bottom tommy week

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns please don't hesitate to reach out to @30somethingautisticteacher or @typicalopposite

[bottomtommyweek]

Welcome Friends! <3

You guys voted and so here it is! A week that is specifically designed to spotlight all things BOTTOM Tommy!

Sooo… what does that entail? What are the rules? What are the guidelines? Everything you need to know is below the cut!

#1! FIRST AND FOREMOST: this event is meant to be fun, inclusive, and enjoyable! So no (none! Not even a little) bashing of any kind. This goes for characters, actors, AND creators! <3

#2! We want this to be a safe and comfortable event for everyone so please no fics containing: Non-Con, Incest, or Underage <3

#3! This IS bottom Tommy week so obviously the content should be centered around that <3

#4! You are encouraged to create WHAT YOU CAN, WHEN YOU CAN, IF YOU CAN!! Meaning you are not required to do all of the prompts to participate! And late entries are still entries for us to all enjoy, right? Right! <3

#5! Any and ALL ships are welcome! BuckTommy, SalTommy, EddieTommy... and any ship in between (poly ships as well)! As long as Tommy is in it! <3

#6! Last but definitely not least if you have any questions, comments, or concerns feel free to reach out to @30somethingautisticteacher @typicalopposite or just send us an ask here! <3

Calling on all writer, artists, and creators of all kinds! So join us June 29th - July 5th! We hope this will be one more fun event to bring the fandom, and the Tommy lovers of it, together! We can't wait to share more with you all for this and are super excited to see what everyone creates! <3

[aesthetictarlos]

Everything inside of me is wanting you

BuckTommy | Explicit | 1874 words

Belated entry for day five of @bottomtommyweek for the prompt: topping from the bottom

Buck barely manages to step into their house and close the door behind himself before Tommy’s pressing their lips together in a filthy kiss. Every word he wanted to say gets lost in the warmth of Tommy's hands on his hips, in their tongues dancing together, in the way their bodies fit against one another like puzzle pieces. 

“I missed you,” Tommy murmurs as he pulls back, leaving a string of kisses down his neck, sucking at the tender skin there as his hands roam everywhere they can reach. “So much. So fucking much, baby.” 

Buck turns his head to the side to give him more room to imprint the outline of his gorgeous lips on his neck, then runs his fingers up his back and rolls his hips, moaning at the friction. “Missed you too,” he murmurs, wondering what got Tommy so desperate, so eager. He loves when he gets like this, he loves that he's the one who gets to see this side of Tommy.

“You're so fucking gorgeous,” Tommy praises, rucking his t-shirt up, his hands now roaming over bare skin. “Damn, that mirror selfie you sent me, Evan. It ruined me.” 

“Yeah?” Buck is genuinely surprised. It wasn't a thirst trap, just a silly mirror selfie he took after he got changed into his uniform. He didn't even send a teasing caption, just a few hearts and a kissy face.

“Yeah, you have no idea what you do to me,” Tommy says, sounding like he's drunk on him, on the sheer lust rushing through them in waves. 

Buck chuckles and sneaks a hand between them, palming Tommy's cock through his sweatpants. “I think I have an idea,” he teases, dragging his hand up and down slowly. 

[CONTINUE READING ON AO3]

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Me again! Thank you so much for all the wonderful fills!!!

Any chance you'd do a SalBuckTommy, with some suit porn? or if you're not into that, maybe a bit of Dom Brat Buck?

🧡🧡🧡🧡Thank you!!

(Mmmm suit porn. Here's Gino in a suit, here's Lou in a suit, and this is the closest I could get to something recent with Oliver because he's allergic to wearing all pieces of a suit at once. So just picture them in all that!)

(This will also fill a prompt for @bottomtommyweek Day 3: Toybox and @911-rarepair-bingo for Date Night. And @fenrirscarsback requested something similar, so this also for that. This also ended up being like 5k words, so there's going to be an AO3 link cutting off the fic at the end or you can click here.)

To an outsider, they probably look like they're heading into a business dinner or something. All three of them are in suits for the fancy restaurant that Sal had picked, because it's his treat. He's the one who had suggested they do something other than go to a bar or stay in, he's the one who told them to dress up and ordered an Uber to bring them to the restaurant. He'd waited outside and had come so close to turning around and cancelling their reservation once they'd gotten out of the car.

Tommy's always looked good in their dress uniform, always cut a clean figure in a regular suit on the handful of occasions he’s been able to see him in one. The first time Sal had almost kissed him, Tommy was at an LAFD fundraiser in a suit not all that different from the one he's wearing now. If the old one could've fit all his current bulk, Sal would've thought it was the same one. It's sleek, slim fit without being too tight, black with a white shirt and a jacket that's cut just high enough that Sal can get a good look at his ass when he walks behind him.

Buck's wearing something a little more probably trendy—Sal has no idea what's trendy now—and ditched the tie, his shirt unbuttoned one more than is probably proper if you don't look like a model. It shows off the chest hair he's finally allowed himself to grow, and Sal wants to tear it open the rest of the way and leave it hanging under the black jacket he’s wearing with it. The pants look like they sit high, but it's only because his legs are nine miles long. He’s drawing eyes from passers-by, either people checking him out or trying to figure out if he’s famous.

Sal, on the other hand, feels like his Zio Luca in his pale blue suit, but he's too lean for his old ones. He's also stuck wearing his glasses after discovering his contacts wouldn't arrive for another week. So he feels a little awkward greeting them, but they both put an arm around him and kiss him sweetly.

“You look great,” Tommy murmurs, bumping his nose against Sal’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, trailing his fingers down Sal's tie and biting his lip. “Really great.”

“You both look beautiful,” Sal says, kissing them each again in turn. He reminds himself that he booked a reservation for now, so he leads them inside and checks in with the supermodel-looking host.

It's the kind of place where the prices aren't on the menu, there's a sommelier on hand to come talk to them about all of the wine, and all of the food looks like it was designed as much as it was cooked. It's not them at all, and he's about to suggest they go find a pizza place until he sees their reactions to the food.

“Fuck,” Buck sighs around a mouthful of scallop.

“Holy fuck,” Tommy adds. He reaches across the table to squeeze Sal’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Seriously, thank you,” Buck says, smiling and hooking his foot around Sal’s ankle. “We couldn't figure it out, though. We don't have an anniversary for another few weeks, and I don't know if you actually care about a five month anniversary.”

Sal shrugs and smiles, picking up his wine glass. “I just wanted to take my boys out.”

“Told you,” Tommy says to Buck with a grin. His hand squeezes Sal’s again, and Sal picks it up to kiss his knuckles. “He's an old-school romantic, no matter what he says.”

Buck flushes and takes Sal’s other hand with a sweet little smile. “Y-yeah, I'm starting to get that.”

Sal kisses his knuckles, too, and smiles at them. “Yeah, well, you bring it out in me.”

They eat everything that's put in front of them, and it's all amazing. Sal’s feeling a little buzzed on the wine by the time he hands over his card, and he laughs when they both look at him with shy, pretty smiles.

“Thanks,” Tommy says softly.

Buck slides into the empty chair next to Sal and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Sal presses their foreheads together with a smile. “You're welcome, sweetheart. Both of you.”

Tommy beats him out on calling the Uber, and Sal gets his glasses stolen twice by Buck while they wait.

“Don't I look good, though?” Buck teases, pulling the glasses down to the end of his nose and looking at Sal over the top of the rims.

“You do, but I need them,” Sal reminds him, pressing Buck up against a light pole and slowly removing the glasses. Buck’s breathing heavy by the time Sal perches them back on his own nose, and Sal smiles, gently holding his chin before he kisses him. “C'mon, gorgeous, let's go home.”

They ride back to Buck and Tommy's house, and Sal sits shotgun with the thankfully silent driver, though the guy's taste in music isn't great. In the back, the boys are behaving, but they do keep whispering to each other and giggling.

“What're you two getting up to back there?” Sal asks as they pull into the court.

“Nothing,” they reply in unison, and Sal glances back to see two sets of wide, too-innocent blue eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Uh-huh.” He nods to the driver before getting out of the car, and he grabs Tommy as they go up the walkway, Buck walking ahead to unlock the door. “You wanna let me in on the secret?”

“It's not a secret,” Tommy says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and grinning. “It's a surprise.”

Sal loves that Tommy's still that bratty kid he used to fight fires with. He's got some more bulk to him, some gray hairs, wrinkles, and he makes old guy noises when he gets out of bed most days. But that little glint in his eye is still from that cocky little fuck who used to hide Sal’s pens and steal kisses from him in the electrical room.

“Oh, well,” he teases, squeezing his waist, “if it's a surprise—”

They reach the door just as Buck opens it, and he turns to grab each of them by the back of the neck, pulling them inside and kissing each of them hungrily. They get to the bedroom, and Sal bats Tommy's hands away from his tie.

“Not yet,” Sal says, wrapping it around his hand and tugging him close. “You got all dressed up, I wanna appreciate it a bit.”

Buck comes up behind Tommy, effectively pinning him between them, and he kisses along Tommy's neck while he looks at Sal, and it dawns on Sal that his surprise is on the horizon. He lets go of Tommy's tie and skims his hands over the lapels of his suit jacket and down until he's cupping his cock in his pants.

“I don't feel a ring,” he muses, rubbing his hand over Tommy's growing cock. “And you would've been all squirmy if you were wearing a plug.”

Tommy presses their foreheads together and braces himself on Sal’s shoulders with a soft noise at the back of his throat when Sal lets his cock go.

“So what is it?” Sal asks, unbuttoning the jacket and feeling Tommy's chest, and there it is. “A harness?”

“A new harness,” Buck corrects, reaching around to unbutton Tommy's shirt, pulling his tie over his shoulder and opening the shirt in the middle like he's revealing a Superman emblem and not bondage gear. “There's these rings by the shoulders for these thigh cuffs it came with. And there's a ring on the back for the wrist cuffs. Or whatever you want.”

Sal hooks two fingers under the harness, as much to check the fit as it is to just see Tommy's throat bob when he swallows hard. “Baby, you shouldn't have.”

“Wanted to,” Tommy says, already sounding breathy. Sal kisses him and then Buck, and they're both suddenly motivated to get Tommy out of his clothes.

“Get the cuffs,” Sal tells Buck, who goes straight for the box of toys in the closet. “Bring the whole thing, actually.”

Buck gets the storage box off the shelf and sets it down on the dresser. He pops the lid off and holds up the cuffs for Sal to take.

“Turn around,” Sal instructs Tommy, who does as he's told, putting his wrists behind his back up near the O-ring at the bottom of the strap trailing down his middle back. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He kisses Tommy's shoulders and neck as he gets the cuffs on each wrist, fitting them carefully and having Tommy flex his hands a bunch first.

“Feels good,” Tommy says softly over his shoulder.

Sal clips them to the ring and checks his hands again, then his elbows and shoulders.

“How's he look?” he asks Buck, who's perched on the edge of the bed with his long, long legs stretched out.

“Pretty,” Buck says with a dazzling grin. “Do the elbow thing again.”

Tommy moves his elbows forward and back as best he can before rolling his shoulders again to show his range of motion and that he's not going to dislocate anything. “‘S good.”

Buck sits forward and runs his hands up Tommy's stomach, scratching his nails down his belly and kissing it when Tommy squirms. “Can I wear my collar, Daddy?”

“Yeah, pup,” Tommy replies with a breathy little laugh.

Sal goes to the box and gets Buck’s collar along with a couple of the bullet vibrators, the tweezer clamps, a dildo, and the prostate stimulator. He puts the collar on Buck, jingling the tags together with a smile, and it looks good with the deep plunge of Buck’s shirt.

“Should've worn this to dinner,” Sal teases, pulling on the ring and standing him right next to Tommy. He feels a little lightheaded at the sight of the both of them in leather, Tommy naked otherwise and Buck still in his suit, minus his shoes.

The rest can be read on AO3 over here!

[pumpkintommyy-deactivated202508]

look as you please

Heeeeey! I'm back with more salbucktommy for today's @bottomtommyweek prompt: roleplay, with an hour and a half to spare, yay! It is a sequel to don't say thank you or please, but you can probably read it on its own.

