward Tommy. He considers it a small victory when he only has to readjust his bad leg the once - fucking firetrucks.
Tommy's got this disappointed little look in his eyes that he's trying not to show and it makes Buck want to hunt down anybody who's ever made him feel small and insecure about the things he's passionate about.
"I'm enjoying it."
"Ev-" he tries, but Buck's faster, already pushing up onto one knee and pressing his hand over Tommy's mouth to stop him from arguing.
"I'm enjoying it," he says again, and some of the light seeps back into Tommy's eyes.
It's enough for him to move his hand away, intent on sinking back against the couch, but then it's being grabbed and Tommy's pressing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles, the back of his hand, his palm, his fingertips, his wrist, all tender and reverent like he can't quite believe that Buck exists, that he gets to have him, have this.
And, come on, what else is Buck supposed to do except lean in and kiss him.
The angle is a little awkward and can't be at all comfortable on Tommy's neck with the way he's craning it, and Buck is nothing if not a benevolent, considerate boyfriend - boyfriend, god, it still makes him giddy - so he pushes up into the kiss and shifts until he's got one knee planted either side of Tommy's thighs, straddling his lap.
"Is this o-" he starts to ask.
Tommy cuts him off. "It's more than okay."
They both grin stupidly at each other for a second and then they're diving back in, meeting halfway with open mouths.
At some point, Tommy moves his hands to rest on either side of his waist and Buck swears he's never felt small before, but those hands there, and the way that, if Tommy were to shift them a little further around his back, his fingers would be touching, makes Buck feel fucking tiny.
It's a new feeling (he's 6'2" and jacked, okay? He's not used to feeling small) but it's one that has sparks shooting down his spine and warmth settling in the pit of his stomach.
A moan gets swallowed up in their mouths - whether it came from him or Tommy, Buck's not sure, and he doesn't care enough to dwell on it, all he knows is that he wants more. He wants to rip moans out of his boyfriend's throat and chase them with his tongue to see what they taste like, and then he wants to do it again and again and again until they're both dizzy and drowning in it.
Buck's a good kisser, okay, he is - he's made out with a lot of people, he knows how to kiss. But there's something about kissing Tommy that's just so... different. It's not even that he's a guy, or the gratifying way his stubble scratches at his face when they kiss, or the way he feels so much more firm and solid underneath him, it's just-
It's just intoxicating.
Tommy is intoxicating.
They're both breathless when they lean apart, lips kiss-swollen and still joined by a string of saliva that could belong to either one of them (hell, it probably belongs to both of them at this point) and Buck's never gotten so hard so fast in his life it's almost painful.
"Evan," Tommy groans when Buck starts kissing his way across his jawline and down to his neck and, god, he never wants to hear his name said another way.
He kisses and kisses and kisses his way down his neck until Tommy gets the hint and tips his head back, resting it against the back of the couch, giving Buck free access to all that bare skin that he's wanted to get his mouth on for-fucking-ever.
He licks up the vein on the side of his neck and leans back just enough to exhale a breath over the wet trail he'd left behind, relishing in the shaky way Tommy sucks in his own breath above him. Buck ducks his head a little lower and scrapes his teeth over his adams apple and Tommy grips onto his waist, fingers digging into his skin tight enough to bruise - he's struck with the sudden realisation that he wants it to. He wants to wear Tommy's marks on his skin, wants to have them to remember him by when they're both working back-to-back double shifts and can't see each other for days, wants to be able to look in the mirror and see them, wants to watch them fade just so Tommy has to come over and darken them up again.
Buck shifts his hips and grinds them down a little, just to feel the way those fingers tighten on his waist again, and it rips a whine out of his throat when he realises that Tommy's just as hard as he is, that he's probably dripping in his jeans and, god, Buck wants him.
He slips his hands up the front of Tommy's shirt and pushes it up a little, desperate to just feel skinskinskin under his hands, and works his mouth higher, licking and biting and kissing across the stubble his boyfriend always wears.
He doesn't mean to get distracted, but his mouth drags across a smooth part of skin, interrupting the burn on his tongue and catching his attention and, sue him, now he's curious.
