Did you guys know what right now hollanov are cuddled up on the couch and Shane is curled into Ilya’s chest, back to the TV (he’d fallen asleep an hour into the movie), his socked feet pushed into the ankle of Ilya’s sweats. Shane fusses a little when the movie Ilya is watching has some loud explosions and he’s quickly grabbing the remote and turning it down.
His hand is smoothing down over the back of Shane’s head and he’s mumbling “shh sleep” as he’s leaning down to kiss kiss kisss the top of his head, rub his nose in a bit to smell Shane, lingering since Shane isn’t awake to swat him away. Ilya feels Shane’s hand fist into his tshirt where his hand was laying on his chest, and his thigh pushes in closer between Ilya’s before his boy is drawing in a big huge sigh and falling back to sleep. Ilya is smiling into Shane’s soft hair with his eyes sleepily watching the tv
Sleepy sex hollanov I can’t stop thinking about it.
Ilya and shane zonked out napping on the couch tangled up in each other, it’s post training and its storming outside, a freezing crappy weather winter day. They’d had showers, eaten in tired silence, and dragged their exhausted bodies to the couch after in sweats with damp hair and the plush blanket stolen off their bed. They are tangled up, bodies warm and heavy, the only light coming from the grey clouded sky making the colours of the room muted, like the haze of an early morning.
Shane wakes up first, a soft sound in the back of his throat and scrunch of his nose as he floats back into consciousness. He flexes his fingers and licks his lips before blinking one eye half open. Ilya is a hot heavy weight on him, his curls are pressed to Shane’s mouth and tickling under his nose. Shane tilts his chin to look down over Ilya over him, the blanket a mess around their hips. Shane drags his hand down the length of Ilya’s handsome back, finds the hem of his jumper and shoves his hand up under it, greedy to touch skin.
Shane sighs heavily and snacks his lips, splutters out a curl of Ilya’s from between his lips and presses his nose into Ilya’s hairline. He maybe drifts into sleep again, goes a little fuzzy and heavy and wakes with a small jolt in that weird half waking state. Shane exhales slow through his nose when he wakes again, Ilya still heavy and quietly snoring into his neck. Shane’s hand is flat between Ilya’s shoulders, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. Shane shifts a bit, shuffling down to adjust the angle of his hips, feeling a bit numb from laying in one position for so long.
And oh.
Oh he’s hard.
He’s so fucking hard actually, he can feel it now as he wakes more, the heavy aching pulse between his legs, the hard press of his cock under the fabric, between he and Ilya’s bodies. Shane shivers at the rush of pleasure at the accidental friction, chasing his hips up again against Ilya, eyes closed. His hand pushes further up Ilya’s back, all the way to his neck, Ilya’s sweatshirt all bunched up from it. His hand is on the back of Ilya’s neck, squeezing, thumb rubbing, feeling the familiar mess of his curls around his fingers.
Shane keeps the slow little ruts of his hips, breathing picking up a bit as he does. His limbs are so heavy his thrusts a little uncoordinated, tongue heavy in his mouth. Hips stuttering just enough for a sparking drag of his cock against fabric and warmth, a tease of the proper full sensation, but Shane is too sleepy and pinned by the weight of his man to do much more. Shane sighs and pushes his face into Ilya’s hair, rubs his mouth against the shell of Ilya’s ear. Ilya is so all over him, smells like his body wash and warm and fucking heavy, all big solid man muscle on top of Shane and fuck Shane wants. He keeps grinding up, up, and Shane parts his legs just a bit, slings a leg over Ilya’s hip and yes, better.
Ilya’s hips are lined up with his own and Shane’s cock is pressed to Ilya’s now, just as hard as him and Shane feel feel the hot heavy weight of him and Shane’s cock pulses wet in his boxers. He wants. He wants Ilya’s cock, the stretch of him, in his mouth, his body, his hand. Needs him.
Shane pants against Ilya’s ear, fingers become co ordinated enough to tangle in Ilya’s thick curls, taking a fist full, nails scratching against his scalp. He thrusts twice more, squirming under Ilya and fuck he could maybe even come like this, he thinks a hot shiver shoot’s up his spine and his cock throbs, slick with pre cum and- and then Ilya wakes, a small groan and his nose is dragging over Shane’s sternum. He lets out a loud heavy breath and his leg twitches and he’s rubbing his mouth over Shane’s neck, tired mouth attempting to form kisses.