Please heed the tags and pass it on by if it's not your thing. Hope you guys like it!

bucktommy, salbucktommy, buck/sal, tommy/sal - words: 3.3k - rating: explicit - complete

cw: Threesome, Established Relationship, Felching, Snowballing, Cuckolding, Barebacking, Kink Negotiation, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Sexual Roleplay, pre Evan "Buck" Buckley/Sal Deluca/Tommy Kinard

“Okay,” Buck says, standing in front of the two men on the couch, looking down at his clipboard. “Since we’ve decided to do this regularly...ish...I think we should set some boundaries.” He looks up to see Tommy staring at him fondly and Sal looking at him with deep skepticism. He leans toward Tommy and says, “Is he always like this?” “He is, yes,” Tommy answers, affection lacing the words.

Or: Buck, Tommy and Sal have decided to continue their arrangement. Buck has thoughts.

Read on Ao3

[spacewinter]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

bucktommy | E | 2,4k

written for @bottomtommyweek day 4: making love

“You make me wish I could paint,” Evan mumbles, dazed. […]

“I’ll teach you,” he gasps eventually, once his words return to him. “Anything you want, baby.”

“Just you.”

“You have me,” Tommy swears. “Forever.”

A few weeks after their secret wedding, they finally get a chance to have a honeymoon - in the middle of nowhere Alaska, just the two of them and their love. They make sweet, gentle love in their pillow fort, lost in each other. Life is good

[bottomtommyweek]

hi! just as quick info it seems like you missed one of my posts for bottom tommy week when reblogging - it was the 'making love' day 🌸

I am ON IT! 🫶🫶🫶 also so so sorry for missing it!

[judymarch15]

the spark that set the house aflame - chapter 5 - complete!

for @bottomtommyweek (though this chapter doesn't fit a prompt, it's the conclusion to the full fic)

Tommy Kinard/Eddie Diaz | Rated E | 5/5 chapters complete

Check AO3 for the full list of tags

Tommy cradled his infant son carefully in the crook of his arm, while Abby slept in the hospital bed beside where he sat. A hard earned and well deserved rest.

He was unable to do much more than stare at his son in wonder. Tommy had cried the moment he saw him. Big, ugly tears pulled from deep in his chest. He stood beside Abby while they placed their son on her chest. She looked up at Tommy, tears streaking through the sweat on her face, and she smiled. Overjoyed.

It was impossible to say who he looked like, he was just a little bundle, swaddled in a hospital blanket, wearing a pink and blue striped hat. Abby said his eyes looked like Tommy’s. Tommy hadn’t seen him with his eyes open just yet. As soon as they put drops in his eyes he refused to open them. Tommy said he got the stubbornness from Abby.

Tommy touched his finger to the tip of his son’s nose and smiled. He was absolutely perfect.

This was it, this was his new beginning, his fresh start. He could be a great dad. He could be a good partner to his wife.

But all he wanted to do was share the news with Eddie.

Tommy picked up his phone and scrolled through his camera roll, already packed with pictures of the baby. He picked one then sent it to a few people at Harbor Station.

David Alexander Kinard. 8 lbs 6oz, 21 inches.

His finger hovered over his text thread with Eddie. He’d had plans to delete it last night after he came home, but had to rush to the hospital instead. He resisted the urge to scroll back through it and deleted it quickly before he lost the nerve. There wasn’t much there anyway. After the first one from Eddie there were no risqué photos, no sexts of any kind.

The relief he’d hoped to feel after deleting the thread didn’t come.

He pulled up a new text to Eddie and added a couple pictures, including one Abby had insisted on taking of Tommy holding their son. He thought about what he wanted to say.

Last night was incredible. I miss you already. Maybe when things settle down we can find a way to make it work. I want to make it work. I think I want to tell Abby. Not about you but about me. That I’m…

David let out a little sigh in his arms and pulled Tommy out of his own thoughts. A reminder of why he needed to be strong. So he typed.

Tommy: David Alexander Kinard. 8 lbs 6oz, 21 inches.

The bubble of dancing dots appeared quickly and Tommy stared down at his phone. It sat for a long time, then disappeared. Finally, a message came through.

Eddie: He looks perfect. Congrats! Welcome to the club.

Tommy read the message and smiled, then set his phone aside and watched his son sleep some more.

*

*

Six weeks later…

Tommy bopped around the kitchen with Davey in his arms, patting his diapered butt. Little wisps of steam rose from the bottle warmer while his son squirmed impatiently.

“Try not to wake your mom up,” Tommy whispered. “She’s very tired.”

It had been 6 weeks since they came home from the hospital. Davey was a pretty good sleeper at first. They’d figured they’d gotten lucky. Now he was waking up a few times a night.

Unfortunately, the crying woke Patricia almost every time.

While one of them took care of feeding and changing and getting Davey back to sleep, the other calmed Patricia and got her back to bed. The latter task fell to Abby more often. Patricia didn’t always remember Tommy and he didn’t blame her for freaking out when he came into her bedroom.

Getting Davey back to sleep was a more straightforward job - fresh diaper, warm bottle, a minute or two of snuggles in the glider and he was out. Patricia was a bit more complex.

Abby would come back to bed emotionally and physically exhausted. Sometimes Tommy held her and let her cry it out. Other times she didn’t want to be touched or spoken to. She just curled in on herself and faced the wall.

It was the middle of the day and Carla and Patricia were out for the next few hours. This was always precious time for Abby to recharge.

Tommy sat on the couch and gave Davey his bottle, who drank enthusiastically. Footsteps padded into the room and Tommy looked back to see Abby, freshly showered. Her damp hair was in a loose braid and she was dressed in a tank top and loose shorts with one of Tommy’s plaid flannel shirts wrapped around her.

“Hey,” she smiled and walked up behind him and kissed the side of his neck. He flinched, but hoped she didn’t notice.

“Thought you might sleep longer.”

Abby slid her hand across his shoulders before she walked around the couch and settled in next to him.

“Wanted to spend some time with my boys.” Abby leaned against him and stroked Davey’s sparse hair.

Tommy watched Abby, how relaxed and happy she looked. Content. Whole.

He loved his son more than anything and that’s what made him try hard every day. He was trying so hard but he couldn’t feel it. Not with Abby. He loved her but not enough, not in the right way.

He sometimes wondered if no one really felt the way they said they did or the way books and movies described. Maybe it was a lie they all bought into so they could feel good about their lives.

But he’d had a glimpse of it, hadn’t he. A tiny sliver of feeling happy, content, and whole.

It was easier to believe it was a scam than to know it was something he could grasp if he was brave enough.

“Tommy?” Abby said, clearly not for the first time.

Tommy looked over at her and she was holding the empty bottle out to him. He took it and went into the kitchen sink and took it apart to wash each piece. This wasn’t a bad life. He was happy to be a dad, to take care of his family. It could be enough.

He put the pieces of the bottle onto the plastic grass drying rack, then put his hands on the edge of the counter and let his head fall forward.

A warm hand landed on his back and he flinched again. He hated that he did that. He didn’t want to do that. Tears of frustration stung his eyes. He had no idea how long he’d been standing here, but long enough that Abby had put Davey down for another nap.

“Are you alright?” Abby asked, soft and sincere, rubbing her hand in a gentle circle on his back.

Tommy exhaled hard. “I don’t know,” he said before he could think better of it, his voice breaking.

Abby leaned into him, trying to provide comfort when it just made him want to run. “I know it’s been stressful and, you know, I’ve been giving serious thought to putting Mom into fulltime care...”

“I think that’s great,” Tommy said, straightening up to stand at his full height. He wiped at his eyes. “It’s not that though. There’s just something wrong with me.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and he took a step back. He couldn’t take her comfort. Not now. Not when he was about to blow up their lives.

“You’re a great father, Tommy. You’re nothing like your dad.”

“God, it’s not that,” his voice rose, his frustration with himself growing, pushing him to the breaking point.

Abby looked at him, her voice direct, authoritative. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

There was no going back now. His heart kicked up, heavy, fast beats like a galloping horse. His chest throbbed with it. Thunder filled his ears.

“I’m gay.”

Her mouth dropped open and her brow knit in confusion. “You’re what?” She turned her head slightly, as if it would help her hear better, understand better.

“I’m gay, Abby,” he repeated, the adrenaline coursing through him pushed the words out with more force than he’d meant to. He took a deep breath and paced away a few steps to try to calm down.

“Why are you saying this? Why…why now? How long have you known?”

Tears stung Tommy’s eyes and he took a shaky breath, trying to keep them at bay but they slipped down his cheeks. “I’ve been trying to make this work so we could be a family but I can’t keep lying to you. I can’t be a husband to you in the ways you want me to.”

Abby looked mildly horrified. “God, Tommy, if I’ve…I didn’t know.”

Tommy shook his head, then wiped tears off his cheeks and neck, but as quickly as they were gone more took their place. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.”

“What does this mean? For…for Davey?” Abby brought her hand up to her mouth as her eyes shimmered with tears. “I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not doing this alone,” Tommy said firmly. “I am still committed to this, however we make it work.”

Abby nodded, then wiped at the tears on her face. “Can I have a hug?” she asked weakly. “I really need a hug.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, her head tucked beneath his chin.

That night, Tommy made his bed on the couch. He was exhausted, his throat raw and voice hoarse from crying and talking so much. But it was worth it. He finally felt…free.

*

*

Two months later…

Tommy came home after his shift and dropped his things in his room. It was a pretty sparse space - a cheap dresser from Ikea, a mesh laundry basket, a simple metal bedframe with no headboard.

Abby had made the decision to move her mom to a memory care facility nearby. It had been hard, but necessary. She finally admitted it was too much to care for an infant and her mom without more help. After Patricia’s things were moved out, Tommy moved into that bedroom.

It was the best solution for now to continue to live together and raise Davey. It gave Davey stability and routine. He was the main priority for both of them, despite everything else going on.

Abby ran through a lot of emotions - anger, hurt, sadness. Tommy tried to give her whatever space she needed and answered whatever questions he could.

And maybe it was the coward’s way out, but he didn’t tell her about the affair at all. There was nothing to be gained from doing that. It might feel good to put the honesty out there, but good for whom? It was going to do nothing but hurt her.

She did ask him if he’d ever been with a man or if he’d ever had feelings for a man. He’d answered honestly that yes he had. She didn’t ask when. He was pretty sure she knew anyway. He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask for more, so he left it at that.

Once Patricia was settled, Abby officially asked for a divorce. There was no malice. It was a necessary step. They both had lawyers and didn’t expect a fight at any point, but they knew it was for the best to formalize the financial split and arrange custody.

For now, they were co-workers and roommates. Not cold, but some distance between them. Chores and tasks and baby duties were evenly divided. They ate their dinners separately, retreated to their own bedrooms at the end of the day instead of watching something together on the couch. It was hard not to slip, to put a hand on her back when he walked by or call her sweetheart. Habits built over the years together were hard to break.

They were still friendly, but not friends. Selfishly, Tommy hoped they could be friends someday. He knew he didn’t deserve that but he hoped for it nonetheless.

Tommy emptied his work bag and tossed his clothes into his flimsy laundry hamper. On top of his dresser, his phone buzzed. He looked over at the screen to see a text notification. From Eddie.

His heart rate kicked up. They hadn’t reached out to each other in the last couple months. With everything going on between him and Abby and handling a newborn, he’d been distracted enough for missing Eddie to mostly settle into a dull ache. It was worse at night when things were quiet.

Tommy opened the text, then tapped on the picture to see a newborn with a shocking amount of dark hair.

Eddie: Introducing Julia Jade Diaz, 6 lbs 9 oz, 19 3/4 inches long

He smiled down at the picture. He could see so much of Eddie in her features. She looked how he imagined Eddie looked when he was asleep.

Tommy: She’s beautiful. Congrats. Hope everyone is doing well.

’How are you? I miss you.’ went unsaid. He tossed his phone onto the bed to remove the temptation to check for Eddie’s response.