So he moves one of his hands away from Tommy's abs (a crime, honestly) and uses it to tilt his head back a little more so he can see what it is he's stumbled upon and- oh.
"You know you have a scar here?" Buck says, thumb dragging over the slightly raised bump of stubble-free skin.
Tommy blinks a few times, like he has to remind himself where he is, and releases his grip on Buck's waist a little.
Buck doesn't quite whine at the loss, but it's a pretty close thing.
"I'm aware," he says, voice hoarse, and Buck feels himself twitch in his jeans at the sound because he did that. That's because of him.
The movie's still playing in the background, a soft song drifting through some car speakers, but Buck doesn't care anymore, not when his whole body is thrumming with TommyTommyTommy, not when his entire world's narrowing down to him.
"How'd you get it?"
"An accident when I was a kid," Tommy tells him, tilting his head obediently when Buck's hands shift it from side to side so that he can get a better look at the scar in the light.
"An accident?"
"Mhm, an accident."
It's clear that Buck is itching for an explanation - Tommy has never really been one to deny him anything, and it doesn't seem like he's about to start now. He releases his grip on Buck's waist and ghosts his fingertips up the length of his spine instead, savouring the goosebumps that he can feel starting to prickle at his skin.
"I was fifteen- maybe even fourteen, it was so long ago I can't even really remember-," he starts. "Still far too young for what it was, but, you know, I'd just started getting stubble on my face and it was so irritating and itchy, I wasn't used to it yet, and my Dad... he wasn't the kind of father who spent time teaching me things, and he had this straight razor that he always had to use because it made him feel like a real traditional, masculine man, you know?"
He pauses, and Buck hums in acknowledgement.
Shitty parents, that he can relate to.
"Anyway, I'd seen him use it before and I thought 'hey, this can't be that hard, right?' so I picked it up and tried using it and it didn't end well." Tommy laughs, a little self-consciously, heat creeping up the back of his neck. "I thought my Mom was going to have a heart attack when I walked out of that bathroom bleeding from a neck wound."
Buck breathes out a laugh, a tiny little exhale from his nose, and ghosts a kiss over the scar in question. "She took you to the hospital?"
"Oh, god no. She called my Dad home from work and he took one look at me and called me an idiot, said something about me being a failure of a son, and went to make sure I didn't ruin his razor."
And that... makes Buck's blood turn to ice in his veins.
He's no stranger to parents and the cruelty they can dish out on their kids, but at least his parents had given a shit about him when he was hurt and bleeding.
"Tommy," he says gently, maybe even whines, lips pulled down into a frown.
"I was fine," Tommy shrugs, as if that makes it better, as if that makes it okay. "Patched it up myself with some butterfly sutures and everything." He says it so casually, as if someone so young should have to tend to their own wounds. "It re-opened a few times when I scratched it, and when I was stubborn enough to try again, so it probably scarred at some point then."
"That isn't- that doesn't-" Buck stutters, grappling with the right words. He isn't stupid, he knows how incredibly dangerous neck wounds are, especially ones as close to the veins as Tommy's scar is. "That doesn't make it okay! They should have taken you to a hospital, or a doctor, or gotten you help, not just done nothing!"
"It wasn't that ba-"
"But it could have been!"
It makes Buck's stomach sink, makes something hollow and empty expand in his chest, the thought that- that something could have happened to Tommy, that he could have been lost to him years before he'd even had a chance to find him.
"Hey," Tommy whispers, moving one of his hands from the back of his shirt to cup Buck's cheek, drawing his eyes away from the scar to meet his own instead. "I'm fine, Evan. I'm here, with you, and it'll take more than a stupid shaving accident to take me away from here, okay?"
Buck exhales a small, shaky breath and blinks a few times, like he can stop himself from spiraling by sheer force of will alone, like he can-
"Okay?" Tommy prompts, like he can fucking feel the path he was working himself down.
It helps, at least somewhat, to pull him back from venturing down that dark place, and he nods his head. "Okay."