“Shane” Ilya slurs out, sleepy and then hes rocking his hips down down down against Shane, meeting his thrusts in perfect time. Shane’s head falls back, mouth ajar and he’s pulling at Ilya’s hair and the drag of their cocks are hot and throbbing together through the thin fabric layers between them. And it’s not enough, it’s not being full, what Shane is craving now, an empty feeling inside that he knows can only sooth with Ilya pushed all the way in, Shane’s body throbbing at taking the weight of him all at once. It’s not being fucked, but it’s good, it’s hot and lazy and sparky bubbly pleasure through the low of their stomachs and Shane’s body is so strung out from training he’s not sure he’d have the energy to do much more than this.
“Baby” Shane mutters and then Ilya is nodding into his throat, a hand sliding down down and he finds Shane’s hip, hand grips tight to it, pushes him down into the couch and Ilya starts rolling his hips down onto Shane like he’s fucking him, slow messy thrusts that make Shane’s toes curl. Ilya is whining low in his throat, draws his face up to press his hot sleepy cheek to Shane’s, his skin is so hot and he kinda smells a little like sweat and Shane fucking loves this man, loves the grunt of his breathing he way he holds Shane the way he needs him just as fucking badly, half asleep and desperate pawing hands.
“Yeahyeahyeah” Ilya is panting low and grunting Shane’s ear and Shane draws a hand between them, his fingers find Ilya’s mouth and he’s pushing his thumb in, Ilya’s tongue warm on the pad of his thumb.
“S’good, more” Shane whines, as Ilya’s hand tightens on his hip, makes Shane strain against it to try and meet Ilya’s thrusts, his body jolting as if Ilya was fucking him up the couch. Ilya increases the pace, the couch rocks a little with the heavy movements of their strong bodies, and Shane’s cock has soaked his boxers through, adding a rough wet slip to the hit line of Ilya’s cock rutting against his.
Ilya’s next thrust drives the sensitive head of his cock against Shane’s, a rough pulsing of their cocks of their need, Shane can feel the hot thick weight of Ilya’s cock, his cock, all of ilya is his and fuck it feels so good the heady aching drag drag drag and Ilya turns his face and bites at Shane’s cheek and the soft pain of it makes Shane cum, gasping and shaking as he does, thighs flexing as pleasure shimmers down from his cock through him, all the way down to the soles of his feet.
Ilya growls and presses Shane so hard into the couch it makes him grunt from the force of it, Shane can feel the wetness of his cum soaked between them, through his sweatpants against Ilya’s and Ilya lets outs ragged moan before he’s coming, mouth dropped open, canine teeth pressed to the apple of Shane’s cheek as he shakes through it.
Ilya collapses heavy on Shane between one breath and he next, mutters out a low curse in Russian and Shane nods against Ilya’s hair, wiggles his toes and wraps his legs over Ilya’s body.
He feels shot, trembly warm and half asleep still, dizzy and floaty with pleasure, almost drunk.
“Pervert” Ilya mutters after a moment, his hand shoving into Shane’s sweats to feel the wet mess inside. Shane whines, shivers when his fingers brush his softening cock.
“Am not” Shane gruffs and curls his hips when Ilya strokes his fingers down behind his balls, fingers wet with Shane’s cum.
“You are right, you are freaky little sex pervert. Details important” Ilya yawns, jaw clicks and he pulls back to look down at Shane, his flushed face, half open sleepy dark eyes, the way he stares back at Ilya, lips parted. Starving sleepy horny little monster. Ilya needs to eat him in one bite.
Shane is frowning at him, probably due to the pervert comment but the furrow of his brows his so pretty is just makes Ilya smile.
“Is ok sweetheart I am also sex pervert. So this is very good” Ilya smiles, and Shane rolls his eyes and Ilya wraps a hand around Shane’s thigh and pushes up, finger slides back and finds his hole and oh.
“Oh” Shane sighs, eyes flutter and Ilya smirks, tilts his head down and fits their mouths together, kisses him slow and open mouthed, his whole body pulses with exhaustion and fatigue but he’d never be too tired to fuck his pretty little sex freak boy, especially after waking him so nicely.
Shane and Ilya laying in bed post fuck, Shane sprawled on his back still, Ilya between his legs, Shane’s thighs loosely pressed to Ilya’s sides, Ilya is still inside Shane, he’ll stay like that till he too soft for his cock to stay there, because Shane loves it, feeling full till the last moment and Ilya does too, loves how Shane whines if he even feels like Ilya is going to pull out. Shane is all big wet brown eyes and sleepy blinks, his arms are wrapped around Ilya’s neck, hands holding on to his opposite elbows, cradling Ilya close to him. Shane’s stomach is still tensing and jumping, ebbing out the last of his orgasm and he’s nuzzling his nose and lips in slow nuzzles against Ilya’s curls.