He rolled the tension out of his shoulders, then went out to the living room where Abby was sitting on the floor while Davey played in his little newborn gym, kicking his legs and reaching for dangling toys. Tommy sat opposite Abby and she gave him a friendly smile, then refocused on their son. Tommy focused on him too.

*

*

One month later…

Eddie: Wanna grab a beer?

Tommy walked into the bar, the same one they’d run into each other in months ago. The place where all of this started. Well no, all of this started years ago and half a world away.

His stomach churned with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Tommy knew on paper the time they’d spent together doing whatever undefined thing they’d been doing had been short. It had been nearly three times that long since they’d last seen each other. But that didn’t matter. He was here with hopes for friendship.

He spotted Eddie at a table and his traitorous heart fluttered. He had a beer in front of him and another in front of the empty chair meant for Tommy. Eddie looked rough. Exhausted with an underlying stress he hadn’t usually carried.

Eddie looked up and spotted him. His dull eyes sparked a little bit of life and he got up from his chair.

“Hey Tommy,” he said.

“Eddie,” Tommy greeted him with a smile.

There was an awkward moment where they both hesitated before going in for the hug. The closeness of the hug was broken up by a few back pats as they pulled apart.

The warmth of Eddie’s body lingered across Tommy’s chest and shoulders as he sat.

“Well, first thing’s first,” Eddie said with a tired smile. “Show me pictures.”

Tommy chuckled as he leaned to tug his phone out of his back pocket. “Twist my arm,” he said warmly, then opened the album he kept of Davey pictures and slid his phone across the table.

“He’s four months now right?” Eddie asked as he swiped through a few pictures.

“Four and a half months, yeah,” Tommy said proudly, leaning across the table to watch the pictures as Eddie ran through them.

“God, he’s really cute,” Eddie said. He stopped on one of Davey giggling. Eddie smiled fondly, then looked up at Tommy. “Looks like you. Even has a little cleft chin.”

“He does,” Tommy agreed. “Though luckily so far it seems like Davey has Abby’s nose.”

Eddie gave him a look. “You have a nice nose, Tommy.”

It felt so easy to fall into conversation like this, to flirt a little. Tommy’s chest warmed. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

Tommy took a drink of beer to try to keep from smiling too much. It just felt good to be around Eddie again and share the best thing in his life. And he was finally in a place where he felt like he could let himself feel good.

Eddie slid Tommy’s phone back across the table.

“Your turn,” Tommy said, then held his hand out expectantly.

Eddie took out his phone, unlocked it and handed it over, letting Tommy navigate to the photos himself.

“I think most of them are of her crying, honestly,” Eddie said, trying to make it light but Tommy caught the weariness in his voice. “JJ cries a lot. We’ve had to take her off breast milk and try some soy-based formula. It’s not helping much.”

Tommy scrolled through. It was startling to see pictures of Eddie’s wife and son in there too. He tried not to linger on them, but he couldn’t help but stop on a picture of all four of them together. It was a good representation of the life Eddie had. It would be good for Tommy to remember it.

He found a picture of Julia staring up at the camera, her dark eyes wide open and curious.

“She definitely looks like you,” Tommy smiled, then handed Eddie his phone back.

“Yeah, the Diaz genes finally kicked in on this one.” Eddie set his phone aside and took another drink.

“So how is it going other than the crying?” Tommy leaned back in his seat.

Eddie toyed with his beer glass and his shoulders slumped under the weight of something Tommy couldn’t see.

“Honestly? It’s been hard,” Eddie sighed, twisting the glass around in his hands, eyes locked onto it. “I mean, even before JJ was born things between me and Shan…” He looked up at Tommy. “You really want to hear about all this?”

Tommy nodded. “We’re friends, right?”

He wished it didn’t sound like he was trying to convince himself. There was honesty in his intentions, though. Eddie looked like he needed a friend right now. Tommy wanted to give him that.

Eddie huffed a humorless laugh and finished his beer, then signaled for another.

“Shannon found out.”

The room went silent except for a ringing in Tommy’s ears. “About…about us?”

Eddie nodded, taking a long drink of his fresh beer, then exhaled hard and set his glass down. “It was so stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remember that first hotel? I put it on my credit card, and didn't think about the fact she handles all our bills. That night after we came back from the cabin? She confronted me about it. Asked me point blank if I was cheating on her.”

Tommy flinched at the word cheating. He was no idiot. He’d known full well that’s what they had been doing but the word somehow cheapened it into something wrong. And yes it had been wrong but it had been right too.

“I mean, she listed every time we’d been together. She said she should have known I wasn’t actually spending time with an old Army buddy. She demanded to know who the ‘other woman’ was.”

Eddie took another long drink but Tommy couldn’t. He didn’t think he could lift a glass without his hand shaking.

“I told her it wasn’t anyone she knew and promised never to see her again.”

“So you let her believe there was another woman?”

“Seemed easier,” Eddie shrugged. “I told her it didn’t mean anything. That I was just panicking about having a second kid.”

Tommy’s heart sank low. “Is that…is that how you really feel?”

Eddie looked across to him and for a second Tommy thought he might say yes. Tommy could see his world crashing down around him. He would be devastated to learn that this thing that had completely changed his life had meant nothing to Eddie.

“No, Tommy, that’s not how I really feel.”

A quick wave of relief swept over him, leaving chills in its wake. He wished he wasn’t so on edge, that his emotions would settle.

“I told her I’d do better and promised to never do it again. I told her we could go to counseling, whatever she wanted. Because honestly, I want to make it work with her. I want us to be a family.”

“Did counseling help?”

“We never went,” Eddie said, shoulders sinking further as he blinked, finding no relief for his bloodshot eyes. “It was good for a little while, you know? And when JJ was born we were both so happy. It felt like our little family was complete. And now the past week we’ve been at each other’s throats and I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

Eddie let out another sigh and finished his beer, then rubbed at his forehead. Tommy had a sinking feeling he couldn’t shake.

“Did you call me because you wanted to talk to a friend or because you wanted to blow off steam and you hoped I’d be down for that?”

Eddie’s head snapped up and he looked at Tommy angrily. “Are you serious? Is that what you think?”

“No…not really…”

Eddie let out a frustrated sigh. “That really sucks, Tommy. I thought…I thought you knew me. I thought you of all people saw me. I guess I was wrong.”

“No, Eddie. I’m sorry that wasn’t about you. That was me. My own insecurities. Not you,” he said quickly, wanting nothing more than to reach across the table and put a comforting hand on Eddie’s. To reassure himself too.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Eddie said, turning to look away. Tommy could see the tears shimmering in his eyes and it broke his heart. “I just thought…things just always made sense when I was with you. I was hoping you’d make all this make sense too.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Tommy could think to say.

Eddie scrubbed his hand over his face. “And I’m guessing you and Abby are happy and thriving then?” he said bitterly.

“We’re in the middle of a divorce, actually.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Shit, sorry…god…guess neither of us are saying the right thing tonight. What happened?”

“I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t…physically…it felt wrong. After finally finding something that felt right.”

He looked across at Eddie, searching his face for understanding and finding a spark of it in his eyes.

“I told her I’m gay,” Tommy said.

Eddie leaned forward on his arms. “And you know for sure that’s what you are?”

“Yeah,” Tommy let out a slight laugh. “I suppose you’re only the second person I’ve told. But the first to know.”

Eddie let out a very brief chuckle at that, then grew serious again. “How did that go?”

“Well, I moved into a separate bedroom and we’ve been raising Davey together the last three months. It’s…hard. Awkward. But we’ve gotten into a decent rhythm and we’re both back at work now, it’s easy to avoid each other.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re working through the divorce. I want her to have the house. I’ll eventually find an apartment or something nearby.”

Eddie’s eyes softened. “And are you okay?”

No one had asked him so directly. Tommy’s throat tightened. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “It’s not easy but…I think I made the right call.”

Eddie looked down at the table top contemplatively for a long stretch, then looked at Tommy, hesitating for a moment before he spoke. “Are you gonna start dating?”

“Honestly, I’m still…” he paused and sighed, then looked up at Eddie. “There’s someone I need to get over first.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched into a brief smile before fading fast. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get over you,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, because he felt the same.

“I hope you do, though. I hope you find someone, someday. You deserve to be happy,” Eddie said earnestly.

“You do too.”

Eddie waved that away then pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fished out a few bills.

“I told Shannon I’d be out running errands. I’m sure she already suspects I lied about that but…” Eddie set a few bills on the table and sighed. “I’m such a piece of shit Tommy.”

“You’re not,” Tommy insisted. “You’re doing your best.”

Eddie shook his head and stood up. “I think this has to be goodbye. If I’m gonna make this work I can’t…not even friends.”

Tommy’s heart clenched in panic. “No, Eddie…”

“I gotta do the right thing for once,” Eddie said, tears dampening his skin. “I can’t keep running away and I can’t keep letting them down. It has to stop.”

Tommy got up and pulled Eddie into a hug. He didn’t care who saw or how it looked. Eddie clung to him too, pressing his face into Tommy’s shoulder. He wouldn’t argue. He understood Eddie’s decision was made. He’s respect that.

“I gotta go,” Eddie whispered, patting Tommy’s back.

Tommy released him and stepped back, wiping at the tears on his own face. “Good bye, Eddie. Good luck with everything.”

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie said, managing a smile. “I mean that.”

Tommy stood and watched while Eddie walked away. He didn’t stop or pause or even look back. The warmth in Tommy’s chest started to fade, like Eddie took all the oxygen away with him, smothering even the last flickers of hope in Tommy’s chest.

He didn’t think he was ever going to find someone who made him feel the way Eddie did.

*

*

Three years later…

Tommy put his backpack diaper bag on before he unbuckled an impatient Davey from his carseat. His little legs kicked, his blue eyes bright and shining, eager to get out and have fun.

“Hang on, bud,” Tommy reminded before he lifted Davey out. “We are walking to the playground, alright?”

Davey was always in a rush. Always. He had a tendency to get his body going faster than his feet, resulting in many skinned knees. There were always big tears, but once the band aids were on he rallied quickly. It never slowed him down.

Tommy carried Davey through the parking lot to the sidewalk and set him down, then held onto his hand while they walked to the playground at a calm, reasonable pace. But the second his feet hit the rubber playground surface he dropped Tommy’s hand and ran full speed toward the slide.

This playground wasn’t the closest one to Tommy’s place, but he liked that there were sections by age, sized just right so that Davey could be independent without needing to ask for help. Davey had a tendency not to ask for help and get himself stuck or hurt on bigger equipment, no matter how closely Tommy supervised.

Stubborn like his mom. Independent streak like his dad.

Tommy walked onto the playground to see if Davey wanted him to catch him at the bottom of the slide, but his son had other ideas.

“Watch me from over there,” Davey insisted, pointing toward a bench. Then he blinked like he was remembering something. “Please.”

“Very nice manners,” Tommy chuckled as he complied.

He slipped the backpack off his shoulders and settled onto the bench with a sigh. While he watched, he couldn’t help but reflect on the last several years.

Tommy had lived with Abby for almost the entirety of Davey’s first year of life. Things were amiable between them and logistically it was easier to live together. Then one night while Tommy was giving Davey a bath, Abby asked if he was ready to move out. She admitted that she’d met someone. And while it wasn’t anything she was ready to pursue just yet, it made her realize that she needed to move on.

Tommy found a small fixer-upper not far from what was, after the divorce had been finalized, Abby’s house. They shared custody, traded weeks and split holidays and worked around each other’s schedules. Their nanny went where Davey did, keeping some sense of cohesion. Over the years he’d fixed it up into something he was now very proud of.

Tommy looked up as a little girl around Davey’s age came bounding onto the playground, her dark, curly ponytail bouncing around with her excited movement.

“Slow down, mija,” a familiar voice called out.

Tommy stood up and turned to see Eddie, carrying a diaper bag on his shoulder. He’d grown a mustache that suited him nicely and he was dressed in jeans and a familiar faded blue Dodgers hoodie. Eddie smiled as he watched his daughter. Eventually his eyes landed on Tommy and his brows went up.

“Tommy? Is that you?”