Buck lets himself be guided back into a sweet kiss, lets Tommy pull him in once, twice, until he remembers where they were before this and right, his body hasn't quite caught up with his brain and he's still half hard in his pants. A shift of his hips tells him that the feeling is definitely mutual.
The anxiety still grips at his skin, settles deep in his bones like it wants to build a campfire and set up shop for the night, and he knows that Tommy can feel it, can feel the way he's teetering on the edge, still just waiting for a gust of wind to blow him over.
The hands settle at the small of his back again, Tommy's palms pressing into him, urging him closer until they're pressed right up against each other. He doesn't let his grip up, though, just holds onto Buck so tight like he wants to walk into that camp and settle there too, like he wants to chase away the anxiety and replace it with nothing but him.
Their shirts are still rucked up a little, and Buck can't help the moan that wrenches it's way from his throat when their skin touches, the hair on Tommy's abdomen tickling against his abs and fuck, he wants to sink to the ground and see how far down that happy trail goes. He settles, however, for shoving Tommy's shirt up around his armpits and leaning back from their kiss to rake his gaze across his chest, his abs, the very prominent tent in his jeans that Buck wants to take care of.
He ghosts his fingertips over Tommy's abs, watching the way they clench deliciously under his touch, and then moves them down, working the button on his jeans open and pulling the zipper down, and Buck's only human, what else is he to do when Tommy moans and rolls his head back, baring his throat and all that skin except sink his teeth into it again.
God, he hopes it leaves a mark.
"I want," he starts, voice gruff in Tommy's ear when he moves up and sinks his teeth into the lobe and tugs.
His mind whites out a little when Tommy moves his hands down to his ass, gripping it and using the leverage to roll both of their hips together in a slow, deep grind.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" he whispers, voice just as hoarse and rough as Buck's sounds. "What do you want?"
"I want," he says again, a little more breathless, and slides his hand into Tommy's jeans, cupping him where he's hard and throbbing against his palm and then-
And then-
And then Tommy's phone is ringing and vibrating against the coffee table because the entire world fucking hates him probably.
“Ignore it,” Buck huffs against the spot he's kissing at behind Tommy’s ear.
“Evan,” Tommy groans back like it’s taking every ounce of willpower in him to be the responsible one. "It might be work."
"It might not be work."
Tommy makes it about two more neck kisses and three more brrrp's of his phone before he returns one of his hands to the small of Buck's back, shifts to the edge of the couch, and tips forward with Buck in his lap to grab his phone from the coffee table, keeping them pressed together the whole time.
Buck swears his entire brain does a factory reset because holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck that was so hot. And now he's thinking about Tommy doing it again, about Tommy manhandling him, and this is definitely not helping the situation happening in his pants.
"Hello-" Tommy says, fumbling his phone against his ear with his hand and his shoulder before it can ring out.
Buck doesn't quite pout, but it's a very close thing. He does get Tommy's free hand slipping a little lower down his back, though, his fingers just dipping below the waistband of his jeans and, okay, yeah, this is definitely an acceptable compromise.
Tommy seems to get the message, because then he's sliding them a little deeper, giving him a taste, hanging between a tease and a promise, and Buck has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning out loud.
He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses on Tommy's neck again and reasons to himself that if it really is work on the other end of the phone, then he has to keep himself quiet somehow, and what better way to keep his mouth occupied than this.
Tommy tenses under him, and Buck's about a second away from pulling away, sure that he's crossed some kind of boundary that they haven't had a chance to establish, but then Tommy's rolling his head back and Buck has to fight the urge to giggle at the permission he's given.
He has absolutely no idea how long Tommy's on the phone for before he's being tugged away from his neck by a soft hand in his hair.
"I have to go," Tommy says around a frown. His eyes go wide when he looks at Buck, pupils dilated so much that they're almost completely dark, leaving just a small ring of blue framing them.
Buck has no idea how he looks, he's never really taken the time to admire himself after taking someone apart, but fuck, Tommy makes him want to. His mouth burns a little from where he'd been rubbing against Tommy's stubble, and his lips are probably red and a little kiss swollen, shiny with spit and he wants to see.