Ilya adores him like this, like a kitten nuzzling, when he rubs his face into some part of Ilya- any part of him, like he’s trying to push his way into his body, covering his senses in Ilya, pleasure seeking with Ilya’s body.
Ilya shivers when Shane clenches around him, thighs shifting against Ilya’s sides as he adjusts himself. “Sorry” Shane sighs and Ilya shakes his head, smoothes his hands down Ilya’s sides, rubs a flat hand over his tummy. “No no, just sensitive, sweetheart” and then he’s pulling back from Shane’s nuzzling, looking down at him all flush faced and staring up at Ilya like, like something impossible, like Ilya could never have dreamed of- with reverence, adoration. He blinks heavy and his arms tighten around Ilya’s neck, as if making sure he’ll stay close.
“You okay?” Ilya asks and Shane nods, beams and there’s a smudge of saliva on his chin, his mouth is so shiny with spit and there’s some come wet between his pecs from his own orgasm and Ilya feels like an animal, a frantic thing a predator for how much he desires Shane, is consumed by him, how he needs him in the most human basic primal sense. He feels dizzy at being the one trusted by Shane to have this, his pleasure.
“Sooooo good” Shane exhales, his face happy and open, so fucking open, so comfortable in himself and arches his back in a small stretch, presses his shoulder blades down into the bed, wriggles his hips a bit and he’s going to kill Ilya one of these days.
“Soooo good” Ilya echos back, so happy he feels fucking stupid, cups Shane’s cheek and rubs his thumb over Shane’s pretty red mouth the dark pout of it, the full bottom lip that pushes out. Ilya leans down and bites Shane’s mouth, the whole shape of it between his cheek and then takes his bottom lip onto his mouth, bites and sucks at it. His hands open and warm rub up and down Shane’s sides in slow heavy touches.
“You are so good” Ilya mumbles as he pulls back, knocks their noses together and pulls back further to watch the way Shane’s head tilts forward to chase Ilya’s mouth.
“Always a good boy” Ilya rubs his lips against the corner of Shane’s mouth, feels the way he shivers with the words and drags his mouth down and bites at his chin.
“Was so fucking hot, always is, my perfect boy. my perfect perfect boy” Ilya kisses his way over Shane’s face as he says it, watches the blush splotch on his cheeks and neck.
“Your boy” Shane mumbles back and Ilya heart squeezes, pounds pounds pounds. Ilya’s hands smooth over Shane’s thighs, up to his waist and cuddle around him pulling them flush flush together, Shane up off the bed.
Shane turns his face, trying to find Ilya’s mouth again and Ilya smiles. Shane is always so extra kissey like this.
Ilya kisses his once, twice, a third time with a wet lick of his tongue and Shane is groaning happily into it, tangling his fingers into Ilya’s hair and pulling him in like their could be a physical way to be closer than this. Shane’s teeth mash against Ilya’s at his excitement to kiss, eagerness and Ilya pulls back slow, tiny peck as he pulls away, tilts his head up and down to rub his mouth over Shane’s swollen one.
Ilya pulls back enough to see his face, and dies again a thousand small deaths at the face of his love, dark eyes glowing and small smile warm and a sweet magnet to Ilya, mirroring each small movement of his head, a tiny thread of gold ties them together, Ilya is sure of it, the way they move as one.
“Yeah Shane, my boy” Ilya agrees and reaches up to smooth his fingertips over Shane’s mouth Shane nuzzles up into his fingertips and Ilya traces his swollen mouth, feels the exhales from his nose, pushes his fingertips in just so to feel the wet and warmth, where his tongue had just been. Ilya thinks he’d live between Shane’s molars if he could.
Some things that the Centaurs hear while sharing a locker room/hotel/bus/plane with Hollonov that blast open their communal third eye with regards to what Shane and Ilya have going on:
- "Show it to me. I know you got hit, show me. Mm. Is very painful? Mm. You on your side tonight, I think."
- "No, my baby, you'll come to Monk's. Drink two beers, talk to people who are not me. Mm, no, not Troy either. He is basically shorter you."