Tommy smiled and waved, which he imagined looked as dorky as it felt. “Hey Eddie.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie said as he walked quickly to him. “C’mere,” he said, then pulled Tommy into a tight hug.

When Eddie stepped back he looked him over with a broad smile. Tommy wondered what he saw. The extra grays around his temple? The softness in his stomach that hadn’t been there 3 years ago? The lines around his eyes, even deeper and more pronounced, especially when he smiled?

“Have you been here long?” Eddie asked then glanced over to check on his daughter. He looked good, like he always did.

“Just got here,” Tommy nodded over to the bench. “You wanna sit?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Eddie said, then called out. “JJ, I’m gonna be on the bench with my friend, ok?”

“Okay daddy,” she called back with a big grin before she went back to climbing.

Tommy sat and Eddie sat beside him, setting his diaper bag onto the ground.

“What are the odds, huh?” Tommy said.

“Yeah no kidding. You live around here?” Eddie asked.

“No, Davey just likes this park. You?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. I’m renting a house a few blocks that way,” he gestured vaguely east. “I’ve been there for about a year now.”

Tommy clocked the I not we and gave Eddie a curious look.

“Shannon and I finally called it quits,” Eddie said with a sad smile. “We tried but we were fighting all the time. It was starting to affect the kids.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tommy said and he meant it. He’d always hoped things had worked out for Eddie.

“Yeah. It’s hard. We have a whole custody agreement now and I wish I had the kids more but with my job…it made sense.”

“So where’s Christopher?” Tommy asked, taking a quick look around in case he missed him.

“He’s at a friend’s house. Kid’s got a more active social life than I do,” Eddie chuckled.

Tommy watched him and a warmth he thought was long gone sparked again in his chest. Eddie looked so much happier and at ease than the last time they’d seen each other. Whatever happened between him and Shannon, he’d come out better, Tommy thought.

“And how are things for you these days? You still living with Abby?”

Tommy laughed. “No, not for a few years. I’m in my own place. And Abby actually remarried this past summer. “

“No kidding? Well that’s good I guess,” Eddie paused for a second, eyes on the playground before he glanced down at Tommy’s left hand to check for a ring. “And are you…with someone?”

“Uh, no,” Tommy said, then rubbed at the side of his neck. He had a nervous flutter in his stomach, but it was pleasant, a little bubbly. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Like there was…possibility. “I’ve dated a few guys but…” Tommy looked over at Eddie with a small smile. “I think I was spoiled by the first. None of the others have ever measured up.”

Eddie’s mouth curved into that cocky grin that used to drive Tommy wild. Still drove him wild. “Oh yeah?”

Tommy laughed. “Not like that.”

Eddie gave him a look and raised his eyebrows.

“Ok a little like that,” Tommy admitted, feeling his cheeks flush with heat.

They sat back together and watched their kids, catching each other up on their lives. There was a lot to cover from three years apart.

Eventually JJ wandered over. She looked at Tommy with big, curious brown eyes and climbed up into Eddie’s lap, settling comfortably against his chest, her eyes locked on Tommy for a while, sizing him up. He smiled at her and wiggled his fingers in a wave. She cracked a smile, then shyly hid her face in Eddie’s chest.

Davey walked up, eyeing JJ suspiciously like he hadn’t just spent the last 45 minutes playing a couple feet away from her. He leaned over Tommy’s knee like a Victorian woman on a fainting couch. “I’m done, Dad.”

Tommy ruffled his hair and laughed. “Alright, bud.”

Tommy stood up and Eddie did too, shifting JJ off his lap. They reached for each other and hugged. Tommy didn’t want to ever let go. He shifted his arms to hold Eddie closer.

In the past few years Tommy had been with other men. He had their lips against his, tasted their tongues in his mouth. He’d felt their skin beneath his hands, against his own skin. He’d welcomed them into his bed, inside his body. He’d felt incredible amounts of pleasure, of connection, of affection.

None of that felt as good as Eddie felt in his arms right now. Eddie’s familiar chest pressed against his. The way they held each other’s bodies with a deep sense of knowing the other. It felt like a missing piece of his soul had been restored. It was the comfort of coming home after a long time overseas. Everything felt right.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Tommy whispered.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Daaaaaad,” Davey said impatiently.

Eddie pulled back, but kept a hand on Tommy’s shoulder like he couldn’t let go. Tommy looked down at his son. “Just one more minute, okay? You’re doing such a great job waiting.”

Tommy looked at Eddie again and opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie got there first. “Can we get together sometime soon? Catch up some more?”

Tommy couldn’t help his playful grin. “Catch up or ‘catch up’?” he made air quotes with his fingers, then winked.

Eddie’s smile grew and Tommy saw the pink filling in his cheeks. “How about we get dinner and see how things go?”

“Dinner like-?”

“A date,” Eddie said. He had a confident smile on his face but Tommy could see the hint of nerves in his eyes. “Can I take you out on a date?”

Tommy didn’t think this would ever happen. Seeing Eddie again, sure, but this? He never would have dared to dream there could be something real or substantial. More than whispers that slipped through his fingers like tendrils of smoke. Something real he could hold onto.

“Are you ready for that?” Tommy asked carefully.

They’d only ever had bits and pieces of each other over the years. Stolen moments and broken vows. And now they had a chance. To be out in the open. To be together in the daylight without deception and lies. Without hurting the people they’d made promises to. They could do this the right way.

Tommy dared to hope. He dared to want. And as Eddie’s eyes shone with unshed tears, Tommy knew Eddie felt the same. The embers in his chest burst to life, a glowing flame that warmed his heart instead of threatening to char everything to dust.

Eddie moved his hand from Tommy’s shoulder to rest against his neck. A gentle, intimate touch, Eddie’s thumb stroking gently over his pulse. It both calmed and excited him.

“I’m not missing another chance with you, Tommy.”

[kinardstits]

(@AO3) day 7: alt prompt - kinks pairing: bucktommy tags: voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, light BDSM, leather and masks, dom/sub play, safe sane and consensual, rough sex, aftercare, anal fingering, riding, barebacking, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, masturbation

-

Tommy parks the truck in the hidden lot behind the building, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel as the engine goes quiet around them.

The club doesn’t look like much— just an unmarked concrete building tucked between two warehouses, the only sign of life the soft red glow from a neon sign above the steel door.

There is no name.

Just a golden mask on the door.

Tommy swallows nervously, eyes flicking over the other cars parked nearby. Sleek, expensive, empty, and so many of them. Most of their owners were probably already inside.

Some of them might even be there for them.

(Separate arrival schedules for guests and performers, meant to avoid overlap. The thought soothes him, just a little.)

Still, Tommy has to force himself to breathe around the knot tightening in his throat. Want prickles under his skin, shame lapping at the edges in equal measure, but before panic can take hold, Evan’s hand lands firm and steady on his thigh, and some of it fades.

They are in this together, after all.

“You good?” Buck asks, concern written all over his face. “We don’t have to do this tonight, or— or ever. We can leave. You say the word, and we’re gone.”

Tommy turns to look at him, heart in his throat. The other’s eyes are soft but so, so serious. There’s no teasing. No pressure. Just care, laid bare. “I’m good,” he lies, then sighs when Buck lifts one eyebrow knowingly. “Okay, I’m terrified.”

Buck’s thumb drags a slow arc across his thigh. “Me too,” he confesses. Then winks. “But it’s the good kind of scary, yeah?”

Tommy lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Yeah,” He admits. “It is the good kind.”

He stares back at the door, mind drifting to the conversation that had brought them here. They’d been in bed, bodies sticky and boneless, still panting through the afterglow when Buck had murmured against his throat, “One day I wanna try breath play with you.”

Tommy, wrecked and hazy, had blinked at the ceiling, lips loose and honest. “Oh, that’s easy. I wanna get fucked in public.”

Evan had gone still. “Like... sneaky handjob under a table kind of public?”

“No,” Tommy had said, eyes dark with want. “Not sneaky. I want people to see. To watch. I want—” He’d broken off, the truth too raw to voice.

And Buck had just kissed his temple and whispered, “Okay.”

And now they were parked outside an invite-only, word-of-mouth, and members-vouched club. A place Buck had spent weeks researching in secret to give him the option; a place where fantasies were lived out under low lights and hungry eyes.

Tommy exhales slowly, skin prickling. “They’re gonna see—” he gestures vaguely between them.

“Yeah,” Buck leans in and kisses his jaw, rough with stubble. “That’s the point, babe. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Tommy shivers.

It was.

So he reaches for the door.

There’s no bouncer when they approach. Just a black panel beside the steel door, and a narrow slot for the card. Buck slides it through, and the lock clicks open with a soft chime, letting them step into a narrow, dimly lit hallway lined with deep burgundy carpet. Inside, the air is warmer, faintly perfumed.

They flip the card, looking for their room number.

Eighteen.

Buck snorts quietly, while Tommy sends up a silent prayer that it isn’t an omen.

They walk side by side down the long corridor, taking in their surroundings. Everything's clean and meticulous, not a speck of dust in sight. Their boots sink silently into plush carpet as they pass a series of closed doors. Faint noises leak through some: a muffled cry, the rhythmic thud of a headboard, the distant slap of skin on skin.

Tommy swallows hard as heat blooms under his collar, while Buck’s hand brushes his lower back, giving it a gentle nudge. Tommy has to hold back a shudder when the touch makes his already semi-hard dick twitch in his jeans.

This was happening. This was really happening.

They were going to have sex in front of strangers.

Specifically, he was going to get railed for an audience.

And god help him, if Evan hadn’t sucked him off in the shower at noon, all slow and knowing with a hand braced on the wall and Tommy falling apart under his mouth, he might’ve lost it already.

One look. One touch. He’d be done before they even started.

And wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

Just before they reach the door, Buck glances over, catching the bewilderment on Tommy’s face. “You okay?” he asks again, always checking.

“Nervous,” Tommy admits, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to shake off the jitter in his limbs. “But I’m not turning around.” He wants this.

Fuck, did he want this.

Buck gives him a look that is half lovestruck, half horny, and keys them into room eighteen.

The door swings open on silent, well-oiled hinges.

Tommy steps inside first.

The room is neat, clean, and surprisingly clinical at first glance. Ceramic floors and walls, for which Tommy is secretly thankful. 

(Had there been carpet, he might have barfed a little.)

There’s no bed, but Tommy had expected that: instead, placed dead center like an exhibit, is a single chaise longue. Its curved frame is upholstered in dark navy pleather, gleaming under the overhead lights. Sturdy-looking. A small remote is attached to its side, meant to operate the curtains.

It’s a stage prop.

And it’s positioned deliberately, facing the far wall, where a wide pane of thick, clear glass dominates the space.

No one-way mirrors. Just glass.

A barrier, yes, but one that offers no illusion of separation. Whoever’s watching will be seen too.

The curtain is still drawn, but Tommy could already feel their presence beyond it, hear the murmurs and the shuffling of chairs. He imagines what it will be like to feel the heat of their eyes on his skin, pictures them pressed close to the glass, flushed and rapt. Fantasizes them touching themselves as they watch him get used.

His hand drifts down, pressing the heel of his palm to his groin, seeking relief from the pressure building low in his belly.

Beside the chaise, a small table holds a few necessities: a sleek bottle of lube, a bowl of condoms, and two black leather masks— soft and supple, with red silk stitching. Tommy eyes them, heart thudding. They look exactly as described: plain, featureless. Designed for anonymity.

Discretion, not secrecy. The difference matters.

The masks aren’t just for hiding. They mark the line between who they are out there and who they’ll become in here.

The idea of taking the masks home, of keeping them, knowing where they came from, shouldn't make his skin flush, but it does.

Buck steps forward after giving him a moment, casually opening the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Got us a few things,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Figured if we’re putting on a show…”

From the bag, Buck pulls a black, sleeveless leather vest: tight, perfectly cut to hug his broad chest and leave his arms bare. It’s elementary, meant only to hide some of his tattoos and enhance the vision of his wide chest and trim waist.

Recording and photography were strictly forbidden, but it was still smart to conceal identifying marks.