"There's a fire downtown," he reasons, but makes no move to leave just yet, "they need me."
"There's a fire here," Buck huffs, but he climbs off of Tommy's lap and throws himself down dramatically on the couch instead, barely resisting the urge to throw a Jee-Yun sized tantrum. "What if I need you?"
Tommy laughs, all bright and bubbly, and looks at him with those dark eyes that just make Buck want to climb back in his lap again. "I'm sure your fire won't be quite as disastrous if we don't put it out right away."
"You can't be sure," Buck frowns, gesturing down at himself. His shirt's still rucked halfway up his chest, his jeans hanging low on his hips, and he looks absolutely debauched. "What if I die from sexual frustration, Tommy? Are you sure you want to take that risk, hm? You should probably stay just to be saf-"
"I-" Tommy interrupts, leaning down and tilting Buck's head up with his thumb and forefinger on his chin so that they're eye-to-eye, "-am going to go upstairs and change my pants." He swipes his thumb along Buck's bottom lip, and Buck sinks his teeth into it, tongue following the sting a second later. "You are going to wait here and stop being a menace to my self control."
Buck gets two more quick kisses before Tommy's standing up and taking a step away from the couch, like if he's within reaching distance of him he won't be able to resist the urge to grab onto him again. And Buck, because he absolutely adores being a little shit, lays himself out on the couch and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt riding further up when his back arches up a little.
Tommy doesn't quite growl, but it's pretty close.
"Evan," he warns.
Buck smiles, all smug and satisfied.
"Go be a big hero and fight some fires," he tells him. "I'll be here, by myself, alone, thinking about everything that just happened."
Tommy rolls his eyes, but there's no malice in it, and he's smiling when he starts to head for the stairs.
"You're insatiable," he calls out, footsteps echoing up them.
Buck grins to himself and doesn't quite kick his feet out of giddiness, but it's damn near close. "Did I mention alone?"
"Incorrigible," Tommy calls back from directly above him.
There's silence in the loft for a minute or two, presumably whilst Tommy gets himself somewhat under control and struggles into one of the fresh pairs of pants he's managed to stash away here over the last few weeks. Buck switches the movie off - he definitely has no idea what's happening now, and it feels wrong to restart it without Tommy with him - and only looks up when he hears footsteps shuffling back down the stairs.
"Have you seen m-"
Buck gets to his feet and holds Tommy's phone out to him.
He gets a kiss as a reward after Tommy takes it and slips it into his pocket.
"Be safe," Buck tells him, because it's become second nature for him to say it whenever Tommy's walking into danger, a placeholder for all the words that weigh heavy between them that he's not quite ready to say.
"Always," Tommy promises, and finds that he means it. "I'll text you when it's out. And if you still want me here then-"
"-I always want you here-"
"-I'll come back over when they don't need me."
It takes a second or two for Buck's words to click in Tommy's head, but when they do, he's being pulled in for a kiss that's a breath away from venturing back into something more before Tommy's ripping himself away and walking towards the door like if he doesn't leave now, then he never will.
"Spare key's in the fake light switch next to the door, let yourself in!"
"Evan, that is wildly unsafe," Tommy chastises as he's pulling his shoes on by the door.
Buck just rolls his eyes and purposefully tries not to think about getting a spare key cut just for Tommy. It's still early days for them, and he doesn't want to ruin this thing between them by moving too fast.
The problem now, though, is that he is thinking about it, and fuck, he does want it.
"Yeah, yeah, you sound like my sister. I'll let you lecture me on safe building practices as soon as you make it back to me," he hums, steering himself away from those thoughts in his head.
Tommy gives him a soft little look that brings back those butterflies in Buck's stomach and doesn't look away from him until he's stepped out into the hall. He gives him a half wave, and then the door's closing behind him and he's gone, leaving Buck alone in an apartment that feels a little bit too big now.
Outside, Tommy runs his finger along the scar on his neck and, for the first time in, probably, ever, he doesn't get a sick, hollow feeling in his stomach when he thinks about it.