- "...just a little longer, I think, and then maybe a trim, just so is not in your eyes when you skate--"
- "Ah, no, he doesn't like drinking his coffee black. Oat milk, two sugars. I know what he does but is not what he likes. What, Shane, do I lie?"
- "Give me number. Ah-ah. One higher, I think. I know you like even numbers, baby."
- "Ask nicely."
- "...and then I take you home and--fuck off, Dykstra, I am coming onto my husband. You never heard of flirting? We are in the back of bus, it was private until you came back here--"
- "Here, made you tea. Something special in it for you."
- "...lunch from that Greek place? Nice. Okay, Shane will have--"
- "...thin walls, huh? Bet they can hear you. Let them hear you. Say my name. Yes, baby, fuck. Louder."
back at it again with the worst most foul possible day of the week wip title. tagged by/tagging DEAR FRIENDS @leashybebes @frogsinflannel @thegingerparty @chimneyschewinggum @capitalnineteen @trombonechurchill @pluralityofaxes @emphasisonthehomo @ambernotember @angels-all-sin @sad-girl-hours23 @wee-fuckin-woo @capthawkeyepierce @a-mel0n @winter-parrot @queermccoy @beanarie @bisexualbrainrots @thecarrott @userundecided @kinardnatural and @ YOU READING THIS YES YOU please 🤲🤲🤲 post something and tag me in it i want to see what you're working on!!!
uhhhhh hey we've all seen this post and went "ahahaha that's sooooo me buck" right? well :) what if. it was buck. under the cut for pure filth :) warning for daddy kink and crossdressing what for sex reasons.
"Treat like you? Dressed up so sweet for me?" Tommy snaps the elastic waistband of Buck's skirt, and it makes him jump, forcing Tommy's fingers to press against his prostate and making Buck whine. "Nah, think I'm gonna savour this, baby."
The pet name has Buck shuddering. "Please," he begs, and he isn't sure if he's asking for Tommy to hurry anymore, or if he's asking for him to keep his promise and savour Buck.
"And anyway, you had four men fuck you today, sure, but did they all get you off, sweetheart?" Buck shakes his head, whining again as Tommy's fingers slide slick, fucking in and out of him. Matt, the last guy, was here for barely twenty minutes, and he definitely didn't care if Buck actually got off. That's hot in its own way, just being used like that, but Buck wants to come so bad his teeth ache.
Tommy tsks. "It's okay. I'll treat you right." Fingers pressing down, Tommy rubs Buck's prostate as he asks, "Can I eat you out, baby?"
"Hngf?" Buck responds. He's never had anyone eat his ass before, but if Tommy is offering — "Fuck yes, Daddy."
There's no hesitation, Tommy just dives right in, licking around his fingers, sucking at Buck's rim, sliding his wet tongue into Buck alongside his fingers. It's a whole new sensation, and weird for sure, but when Tommy moans, Buck sinks further into his pillow with a sigh.
"Mhm, Daddy, 's nice, but I need — yeah." The hand Tommy must have been using to hold himself up wraps around Buck's cock, and Tommy's face digs deeper into Buck's ass. He starts stroking loosely, and Buck thrusts between Tommy's tongue in him and his hand on Buck's dick.
It feels so fucking good, knowing Tommy's making a mess of him. There's absolutely a puddle of drool under his cheek, he can feel Tommy's spit dripping down his balls, and his dick is leaking precome, Tommy spreading it over his cock with each stroke of his big hand.
It isn't long before Buck's sobbing out, and Tommy pulls back to tease, "Don't cry, baby. Don't want your mascara to run. Your makeup looks so pretty," his breath hot against Buck's ass.
I literally go a little more insane every time I think about Ilya sitting there having the worst emotional whiplash of his life with cum on his hand and cum on his stomach and cum on his Rick Owens and reaching out his hand (Which has cum on it) because Shane is walking away and he is in the world's most awkward pose (because he has cum all over him) and two minutes ago literally less than two minutes ago he so visibly thought the words he's mine that the world fucking shook and the world had to fucking punish him for that so now he's been subjected to the world record speedrun of nut to post-nut clarity. The cum is not dry it is not just fresh it is WARM
Anyway this is all to say do we think that Ilya ever during those two weeks of summer-tinged emotional catharsis and sexual bliss puts Shane on the couch at the cottage and loves on him and then comes on his chest and stomach and then yanks his hair back and snarles into Shane's still-open mouth "You aren't allowed to fucking move until I tell you," and then leaves Shane there while the sun goes down and then when he comes back he stands in front of Shane in the dark for a very long time and finally says, "On your knees," and Shane hits his knees before the words are even fully out of Ilya's mouth and Ilya presses his thumb into the flaky-dried cum on Shane's chest and says, "You can speak," and Shane babbles out sorry after sorry as he kisses Ilya's stomach and thighs and hips and cock and Ilya just. Fucking takes him apart. Then afterward Ilya spoons up behind Shane's still-quivering body on the carpet and presses the softest kisses there and says, "Do not ever run away from our bed again."