Then, more carefully, he lifts a smaller bundle: sleek leather straps with gleaming silver buckles. Tommy blinks, transfixed. “For you,” Buck adds, lashes low. “Thigh harnesses. Thought about garters but figured these were more your style.”

Tommy swallows. His fingers twitch forward, brushing the leather. It was soft, supple, and of high quality. Not cheap costume gear: this was quality. And thoughtful. Intentional. Buck hadn’t just thrown this together; he’d planned, made this night into something more than a kink scratched off a list, just because Tommy wanted it. His fingertips drag slowly along a strap, imagining it snug around his thighs and hips, and his tongue flicks out across his bottom lip. His hands tremble from overwhelming, rising need.

He glances around again— at the chaise, the drawn curtain, the glass beyond.

They were really doing this. They were going to perform. He was going to be watched. Wanted. Split open on Buck’s gorgeous cock, fucked until he couldn’t speak, left ruined and dripping while strangers pressed hands to glass and came apart just from the sight.

Tommy looks up, meeting Buck’s heated eyes, with ice in his veins and his skin on fire. “Ready when you are.”

Buck smiles, slow and wicked, and steps closer, his kiss deep and consuming. “Let’s give them a show.”

They undress together, unhurried and reverent, stripping down under the soft amber glow of the room’s indirect lighting. Tommy folds his clothes neatly, sets them aside in the duffle, and lets his eyes trace over Evan’s chest as he shrugs the vest on, hiding some of the familiar ink. “Hold still,” he murmurs, fingers finding the zipper and pulling it up slowly. The leather is snug, and the last thing they want is for it to snag. It looks gorgeous on Evan, the black standing stark against pale skin, drawing attention to the solid weight of his arms.

For a brief second, jealousy flickers in Tommy’s chest, that others would see Evan like this too, that they would get to scrutinize him at his most beautiful: flushed and overwhelmed, and debauched. But then he remembers that no one gets to touch him but him. They can look, but they’ll never feel the heat of his skin, the tightness of his fingers on his flesh as he holds on to him, the frantic quality of his breaths against his ear as he rushes towards release.

Evan’s his, and his only.

Buck kneels before him, already working the straps into place with the same quiet precision he’d use to check gear on a call— calm hands, steady breaths, everything snug and secure. Practical, yes. But intimate too, their nervous energy thrumming under the surface and bouncing off each other. “Feels good,” He hums softly, brushing his fingers under the leather where it hugs Tommy’s legs. He very pointedly avoids Tommy’s half-hard cock, standing just inches from his hand as he stands back up. “Still okay?”

Tommy nods, smoothing his hands down the other’s vest. “Buzzing, but good.”

Buck leans in to kiss him again, slower this time, gentler. Calming. “We don’t have to go out there until you’re ready.”

“I am,” Tommy hums into the kiss. Then, after a beat, adds, “Well. Mostly. In my head, at least.”

“Want a little more prep?” Buck teases, giving his hips a small shimmy. “Before the grand debut?”

Tommy snorts, shoving at him. “Yeah. I did some at home, but—”

“Hey, no buts.” Buck shakes his head, pressing another grounding kiss to Tommy’s cheek. He reaches for his mask, tying it securely in place. Through the eyeholes, his blue eyes gleam with mischief. Tommy hums his appreciation. “Lie back for me, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Tommy nods, his nerves settling just a little. He settles onto the chair, the leather cool against his bare skin, as Buck kneels between his legs, warm hands on the inside of his thighs. He takes a deep breath, probably just as nervous as Tommy but hiding it better.

They haven’t even opened the curtains yet, but they feel laid bare already.

With a sigh, Tommy spreads his legs, head falling back against the curve of the chaise. His eyes slip shut as he listens to the quiet rustle of Buck moving into position. The air in the room feels warmer now, thicker. The glass wall remains shadowed, the curtain still drawn, and above it, a small green light stays dim.

For now, this moment is still just theirs.

Buck’s hands skim over his thighs, tracing the lines of muscle wrapped in leather. He thumbs the buckles, then slides inward, his touch reverent. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze full of awe. All these hard edges and soft skin, laid out just for him.

“You’re biased.” Tommy murmurs, though his face flushes, and he stretches into the touch like he doesn’t mind one bit.

“I am,” Buck agrees, lowering his head to kiss the soft inside of Tommy’s thigh, never once breaking eye contact. “And right.” His fingers trail between Tommy’s cheeks, finding him already slick with lube. Prepped earlier, sure, but they both know it’s not enough. Not for what they’ve planned. Buck grabs the bottle from the nearby table, warming more lube between his fingers before easing two inside. Tommy groans, hips jerking. “Good?”

Tommy nods, eyes flickering towards the curtains. There’s a thud from the other side. Voices. Movement. “Yeah.”

Buck bends low, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s belly. “Focus on me, baby.” His fingers work slowly, gently, easing Tommy open in smooth, practiced motions. He adds a third with a murmur of praise, teases a fourth with the tip of his pinky, and Tommy sighs at the pleasant stretch. “Good boy,” Buck hums, “You’re going to take me so well.” A sharp inhale from Tommy, as his cock twitches against his stomach, already glossy with precome.

And then, Buck pulls his fingers free, only to lean in and lick a broad stripe across Tommy’s hole, slow and wet, moaning against Tommy’s skin. Tommy fists the edge of the chaise,  face flushed scarlet as he ruts back into the other’s mouth. Buck pulls back just enough to pant, “One last taste before the show.” And then he’s back at it, sucking him open, messy and wet and thorough like he can’t get enough.

Tommy’s hips jerk. “Oh, fuck —”

He’s gone.

When Buck finally relents, chin shiny with spit and eyes dark with want, Tommy is breathless, limbs loose, glassy eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling. Buck presses one last kiss to the stretched rim before reaching for the mask on the table and passing it over. Tommy fits it over his face just as the green light above the glass flickers on.

They’re ready.

It’s time.

“How do you want to start?” Buck asks softly, fingers ghosting along Tommy’s hip as he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm.

Tommy’s eyes flick toward the glass, at the drawn curtain, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “On the chaise,” he says after a beat. “Chest down. Back to the window.”

“You sure?”

“Eases me into it,” Tommy explains. Then, tying the mask’s lace with shaking fingers, he adds with a grin, “Plus, it’s my best angle.”

The answer goes straight to Buck’s dick, already heavy between his thighs, but he doesn’t let them rush. He cups Tommy’s face gently, thumb brushing over the edge of the leather. “If at any point you want to stop—”

“I’ll tell you,” Tommy answers, steady. “Ace, and we stop.”

“And if you can’t talk?”

“I’ll snap twice.”

“Thank you,” Buck whispers, kissing his masked forehead.

And together, they move. Tommy turns on the chaise with care, knees spreading, chest and forearms sinking into the cool pleather. The position tilts his ass up beautifully towards the window, thighs spread just enough for modesty to die a quiet death. He exhales as Buck adjusts the straps around his thighs, assuring they frame his cheeks just right. “Comfortable?” Buck asks, crouched beside him, palm tracing over the small of his back. Tommy nods. “Want to begin?”

Tommy swallows hard, and his pulse thunders in his ears, drowning out everything else. “Yeah.”

So Buck rises, steadying himself. He coats his cock with lube in a smooth, practiced motion. And then—

He presses the switch.

The curtain opens with a soft rustle, low amber light washing over them as the viewing gallery is revealed. Buck glances up, scanning the gallery and quickly counting the rows. At least twenty figures, seated in tiered rows, masked just like them. A sea of anonymity, faces hidden, attention razor-sharp on them both.

There’s a hush at first, as they eye each other, then the creak of leather. A quiet hum. The subtle shuffle of someone adjusting in their seat.

Tommy shivers, still facing away.

Buck lays a steady hand on his lower back, grounding him with a slow circle of his thumb, and then lets it trail lower, cupping the swell of Tommy’s ass with a gentle, possessive squeeze. The crowd follows every movement with greedy eyes, inspecting every inch of exposed, wanton skin. He does it again, a silent signal, and Tommy answers with the smallest arch of his hips.

And then Buck climbs onto the chaise.

He kneels behind Tommy, angling his body to the side, careful not to obstruct the view. His hands spread Tommy open, cheeks parted to expose flushed skin and a hole already slick with prep. Cool air rushes in. Buck exhales shakily. “So pretty,” he murmurs, not for the audience, just for Tommy.

Then he leans in.

He spits on Tommy’s hole, the sound echoing in the quiet room. It trails down the cleft of Tommy’s ass, wet and slow, before pooling over his stretched rim. Buck licks it up greedily, tongue dragging filthily over sensitive skin before pushing inside. He starts slowly, tracing lazy circles in and around it before dipping back in. In and out, small teasing pumps that get faster as Tommy groans and shivers beneath him. Buck makes a show of it, deliberate, filthy, tongue fucking Tommy with wet, lewd slurps.

Behind the glass, the crowd begins to stir, with figures shifting and zippers opening.

Buck doesn’t pay them any mind. Buck pulls back only to spit again, then uses two fingers to spread Tommy wider, baring him open to the gallery. His cock pulses, leaking onto the cushion beneath him, before he takes it into his free hand, pumping once, twice, catching the drip at the tip to slick his fingers. He presses three of them into Tommy in one smooth, deep push.

Tommy moans, loud in the otherwise quiet room, pushing back instinctively.

Buck scissors his fingers, slow and deep, curling them just right, and only then does he glance up, over his shoulder. The audience is rapt; one figure palms themselves through their slacks. Another, mask slightly askew, has their hand buried in their pants, moving with what Buck realizes is the rhythm of his pumping fingers. “Look at them,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “They can’t get enough. You're a star, baby.”

Tommy groans, breath hitching with excitement. His thighs shake, his fingers claw at the cushion.

And this is only the beginning.

Pulling back his fingers, Buck’s mouth reverently up the curve of Tommy’s spine, lips and tongue mapping every inch they can of sweat-slick skin. He stays close— close enough for the head of his cock to drag through the slick mess he’s made between Tommy’s cheeks, precome and spit slicking the glide. Buck breathes deep, groaning at the scent of Tommy’s skin, and at the faint panting somewhere beyond the glass.

One hand snakes around Tommy’s torso, fingertips tracing down his sternum until they find a nipple, pinching it lightly— just enough to get Tommy to arch into him. The other hand tugs on one of the thigh straps, pulling it taut.

It snaps back with a sharp smack against flushed skin, and Tommy moans. “Oh, you liked that?” Buck teases, voice thick and syrupy with heat. Tommy nods, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed already. Buck grins against the back of the other’s head before he lifts his hand and slaps Tommy’s ass— not hard, but loud. The sound cracks in the quiet and draws a chorus of low groans from the gallery.

Tommy gasps at the sting, cock twitching in Buck’s loose grip, heavy and red. Buck strokes him once, slowly. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Putting on such a good show.” The other squirms and pushes back, aching for more, but Buck doesn’t give in. With a condescending tut, he catches Tommy by the hips and forces him down, his weight a deliberate reminder of control. One hand spreads over Tommy’s upper back, between his shoulder blades, keeping him folded over the chaise— offered up and exposed.

Everything they’re doing, every motion, had been discussed, boundaries negotiated and re-checked, safewords in place, trust in each other absolute, doesn’t fight the hold. Instead, he melts into it, exhales a shaky moan, and tilts his hips in invitation. Buck’s cock presses to his hole, thick and slick, the head just nudging, teasing, but he doesn’t push in.

Not yet.

Instead, he rolls his hips— slow, shallow drags along the other’s crack, the head of his cock catching and gliding over Tommy’s entrance, smearing more precome over his loosened rim. Tommy shivers as the audience hums, so Buck leans down, lips to Tommy’s masked ear. “I think they want to see me fuck you.”

“Please do.” Tommy breathes as he pushes back again. Buck rewards him with just the tip, barely breaching, a teasing stretch that ends all too quickly. Tommy moans in frustrated anticipation, only for Buck to pull back, maddeningly slow. 

Pushes again, a little deeper this time— still not all the way, just the head.

Enough to tease, to keep them both on the edge, as the crowd watches with greedy eyes.