"It was a couch." Pedantry is in Shane's fucking bones, apparently.
And Ilya bites and says, "Our bed is wherever I kiss you or fuck you or hit you or make you cry. If you are scared or mad or sad you tell me and I will stay with you in our bed until I make it better. We don't leave our bed until we can leave it together."
"I'm sorry," Shane says again, "I shouldn't have--"
"It's over now," Ilya tells him, because it is. "You came back, didn't you? Back to our bed? Yes you did. My good boy."
"Always come back," Shane mumbles, and Ilya doesn't know if it's a demand or a promise, but it doesn't matter because it's the same thing in the end.
I'm very attached to shane got his autism from one or both of his parents but none of them are diagnosed because it presents the very funny idea of their house naturally having habits/accomodations that are normal for them and thus never get brought up but that of course ilya wouldn't know about
like they're all used to calling out a warning before something loud ("blender!") just as a heads up because yes of course you would warn everyone around you about incoming loud noise
which means one day ilya is helping clean up a potted plant that got knocked over but turns on the vacuum without a warning, making yuna and shane look at him like he just betrayed them
Two months ago, I was let go from my job. They gave me one month of pay and my vacation time as severance, but with no health insurance and lots of medical bills still to pay, I'm at a dead end. I'm driving deliveries every day, applied to 150+ jobs, and trying to get a cake/baking business off the ground. I really hate posting this all the time but I reluctantly admit that I still need help. All the proceeds from this go to paying off my medical bills, and paying only those bills. I don't use this for shopping, gas, groceries, etc.
Please share if you can
Hi, I'm Chapin, Caroline's sister. Caroline is a mom, a chef, and one of my best friends. I c… Chapin Eager needs your support for Caroline'
"I was told there would be cake". Bucktommy for five sentences game! 🤭🫶
“I was told there would be cake,” Tommy said dryly.
Buck gasped dramatically. “Are you saying you only came home for cake? Mr. Kinard-Buckley, are you using me for my baking skills?”
Tommy pulled Buck into his lap. “Well, Mr. Buckley-Kinard, you did promise taste tests for the grooms’ cakes when I got home.”
“The frosting is just setting, then you can have some,” Buck turned to snuggle into Tommy more comfortably. “We have got to figure out the hyphenation, we can’t keep changing it.”
“We can do whatever the hell we want, that’s the whole point,” Tommy said. “We can pick a whole new name if you want.”
“Well, I’ve actually been thinking about just Kinard, no hyphenation,” Buck told him. “If you’d be okay with that.”
Tommy’s arms tightened around him. “Yeah, definitely.” His voice sounded a little wobbly.
“Are you about to cry on me?” Buck asked.
“No,” Tommy denied, just as Buck saw a tear roll down his cheek.
“I better change my bet about who cries first at the ceremony,” Buck mused, wiping Tommy’s cheek and placing a kiss there instead.
It's late when the knock at his door comes. A storm had rolled in a few hours before and Tommy, about turn in for the night, had almost dismissed the sound as the wind or rain. But something makes him pause and go to the door anyway, flicking on the light and undoing the lock to pull the door open.
Evan is on his porch, soaked to the skin, his eyes wide like a deer frozen in oncoming headlights. He looks startled to see Tommy, as if he wasn't expecting him to answer, and he fumbles back a step, swallowing hard.
"Evan? What are you doing here?" It's nearly two in the morning and the rain is coming down in sheets, beating against the side on the house. "What happened to you?"
Saying Evan looks worse for wear would be the understatement of the decade. He's battered, covered in cuts and bruises that only look a few days old. He's holding himself strangely, like just standing there is causing him pain. He's haggard, curls plastered to his head from the rain, face scruffy, eyes tired and red and empty. He takes one shuttering breath and it hits Tommy like a freight train. Evan Buckley is wrecked.
"I..." Evan scrubs a hand over his face and winces, like he forgot about injuries there. "I'm s-sorry. I shouldn't have just sh-shown up like this. You probably...I should just..." He stumbles back again, getting dangerously close to the steps of the porch. One more half step and he'll tumble backwards into the grass.
"I just...I need..." There's a sudden streak of lightning and Evan flinches hard, then whimpers, "Daddy."
"Oh, Evan," Tommy says quietly. He steps out onto the porch and Evan looks unsure, like he's a split second from vaulting himself over the railing and running into the night.
"You–you don't have to – to touch me. I know you don't... I just can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see– And the pills dont help, Frank doesn't help. The only thing that ever made it better was you," Evan looks up, eyes scared and pleading. "Can I...Can I sleep on your couch? I'll stay out of your way. I'll be good."
And Tommy's heart just fucking breaks. He's seen Evan low before, those months working under Gerrard, unsure if Bobby would return to his position, if he could stay on at the 118 taking orders from a captain he couldn't respect, had been extremely difficult for him. There had been so many nights that Evan had needed reassurance that he wasn't blowing things out of proportion, that he was a good firefighter, that what he was feeling wasn't wrong or bad. But Tommy's never seen him so totally broken, curling in to make himself small, shivering with something that had nothing to do with his rain sodden clothes.
Tommy feels out of his depth. He had been able to comfort Evan all those times before because he had lived through the same thing. He had had Evan's texts and phone calls as a map to what he needed from him in those moments. Tonight was the first time he'd seen him in nearly a year, all the information he had was grapevine gossip that the station Bobby Nash had built was crumbling from the inside. He doesn't know how Evan got the bruises marring his pale skin, if reaching out to touch him will send him spiraling further.
He must take too long trying to find the right words because Evan let's out a shaky breath.
"I know that's too much to ask, especially after everything I've put you through. I'll go. I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore."
"Evan." In spite of the trepidation he feels, Tommy's voice comes out even. Gentle, but firm enough that Evan's eyes snap to his just like they used to. "Come here, baby."
Evan hesitates for half second, then he's in Tommy's arms with so much force they nearly topple back into the doorway. Tommy does his best to steady them without grabbing on to him – he doesn't know the extent of Evan's injuries and he can't stand the thought of causing him more pain right now. The wetness from Evan's clothes seeps into his and now he can feel the shivers racking his body.
"Let's get inside, okay? We need to warm you up. Get you into some dry clothes."
Evan doesn't answer, just presses closer and buries his face into Tommy's neck, his hands clinging to the back of Tommy's shirt like he may disappear if his grip loosens. It's a bit of a process, figuring out how to maneuver back through the door with Evan's feet tangling between his, but they manage it somehow. Keeps the momentum up until they're down the hall to the bathroom closest to the door.
Once inside, he tries to gently disentangle himself from Evan's arms, but the move only makes him cling tighter, a soft, hurt noise escaping his throat.
"Please," He whispers.
Don't let me go, Tommy hears. Not now. Not again.
"Evan, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere," Tommy promises softly. "You're soaked through. You're freezing. We need to get you out of these clothes before you get sick."
Evan holds stubbornly to his neck, refusing to budge. Tommy runs a hand down his back, barely touching.
"Daddy knows what you need, baby," He murmurs, dropping his voice just a touch. It may be a low move, but the words and the tone seem to flip a switch in Evan's mind and his arms loosen the slightest bit. "Let daddy take care of you."
"O-okay, Daddy," Evan finally agrees and lets his arms go limp.
"That's my good boy," Tommy praises, running his fingers through Evan's matted curls. It makes him feel a little sick, like he's taking advantage of Evan talking like this while he's in such an obviously vulnerable state, but if it's the only tether Evan has right now, he'll do whatever he can to help him cling it.
"Need to get you warmed up and into something dry," Tommy says again, taking a half step back so he can see Evan's face and watch for any sign of panic. "Is that okay?"
Evan nods, but he swallows hard. Tommy can see him drifting and he runs his fingers across his cheek, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes.
"Can you use your words, sweetheart? Can you talk to me?"
"Yes, Daddy. It's – it's okay."
He helps Evan out of his soaked clothes and can't help the harsh breath that escapes him when his shirt is over his head. Evan's torso is mottled black and purple with bruises, leading down to a wrap around his ribs that has come too loose to be doing any good for what must be broken ribs. It's not the worst injury he's ever seen, not by a long shot, but the sight of Evan looking like this is almost too much to bear. At the sound of his shuddered breath, Evan looks away and moves to wrap his arms around himself, shame and embarrassment coming off of him in waves.