Tommy groans, hips twitching, trying to chase more, to grind back and take what Buck’s holding just out of reach, but the other simply tightens his grip on Tommy’s waist, holding him steady as his cock slides tauntingly against his rim without entering. “Is that how you think you’ll get it?” Buck murmurs, voice all grit and control. “By acting out?” Then he pulls back completely, the loss so sudden it makes Tommy whimper. “You think you’re in charge here?”

Tommy bucks back hard in response, trying to force the connection, to take what Buck’s withholding. The chaise jerks beneath them, pleather squeaking, straps biting into his thighs as he strains.

Buck’s momentarily caught off guard, but he recovers fast. He plants a firm hand between Tommy’s shoulder blades and leverages the other beneath his belly. With effortless strength, Buck lifts him, manhandling him like he weighs nothing, and slams him back into place. The chaise rocks with the force as Tommy’s knees hit the cushion hard and his cheek presses to the vinyl, flushed and stunned, as Buck cages him there, unmoving.

Buck doesn’t look, eyes fixed on Tommy for any discomfort, but he doesn’t need to. He hears them— groaning, panting, touching themselves.

The air’s thick with heat and want.

He expected to feel self-conscious at some point, but no.

Instead, he feels powerful.

Tommy grits out a choked groan against the pleather, head spinning from how easily Buck manhandled him and how hard he’s holding him down. He can’t move. He tries to speak, to let out a sound, any sound, but Buck doesn’t let him.

Instead, he grabs Tommy roughly by the jaw and shoves two fingers deep past his lips, pressing down on his tongue. Tommy chokes, gagging reflexively, and drools around the digits, his surprised moan muffled and vibrating against Buck’s skin. He tries to suck, his tongue eager, but— “Stay still,” Buck warns, voice low and hoarse.

And then, he slams inside.

One brutal thrust, thick and deep, and Tommy breaks with a cry that echoes loud in the gallery.

He jerks forward from the force, knees slipping against the chaise, and gags hard around Buck’s fingers, body seized up and trembling, spit slicking his chin. A muffled cry rips from his throat at the intrusion, equal parts pain and pleasure.

Buck keeps him right where he wants him, plugged full, gagged, pinned, his fingers still in Tommy’s mouth, keeping him quiet and still, smearing drool across his cheek and jaw. He doesn’t quite move. Just stays, buried to the hilt and slowly grinding into the other, savoring Tommy’s heat pulsing around him.

Then, deliberately, Buck looks up.

Beyond the glass, the gallery is losing control. A couple rocks in tandem, hands on each other, lips parted and panting. One figure shudders in the corner, legs spread, visibly undone.

And every gaze is locked on them.

The impatient moan Tommy lets out vibrates around Buck’s fingers, bringing him back to the moment.

His body clenches, hot and hungry around the cock buried inside him, but Buck still doesn’t give in, committed to teasing just a little bit more. He spreads his hand low across Tommy’s back, grounding him again, a claiming touch, before his voice drops, lips brushing the shell of Tommy’s masked ear once more. “Look what you did to them, baby. You see that?” He grins, pride thick in his tone. “You love being split open for them, don’t you?”

Tommy groans around his fingers, frantically nodding. And for the first time, he looks.

He sees what Buck sees— people openly masturbating to them, others open-mouthed and panting, and it fills him with such exhilaration he’s surprised he doesn’t spontaneously combust.

Taking advantage of the lull, Tommy takes stock of his surroundings: the hot seat beneath him, soaked with sweat, lube, and his own mess. The large body behind him, locked in place, cock still buried deep. Buck owns every inch of him, inside and out, his thighs braced wide, one arm coiled tight around Tommy’s waist like a tether. 

And then he moves, as if summoned by thought, left hand fisting the harness at Tommy’s thigh, grip white-knuckled. The thick leather groans under the pressure, the strength of the grip biting into Tommy’s skin. The thick leather groans under the strain, biting into skin. Tommy knows he’ll bruise, with half-moons from Buck’s fingers and dark shadows where the straps dug in.

Marks of ownership. Proof of how much he wanted this.

Buck’s right hand is splayed against the side of Tommy’s hip, palm firm, thumb digging into the meat of his ass to hold him open, to show the audience the raw, wet pink of his stretched hole, glistening around the thick intrusion of Buck’s cock.

It’s lewd. It’s vulgar.

It’s perfect.

And then, the hand on his ass slips away and that’s the only warning Tommy gets before Buck yanks hard on the harness and begins to finally fuck him.

Each thrust is vicious, sharp, and deep, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The chaise rocks beneath them with every unforgiving push, metal legs screeching faintly across the floor.

Tommy gags as the fingers press deeper into his throat, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth and wetting the edge of the mask. His jaw aches, his throat burns, but his eyes glaze over, mind going blank with pleasure. When Buck finally pulls his fingers free, Tommy coughs and sucks in a desperate breath, but there's no reprieve, not when strong hands are already on him again, rearranging him like a doll.

One hand fists the silk ties of Tommy’s mask and yanks back, forcing him upright into a brutal arch, while the other grips the leather harness at his thigh and hauls his leg up, manhandling him into the exposed angle Buck wants. His feet are no longer planted— he can’t push back, can’t find leverage.

Buck cages him in from behind, chest pressed flush to his spine, and then he slams in again, a punishing thrust that makes Tommy’s back bow deeper, muscles straining.

Tommy moans brokenly, high enough to embarrass him a little. 

And then Buck bites him.

Teeth sink into the side of his neck, just above the collarbone, just below the mask— not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to claim, before the numerous greedy eyes watching them.

The sound Tommy makes is guttural and raw, and he struggles, purely on instinct— hips jerking, arms pushing against the chaise and fighting the force of Buck’s grip, but there’s nowhere to go, no give in the other’s hold. He’s stuck, trapped, possessed. Every time he tries to shift, Buck drives back in harder in punishment, rutting in deep and forcing him still again.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s euphoric.

Behind the glass, the gallery is unraveling. Someone at the front fists their cock at a savage pace, palm slapping the glass as they pant and moan. Fog blooms against the panel in hot bursts.

And God, the shame curls hot in his belly—or it should, but doesn’t, cos it’s not. 

It’s ecstasy.

Tommy is being held down, fucked into submission for an audience, and he’s never felt freer.

Honestly, he fears his sex life will be ruined after this experience.

And Buck doesn’t let up, either.

Not even as Tommy trembles under him, not even as a sob breaks free, followed by the sweetest, punched-out little ah-ah-ah's gasped in sync with the relentless snap of his hips: he keeps the same brusque, deliciously fast rhythm.

When he leans down, Buck kisses the back of Tommy’s neck, soft and damp with sweat, the touch feather-light, a contrast so sharp to his hips that it makes Tommy’s knees sway, legs giving just a little beneath him. “Gonna mark you as mine,” Buck pants against his skin, voice ragged and thick with hunger. “Mine.”

Tommy can’t even form words anymore.

He moans instead, wrecked, breathless, completely undone. He’s leaking onto the chaise now, leaking lube and precome down the inside of his thigh, and the head of his cock shines, flushed and aching, trapped between his belly and the cool leather beneath them. The pressure is exquisite, and every jolt of Buck’s hips sends sparks dancing across his nerves.

Then Buck groans— something low, guttural, unintelligible— and drives in deep, grinding hard, cock buried to the hilt. Tommy let’s loose a punched out moan, high and wrecked, arms trembling from how hard he’s having to hold himself up on the chaise. He’s still panting, out of breath, when Buck shifts gears, now slow and deep, dragging out to the tip before rolling back in; shifting his angle, searching.

And Tommy knows that thrust.

Knows this part of their dance, so he tilts his hips into it, offering himself with breathless desperation, wanting it, craving it. He feels the way the cock inside him finally drags across the devastating spot inside, causing his toes to curl and his hands to tighten, nails digging into the chaise. Again and again, the thrusts land just right, stoking a fire so fierce it feels like too much, so he moans, frantic and broken as pleasure builds deep inside of him. “Please—” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. It’s high and strained, throat bared with Buck’s grip still on his mask. He’s right there. Right there. All he needs—

Always in synch, Buck lets up just enough to wrap a hand around Tommy’s cock. It’s tight, familiar. He strokes him once, twice, thumbs the head, firm and just fast enough to promise release.

Tommy groans, hips pushing forward into the grip even as he keeps grinding back onto Buck’s cock. His entire body is taut, need spiraling white-hot through his veins as he climbs.

He’s so close, he’s right there, a ragged sound clawing its way out of his throat as he nearly tips—

And then the hand at his cock stills and squeezes tight around the head, denying him.

“Ngh— fuck!” The word is ripped from his throat, raw and furious and feral. Tommy cries, convulsing, pleasure and pain crashing over him in the same breath, offering no release. His back arches, muscles locking, and for one dizzy second, everything blanks out.

When sensation rushes back in, it’s overwhelming.

His arms collapse, upper body slumping forward onto the seat as Buck releases his grip on his mask, and the world blurs at the edges as he’s left panting, wrecked, drooling into the seat, hole still clenching around Buck’s cock like a vice.

The orgasm denial burns, hurts, and Tommy finds himself whimpering, dazed. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

The crowd loves it.

Buck groans behind him, voice rough and reverent, sounding out of breath. “God, look at them,” he pants, palming Tommy’s thighs— possessive at first glance, but really just steadying, gauging where Tommy’s at. “Look how fucking wild they are for you.”

Tommy blinks back tears, dazed and overstimulated. He whines again, a soft, helpless sound, still so hard it hurts, but so lost in the haze he doesn’t know where to put it. How to ask.

And suddenly, he’s empty.

Buck pulls out in one smooth slide, and Tommy’s left gaping, clenching down around nothing, desperate to keep him in.

The sound that escapes him is raw, inhuman. He reaches behind him blindly, searching, clawing at the chaise, at the air, desperate for contact, for Evan. Still, his fingers find nothing, for the other is already moving, already shifting, and Tommy can’t catch his breath fast enough to ask what’s happening.

Then strong hands are on him again.

One presses gently at his throat, not squeezing, just resting, grounding him. The other drifts down over the curve of his ass, tracing the angry red marks the harness has left behind, fingers ghosting over the bruises already starting to bloom. Tommy melts at the contact, unease vanishing, and Buck leans in, pressing a kiss to the bite mark on his neck. “Easy,” He murmurs, still rough around the edges, but lower, quieter, just for the two of them. Another kiss lands on Tommy’s damp shoulder. “You with me?”

Tommy’s only answer is a shaky breath and a nod so small it’s almost imperceptible.

Still, Buck watches him, unmoving, studying the tremor in his limbs, so Tommy lifts a shaky hand to snap his fingers once. Relief softens the lines around Buck’s lips in an instant, and he rubs a slow, steady circle into Tommy’s thigh. “Okay. Just breathe. You did so fucking good, baby.” His voice steadies further. “They’re losing their minds for you.”

And they are. Beyond the glass, the gallery is carnage— bodies slumped and panting, some trembling from spent orgasms, others still on the edge, still rutting against palms or partners. Still waiting. Still wanting.

Tommy swallows, eyes fluttering as he begins to come down, just a little, enough to register the ache in his untouched cock, the unbearable emptiness where Buck should be. He moans, low and broken. “Want more?” Buck croons,  voice pitched louder now for the crowd, but the thumb rubbing circles into his thigh never stops.

Tommy nods, frantic. “Please— don’t stop, I need —”

Buck cuts him off with another soft kiss to the shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

And in the next moment, he’s gone and manhandling the chaise again, dragging it where he wants it.

It groans across the floor, metal legs scraping loudly as Buck hauls it into a new position. Tommy’s too far gone to process the movement and only realizes that he’s being lifted, guided, when he finds himself straddling Buck’s lap, back pressed to the other’s chest and facing the glass.

Fully on display.

His thighs fall open without resistance, muscles gone slack and trembling. There’s no strength left to hold himself up, but it doesn’t matter: Buck’s there, arms bracketing him in, solid as stone. One broad thigh slides between Tommy’s, spreading him wider, and his knees drop obediently to either side.

He doesn’t move. Can’t.

(Doesn’t want to.)

Then a hand slides around his front, hot and unflinching, and wraps tight around the base of his cock.

Tommy’s whole body jerks as the other squeezes, still high-strung.

Slowly, he grows more aware as Buck strokes him, but just barely. He’s now aware of the glass in front of them, of the gallery’s masked attendants just beyond. He sees their reflection, himself and Evan, sweat-slick and trembling, bodies gleaming in the dim light. Buck’s cock is a thick line between his cheeks, twitching and proud, eagerly waiting, Tommy’s moving slowly within his fist.

Buck’s voice is sweet against his ear when Tommy drops his head back onto his shoulder, arching into his touch. “Let’s give them a front row seat now, shall we?”

He releases Tommy’s dick with one last squeeze before he lines himself back up and sinks back in.

Tommy moans low in his throat as Buck re-enters him, the slow and steady stretch of thick cock spearing him open again lighting him up from the inside. His spine arches, his entire body trembling with the sensory overload, mouth dropped open in a breathless moan as he bottoms out. “Fuck,” he gasps, head lolling on Buck’s shoulder. His breath comes fast and shaky, speech falling apart. He still wants to come, needs to, but his body is still too sensitive, and it’s maddening. “I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can,” Buck pants against his ear, wrecked too, rutting up when Tommy shies away. “And you are, baby. I’ll help.” He pulls Tommy down until they’re flush again, buries himself to the hilt, and starts bouncing him in his lap, holding him tightly by the hips, knees planted wide to keep Tommy on full display. Their audience gets an unimpeded view of their show, the few members still coherent enough crowding the glass to watch as Tommy’s thighs quake at the strain and his hole stretches every time Buck drives back home.

And so Tommy rides, unsteady and desperate, fingers scrabbling for grip on Buck’s legs and the glass, leaving smeared prints across the barrier. At some point, he straightens and his forehead presses to the cool surface, moaning breath fogging the glass as his hips snap down onto Buck’s cock again and again and again.

He’s babbling now, pleas and curses and choked-off whimpers escaping him, as his cock bounces untouched, leaking with every sharp thrust that drives deep into his guts, the blunt head of Buck’s cock dragging against that swollen, overstimulated spot inside him. Tommy’s entire body shudders with every impact— he’s positively dripping, precome stringing down to his navel in sticky pearls.

He’s not gonna last. He can’t.

Thankfully, Buck seems just as done as he is. “Gonna come inside you,” He whines, one hand splaying across Tommy’s chest to pull him upright, the other gripping a thigh wide open. “Fill you up so good they’ll see it dripping out of you.”

“Please— fuck, please, please, I need it—”

“That's what you want, baby? Want me to come in you in front of them? Let them see what’s mine?”

Tommy nods, frantic, and clenches hard, chasing that high. Buck lets out a surprise, strangled groan, thrusts once, twice— loses rhythm— then surges forward and stays, buried to the hilt as his cock jerks deep inside. He comes hard, hot spurts flooding Tommy in wave after wave, his breath leaving in ragged bursts.

It’s hot and wet, and Tommy comes with the sensation alone, his cock jerking as he spills across the glass and down his own stomach in messy, pearled streaks. His hole clenches reflexively around Buck, milking the last of his release, and he sobs through it, trembling and overcome.

The crowd groans in unison at the sight, and one masked figure even presses their mouth to the glass, desperate, as if they longed to lick it clean.

Buck’s calloused hand sprawls across Tommy’s stomach as he shakes with the aftermath of his orgasm, fingers trailing through the sticky mess he made on his stomach. Slowly, it drifts lower, curling around his softening cock, giving it a few lazy strokes. “You were so good,” Buck breathes, utterly spent, lips at Tommy’s masked ear. Then he pulls out, groaning at the loss, at the drag of friction and the wet slide between them.

Tommy’s body clenches at the emptiness, a futile ache, and he grinds instinctively, groaning as cum drips from his hole, streaking down his cheeks and pooling warm beneath them.

Someone behind the glass whines, hungry.

Buck dips his fingers between Tommy’s legs, into the mess, breath catching. “So wet,” he whispers, awed, as the other above him writhes. He watches as he pulls his hand back, cum clinging in long strings to his fingers. He presses them back in and then withdraws, dragging the mess up across Tommy’s stomach, up his chest, painting him with evidence.

And then, gently, he brings the coated fingers to Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy sucks them in slowly, eyes fluttering closed, savoring their combined taste.

“C’mere,” Buck breathes when the other’s done, and pulls him into a kiss. It’s salty and sweaty and filled with residual heat, a fitting end to their scene, and when Tommy slumps bonelessly against him, crashing, Buck reaches up, hitting the remote.

The soft rustle of the curtain sliding shut feels like a protective barrier settling around them, sealing them away from the hungry eyes from just moments ago.

They don't speak for a while, simply breathing into each other’s mouths.

A show-stopping finish for a fantasy fully lived.

Then, slowly, as not to overwhelm, Buck’s hands begin to move, gentle but firm, carefully shifting Tommy so he’s sitting in the chaise between his legs. His touch is warm, grounding, and for a long moment, he says nothing. Instead, he wraps his arms tight around Tommy, chest to back, chin tucked against Tommy’s shoulder as his fingers trace slow, soothing patterns along his ribs.

Time stretches as Tommy sinks into the embrace inch by inch, his tension unspooling like thread, shoulders sagging, and, eventually, his eyes meet Buck’s. For a beat, he just stares, and Buck feels something low in his chest ache at how soft Tommy looks, how trusting. 

Buck lifts one hand to thumb gently at the edge of Tommy’s mask. “Can I?”

Tommy nods.

The silk loosens easily beneath Buck’s fingers, and the moment he sees Tommy’s face— flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes lined with exhausted pleasure— he leans forward and kisses him. Then again. His cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the soft curve of his jaw where the mask had bitten in, everywhere he can reach.

Tommy sighs like he’s being unspooled thread by thread, kiss by kiss. Then, with careful fingers, he unties Buck’s mask in return, making sure not to snag the sweaty strands of his hair. When it slips free, he cups Buck’s face between both hands and just looks at him.

“You okay?” Buck asks, whispering the question into the short space between them. His hand rests at the center of Tommy’s chest, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat. Tommy swallows, then nods. “Yeah?” He presses gently, eyes flicking over the other’s face for anything hiding beneath the afterglow. “Snap your fingers once for yes, baby, like we agreed.”

Tommy lets out a shaky laugh, but does it. A single sharp snap in the quiet room. “Yeah,” He croaks out. “I’m okay. Just…” His fingers curl loosely at Buck’s side. “That was a lot. A good lot.”

Relief hits Buck in a wave. He presses a kiss to Tommy’s shoulder, right over a red mark, and murmurs, “You were perfect. So perfect.”

Tommy huffs a breath, still floaty but smiling. “We both were. Credit where it’s due.” He exhales again, loose and spent. “Kind of felt like I was on fire.”

“You were,” Buck says, grinning as he kisses the same spot again, and then another, lower down. He moves slowly, reverently, working his way across Tommy’s shoulder blades and then up his back, kissing the bite on the curve of his shoulder in an apology.

When Tommy trembles beneath him, it’s not from overstimulation now, but from the rush of affection running through his veins. “Evan,” he mumbles, chiding but utterly content.

“Shush. Let me take care of you,” Buck counters, arms tightening around him.

“You’re good at it,” Tommy praises, leaning into him with a tired little sigh, forehead resting on Buck’s shoulder. His eyes flutter shut, adrenaline fading fast.

“Come on. Let’s get us cleaned up, baby.” Buck moves slowly, carefully, standing without jostling Tommy too hard. Then he helps him up, arms snug around his waist as he steadies him. Tommy lets himself lean into the hold, boneless and trusting. “Shower?”

“Only if you carry me,” Tommy replies, voice teasing but worn, but Buck doesn’t hesitate— just lifts him with ease, bridal-style, and plants a dramatic kiss to his forehead when Tommy blinks at him, stunned and helplessly endeared.

“Your wish,” he says, “is already halfway to granted.”

They disappear into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind them.

-

Later, Tommy lies sprawled on their bed, bare legs tangled in rumpled sheets, wearing nothing but one of Buck’s oversized shirts. The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a bedside lamp. Their bags sit untouched by the door, a silent testament to how quickly they’d crashed after getting in, too wrung out to do anything but shower again and collapse into each other.

Now, Buck sits beside him, one knee tucked under his body, the other braced out for balance as he carefully applies ointment to the angry, red indentations left behind by the harness. The marks along Tommy’s hipbone and at the crease of his thigh are particularly vivid, and Tommy flinches when the cool gel meets tender skin. “Sorry,” Buck apologizes, fingers immediately gentling.

Tommy shakes his head, peeking down at him with half-lidded eyes gone soft with affection. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

Silence follows, comfortable and warm. The faint buzz of the city filters in through the cracked window, and somewhere in the house, the dishwasher hums. The mundanity of it makes everything more precious.

Tommy watches Buck for a beat longer, then slowly lifts a hand to brush sweaty curls back from his forehead. “You okay?”

Buck looks up, blinking. “Me?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah. Tonight was intense for both of us. Just wanna check in.”

Buck sets the ointment aside and shifts, resting his cheek lightly against Tommy’s hip. “I’m good,” he says. “A little wrung out, maybe, but… happy. You?”

“Happy,” Tommy echoes. Then, with a quiet laugh, he adds, “And stupidly in love with you. Thank you for doing this with me.”

Buck lets out a breathy little laugh, like the wind’s been knocked out of him. “God, you can’t just say that. And don’t thank me for sex, it was hardly a hardship.” He winks, smug and flirty.

Tommy shrugs. “I can and I did. I love you. See? Did it again. Deal with it.” He watches as the other’s cheeks flush, so open, so Evan, and reaches out, hand curling around the nape of his neck. “C’mere.” Buck groans like a tired old man, dramatic to the end, but lets himself be pulled down, tucking into Tommy’s side without hesitation. They settle together easily, legs tangled with each other’s, before Buck reaches back to turn off the lamp and plunges them into darkness. “You’re my safe place, you know that?” Tommy whispers into the quiet, voice sleep-rough and bare.

Buck kisses the skin over his collarbone, the smile in his voice unmistakable. “And you’re mine too.”

-

They’re lazing in bed two days later, wrapped up in each other, when Buck’s phone buzzes against the nightstand.

As he reaches for it, Tommy groans, lifting his head from between Buck’s thighs, lips shiny. “Seriously? That bad?”

“No,” Buck huffs, flushed and sweaty, chest rising in uneven breaths. His voice is still dazed, but his expression shifts as he reads, brow quirking. “Tom?”

“Hm?”

“They’re inviting us back. If we want it.”

Tommy blinks before his eyes darken, hunger flickering back to life. “Oh,” he murmurs, voice gone low and thick and dangerous. Buck’s dick twitches against Tommy’s chin. “We want it, all right.”

[bottomtommyweek]

Bottom Tommy Week Day 7! Role Play

It is the final day of Bottom Tommy Week! Omg! We can’t believe it has come and passed! 🥹 Thank you @30somethingautisticteacher for running this with me! Thank you to everyone who voted for it to be a reality! And Thank you Thank you THANK YOU to everyone who participated— be it from the creator side or the recipient side (and to those still catching up we will gladly devour all the postponed goodies!)

As always remember to use #bottomtommyweek or tag the blog and add you fics to the collection BottomTommyWeek2025 on ao3

Hope everyone enjoyed as much as we did! And fingers crossed we can do another one someday! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[dark-alice-lilith]

Title: Floating Like a Feather on the Sea

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Rating: T

Written for day six of @bottomtommyweek: aftercare.

Contains: subspace, dom Buck, sub Tommy and minor talk of restraints.

Summary:

He awoke some time later, still wrapped up in Evan’s arms, the man tracing random shapes on his back. Tommy gave a content sigh, nuzzling against him.

[nine-one-wanton]

Prompt: Aftercare

(^^^link to ao3)

Written for @bottomtommyweek

Rated: E - explicit

Pairing: bucktommy

Summary: After a marathon of morning sex, Buck takes his time lovingly brining Tommy back from his physical and emotional limits.