"Don't," Tommy whispers, his hands reaching out, but stopping just short of Evan's wrist. "You don't need to hide from me."
Evan makes a soft sound, like a half sob and nods. Tommy finishes unwrapping the bandage from his waist and takes a small step back.
"You should get a shower. I'll go get you some clothes while you–"
"No," Evan gasps, grabbing at him, wincing at the pain in his ribs at the sudden movement. "Please don't leave me, Tommy."
"Evan," He tries to make his tone soothing as he takes Evan's hands and holds them against his chest. "Okay, baby. It's alright. I'm not going anywhere."
He starts the shower, fiddling with knob for a moment to find a temperature that won't be too hot on Evan's cuts, then turns back to help him step out of his shoes and pants. He feels a pang in his chest when he sees the state of Evan's sneakers, mud and grass clippings covering the white material. Evan had always taken such good care of his things, took pride in making them last. That Evan has let them get into this state, that he had worn these out in the rain at all, spoke volumes to Tommy. He sets the sneakers delicately to the side, he'd clean them later, when Evan has calmed down enough to let him leave his side.
He stands and strips, then guides Evan under the warm spray, murmuring soothing nonsense when he flinches minutely as the water stings his cuts. After a moment, Evan's shoulders start to loosen the smallest bit and the shivers subside. Tommy keeps his movements slow as he reaches for the shampoo and gently works it into Evan's hair. He makes a soft sound and his eyes slip closed as he leans into the touch, and Tommy can feel the tension in his body slowly releasing until he's nearly boneless under his hands.
When Evan's skin is a soft, warm pink, Tommy shuts the water off and wraps him in one of the large, fluffy towels he'd always preferred when he stayed the night. They pad down the hallway to Tommy's bedroom and Tommy digs through his drawers until he finds his softest sweatshirt and pants and passes them to him silently before turning to dress himself. He watches Evan in the mirror, wincing inwardly at the grimace that pulls at his lips as he tugs the shirt over his head. He takes a steadying breath and turns to walk back to the side of the bed.
"Evan," Tommy says, trying to keep the same even tone he's somehow managed most of the night. "When was the last time you ate?"
Evan looks down at the comforter, picking at a loose thread nervously. He licks his lips and opens his mouth, then closes it again.
"I – I don't really remember," He answers, honestly. "This morning? Maybe last night? I don't have much of an appetite right now."
"I'll fix you something. I think I have some soup in the pantry." Evan shakes his head. "You need to eat, Evan–"
"I know. I have been. Today has just been..." He closes his eyes and his fists clench in his lap. Tommy aches to reach out, to uncurl his fingers and hold those hands until they stop shaking. "It-It's like my skin doesn't fit right. *I* don't fit right. And I'm so fucking tired."
That much is obvious. Tommy rakes in the dark circles under his eyes and wonders when the last time Evan slept was. Part of him wants to push the issue, insist that Evan at least get a pack of crackers or a protein bar and a glass of water into his system, but when he opens his mouth those words won't come.
"Alright. But you're eating in the morning," His tone leaves no room for argument, even though he knows Evan doesn't have any fight in him right now. "Come on. Let's get you settled in."
He expects Evan to stand so he can pull the blankets back, but he doesn't move from his perch on the edge of the mattress.
"Can...?" Evan stops and Tommy watches his throat bob as he swallows hard, sees his jaw clench to keep the request from coming out. He reaches out and uses two fingers to gently lift his chin until their eyes meet.
"You can ask for whatever you need," He assures softly. "Tell Daddy how to take care of you."
"Can you hold me?" Evan whispers, so low Tommy can barely hear him, even as close as they are. "Like – like we used to?"
"Oh, baby boy." Tommy can't stop himself from brushing a thumb over his cheek and Evan leans into the touch, pressing his battered skin against roughness of Tommy's fingertips. "Of course I will."
It's all too easy to get themselves tucked together, Tommy reclining back against the pillows while Evan carefully curls himself into his lap, pressing his face into the curve of Tommy's neck, one hand curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt. The familiarity of it, the ease in ehuch they found themselves here again, sends his heart racing, and he wonders if Evan can feel it under his hand, against his cheek. He thinks about all the other times he'd held Evan just like this. How Evan had cracked himself open and told Tommy things he had never told anyone. Stories from five years alone, just him and a jeep, the joyous moments he wished he could live again, the secrets from his past he was too ashamed to admit.
It's quiet for a long while, the only noise between them the sound of their breathing. Tommy runs his fingers through Evan's damp hair, untangling the curls, scratching lightly at his scalp occasionally. Evan stays silent, dead weight in Tommy's arms, and Tommy thinks he's dozed off until the hand in his shirt tightens slightly.
"Thank you," Evan says, quietly, "for doing this for me. I know it's not really fair to you after....after everything."
The break up, the hook up, the morning after. The lab, the consequences. The funeral. The months and months of silence.
"It's," Evan's voice cracks harshly. "It's been a really bad year. I've been trying so hard to keep it all together, but eveything just kept getting worse, then today it felt like...like whatever thread I was holding on to just snapped and it felt like I couldn't breathe anymore. Everyone was around and it was so loud and I just couldn't–"
Evan cuts himself off and sucks in a breath, his shoulders dropping, curling in on himself again.
"You don't have to explain why you came here," Tommy reassures, rubbing his hand up and down the curve of Evan's spine. "You don't have to say anything."
Evan shifts slightly in his lap, burrowing further into his neck for moment before he sighs, the warm breath sending a small shiver up Tommy's spine.
"I think...I think I need to. And you're...you're the only person I really trust right now."
Tommy's hands drop to his sides as Evan moves, shifting off of his lap to sit by his side instead. He pulls his knees to his chest, hissing a little as he adjusts to the new position.
"The thing is, I don't even know where to start," Evan says. His eyes are looking towards the window, but Tommy knows he's not actually seeing anything in this room.
"They say at the beginning is usually the best place," Tommy says gently. Evan blinks and looks at him, tilting his head slightly. A small, wry smile tugs at his lips.
"I've been fucked up since before I was even born. I don't think you want to sit through thirty-five years of trials and tribulations."
Tommy settles back againat the pillows, folds his hands theatrically over his chest.
"I don't have anywhere I need to be."
Evan smiles again, a little more full, a little more real. There he is, Tommy thinks. There's my Evan.
"I'll spare you the first thirty-four. Save all that for my new therapist. We can skip to the main event." Evan waves a hand around his injured face and his smile goes a bit too bitter. "That's why we're here, right?"
No. I'm here for all of you. I'd listen to you all night. Give me everything. The words fight to escape, but Tommy holds them in his throat. Evan has come out of whatever daze he was in when he arrived and is talking. He can't let him stop now.
Evan tells him about receiving the invitation to the firefighter games and his silent desperation to prove that Bobby's faith in him was misplaced. He talks about the delay at the airport and the need to get home before Hen's birthday because he'd be damned if he fucked that up like he had the year before. His fight with Eddie in the dinner, being run off the road by a truck in the desert, miles away from help. Being held prisoner in a not-quite dead son's bed by a woman hellbent on making him a replacement. A toy helicopter, an escape attempt. A cattle prod to broken ribs. Being duct taped to a pole in a basement, empathizing with the grief of losing someone ypu loved so much you didn't know who you were without them. His readiness to hive up his life if it meant that Christopher Diaz didn't have to live with that grief, too. A chunk of time he doesn't really remember in which he freed himself and saved Eddie with the same cattle prod that had hindered him before. A hospital room, a police statement, a long, painful ride home to LA. Department mandated therapy and sleeping pills that didn't work. Friends who hadn't noticed his pain for almost a year rallying around him now that the wounds were visible, and crushing feeling of how familiar that was.
"It took me so long to find a place where I thought I might actually belong. People I thought really wanted me. But they don't want me, not really. They want some version of Buck that just isn't here anymore. Bobby...Bobby saw me, you know? He could see through every wall I put up, every mask I put on. He knew how to fix me. He knew how to put me in my place without tearing me down. And now that he's gone...it feels like I am, too."
There are tears running down Evan's face as he finishes. Tommy sits up and reaches out, keeping his movements slow, letting Evan track him, giving him time to move away. He rests a hand on his cheek and wipes the tears away.
"You're here," He says, softly but firmly. "You're here with me. I see you, Evan."
Evan sobs and falls forward into Tommy's arms. Tommy catches him and holds him close.
"I have you," He promises into his hair. "As long as you need. I won't let you go."
"What if I need it forever?" Evan whispers into his shirt. Tommy's breath catches in his throat. He doesn't know what this will look like in the morning, when the storm has past and Evan is put together and ready to go home. After time and therapy have healed the wounds from something gushing blood to a gnarly but manageable scar. He only knows where they are right now, and where he wants to be when those times come.