[30somethingautisticteacher]

The Scars that Haunt Us

Tommy firework PTSD ficlet that also loosely connects to today's @bottomtommyweek Aftercare prompt.

****

Tommy was okay. Or at least he wanted to be. He wanted it so desperately - to sink into the pleasure, to enjoy Evan inside of him - but his body wouldn't relax, couldn't relax. He was too on edge.

He should have agreed to Evan's plan: just the two of them hunkered down in a small cabin, away from the rowdy celebrations and idiots with fireworks. But he didn't want to admit to Evan - or to himself - that he couldn't handle it. Which is why, when Evan asked him last month if fireworks bothered him because he knew they could be a trigger for some vets, Tommy shook his head and lied, saying they'd never been a problem.

Tommy knew Evan didn't quite believe him, especially when he suggested the cabin. But Tommy also knew it was important for Evan to be around his family for their first BBQ without Bobby. So they went and enjoyed themselves - laughing, playing yard games, watching Jee splash in the baby pool and jump on her trampoline with the Wilson kids. It all felt nice, almost normal.

Until they got back to Tommy's house and the sun started to set.

Tommy knew he needed a distraction, something to pull his mind away from the fact that soon the sky would erupt in a cacophony of explosions and bright lights.

"Fuck me, Evan. Please, please make me feel good," Tommy pleaded.

Evan nodded, not giving any indication that he knew what Tommy was really up to.

Tommy sank into the feeling, trying to get out of his head and focus only on his body, on chasing pleasure. He stiffened when the first blast went off but forced himself to take a deep breath. You're fine. You're safe in California with the man you love. You are not in Iraq. Those are not bombs, he tried to remind himself.

"Give it to me, please, Evan," Tommy said, his voice shaking. "Please, I need—" Another explosion cracked across the sky. "I don't want to be here."

Evan stilled.

"Harder, Evan," Tommy said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Tommy," Evan said softly, his hands coming up to stroke Tommy's cheeks, wiping away the tears. "Come back to me, sweetheart. I'm right here. I've got you. You're safe."

Tommy shook his head. "It's too loud...It's too bright...I...I..."

Evan carefully maneuvered them so Tommy was cradled in his lap, naked and trembling, tears streaming down his face. Evan rocked him slowly, and Tommy sank into the feeling, leaning into the soft forehead kisses and letting himself be held completely.

"I...I can't," Tommy whispered.

"Shhhh, I've got you," Evan murmured against his temple. "You're home with me. You're safe. Those are just fireworks."

"I hate this," Tommy choked out. "Hate being so fucking weak."

"Hey." Evan cupped Tommy's jaw, gently tilting his face up until their eyes met. "You are not weak. You are the strongest person I know."

Tommy let out a bitter laugh.

"I mean it, Tommy." Evan's voice was steady, unwavering. "You are the bravest man I've ever met."

"It's been so long. It shouldn't still affect me like this," Tommy said, his voice breaking.

"Hey, look at me." Evan's thumb traced along Tommy's cheekbone. "PTSD isn't rational. You went through something traumatic, something I will never truly understand, and the scars from that aren't just physical. There's no timeline for healing from any of this."

Tommy nodded, knowing what Evan said was true but still hating himself for it.

"So here's what we're going to do," Evan said, pressing a soft kiss to Tommy's lips. "I'm going to make you some tea and run you a bath. Then we'll put on your softest clothes and snuggle up close and watch one of your rom-coms, okay? How does that sound?"

"Sounds good," Tommy whispered.

"And you won't leave me?" Tommy wrapped himself tighter around Evan, clinging to him.

"Never. Never, sweetheart," Evan promised, his arms tightening protectively around him.

"Okay," Tommy said, knowing it was true and allowing himself to be vulnerable enough to let Evan tend to all his broken pieces.

[kinardstits]

(@AO3) day 6: aftercare pairing: bucktommy tags: (mentioned) sub drop, post-sex domesticity, aftercare, mentioned past infidelity, (not the boys), sensory play, caring is sexy

-

Tommy’s dozing, reading glasses perched down low on his nose and book threatening to drop from his hands, when Buck drops down on the bed beside him, eyes glimmering. “Oh no,” he deadpans.

Buck drags his fingers up the other’s arm. “I was thinking…”

“Terrifying, but carry on.”

“We have the next forty-eight hours free,” Buck murmurs, his fingers drifting to Tommy’s chest, circling a nipple through the thin tank top. “We’ve got time to try something new.”

Tommy closes his book, interest piqued. “Like what?”

“I was thinking some blindfolds. Some noise-canceling headphones,” Buck suggests, inching closer. He’s looking straight at Tommy, lashes low. “Maybe some ice, too?”

And Tommy slowly tenses, a hum low in his throat as Buck mouths at his jaw. “I don’t know, Evan.”

Feeling the shift more than seeing it, Buck pulls back. “Oh.” He sits up a bit straighter. “Really? What was it? Talk to me.”

“Can’t just not feel it?” Tommy snarks, but Buck only raises an eyebrow, knowing better than to take the bait. With a sigh, Tommy takes off his glasses. “It’s not that I don’t like the sound of it,” he admits. “I just haven’t had the best experience with, uh, giving up control.”

The change in Buck’s face is thunderous. “Were you hurt?”

“Not the way you’re probably imagining.” Tommy crosses his legs at the ankles, the very picture of ease in their bed, except for the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers fidget with the glasses in his lap. “Years ago, I dated a coworker. Sal—”

“Deluca?” Buck interrupts, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Captain of the 122?”

“You two know each other?”

“No, Chim just likes to babble.”

Tommy snorts. “Ah. Of course.” A universal truth. “Well, yeah. Deluca. I had just transferred to Harbor when we crossed paths at a bar. One thing led to another, and the next thing we knew, we were actually in a relationship.” He shrugs. “One night, we were at mine. I was bound, being edged… mild spanking, the works. I was on cloud nine, lost in the sauce— then he got a call.”

“— He got a call.”

Tommy nods. He speaks lightly, like he’s discussing the weather, but his eyes have gone distant, caught in memory. “His wife was in labor,” he shrugs again. “So he untied me and left in a hurry.” Buck doesn’t say anything, but his grip tightens just slightly. “That was how I found out he was married,” Tommy adds with a tight smile. “And expecting. I, uh… crashed hard. Alone.”

Buck exhales through his nose and drags a hand down his face. His eyes are dark now, but not angry, just wounded on Tommy’s behalf. He reaches out, gentle fingers finding the side of Tommy’s neck, rubbing slow circles just below the hinge of his jaw. “You deserved better.”

“Maybe.” Tommy tilts his head, pressing a kiss to Buck’s palm. “But that’s why, even though your idea sounds very appealing, I— I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Buck reassures. “I was just suggesting, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Tommy nods slowly, but his fingers keep fidgeting with his glasses. “Yeah, I know. Just caught me off guard.”

Buck stays quiet for a moment, then reaches out, his fingers brushing gently along the inside of Tommy’s wrist. “Can I tell you how I imagined it?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, guarded but curious. “Sure.”

“You lying back,” Buck says, looking around the room, “Right here. Not having to worry about anything, just letting go. I’d take care of you. Ice cubes for a little sting, my mouth to warm you back up. You wouldn’t hear anything but your heartbeat, and everything would feel ten times stronger. Just you and me, phones off, maybe a little white lie about being out of LA so no one comes knocking." He winks. "No one else in the world but us.”

“You make it sound nice.” Tommy’s lashes flutter a little at the image, his breath catching despite himself.

“It would be, cos I want it to be,” Buck says. “You deserve to feel good and safe at the same time.” He runs his thumb in circles over Tommy’s wrist. “And you could call it off whenever. No explanations needed. Even if it’s just a no-go from the start.”

Tommy considers that, feeling the slow stroke of Buck’s thumb grounding him more than anything else. “What would be the safeword?”

“Anything you want. The stoplight system works. Or we could pick something ridiculous. Snot. Scrotum. Sundial.”

Tommy lets out a small laugh despite himself. “Oh, not sundial. The horror.”

“No to sundial. Got it.” Buck squeezes his hand. “So… did it sound good?”

There’s a pause before Tommy draws in a breath, slow and steady. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and tinged with wonder. “What the hell. Let’s give it a shot.”

-

As Tommy lies there, naked and trembling with the aftershocks of one of the best orgasms of his life, he thinks he was right to trust his boyfriend.

He can’t move. Doesn’t want to, either. His limbs are limp, boneless, strewn across the sheets like he’s been fucked out of his own body. His chest rises and falls in shallow pants, nipples still oversensitive and tingling from the temperature play, thighs twitching from being held open for so long, and skin prickling where ice met heat and Buck’s tongue followed after.

He’s floating.

Blinded, deafened, stripped down to only nerve endings and touch. The noise-canceling headphones are still cupping his ears, the blindfold soft and snug over his eyes, and he’s grateful for the barrier— he’s not ready to return to the world just yet.

Through all of it, he feels Buck, always keeping some level of contact with him.

First, a hand. Warm and sure, brushing the back of his thigh. Then a second, settling on his chest with gentle weight, palm flat and soothing. “Coming back to me?” Buck asks, voice muffled by the headphones. Tommy hums in response, turned into pure mush, and Buck presses a kiss to the side of his jaw. “Okay,” he breathes. “Slowly, now.”

He starts with the headphones, easing them off carefully, lifting one side at a time to soften the transition. Tommy’s breath catches at the rush of ambient sound: the rustle of sheets, their breathing, the distant tick of the hallway clock. It’s so much .

Buck’s voice anchors him, hushed and close to his ear. “You’re okay. You’re doing so good.”

The blindfold is next. Buck peels it away at the same gentle pace, shielding Tommy’s eyes with his hand as dim light creeps in. He doesn’t pull away until Tommy squints and gives a slow, sluggish nod. Blinking up at the ceiling, Tommy’s vision adjusts in slow increments, and the first thing he truly sees is Buck’s face leaning over him. Flushed, tender, expectant. “Hey, there he is,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over Tommy’s temple. “Hi, gorgeous.”

Tommy can’t speak yet, not with his throat raw and mind scattered, so he just reaches. Buck meets him halfway, brushing their noses together before kissing the corner of his mouth. “I got you,” Buck says. “You with me?”

Tommy exhales shakily. “Yeah.” His voice is raspy, grating at his throat. Jesus, how loud had he been in the silence of his mind?

“Color?”

“Green,” Tommy croaks. “So, so green.”

Buck smiles, wide and proud and so clearly in love it makes Tommy’s chest ache. “Perfect.” Still trembling, Tommy finds Buck’s wrist and tugs weakly, trying to pull him closer. Buck goes without hesitation, stretching out beside him and opening his arms. “Come here.”

Tommy goes, practically crawling into his lap despite the mess of sweat, the tacky slide of cum drying on his stomach and his thighs. He presses in tight, face burrowing into the crook of Buck’s neck, one leg thrown over Buck’s hips, and arms curling around him like vines.

It’s not elegant. It’s not even particularly graceful.

He's clinging.

But Buck just holds him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other stroking slow patterns down his spine as he trembles against him. He doesn’t say anything, patient, and merely lets Tommy listen to the beat of his heart, feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

And slowly, the last of Tommy’s tension begins to bleed out.

“You okay?” Buck murmurs against his hair.

Tommy barely nods. “Yeah. Just,” He exhales, breath hot against Buck’s collarbone. “Don’t think I can think yet.”

Buck presses a kiss to his temple. “Then don’t.”

“Stay like this for a bit?”

“For as long as you want.”

They lie like that for a while, quiet, tangled, and pressed so close they could be one person. Tommy’s breathing evens out first, then his heartbeat. The tension in his shoulders melts away under Buck’s slow, rhythmic touch.

Just skin to skin, warmth to warmth.

Eventually, Buck speaks again, low and soft against his temple. “You good for a quick cleanup?”

“No,” Tommy mumbles, not quite ready to let go.

“It’ll be quick, promise, but you’re starting to dry, it might sting later.”

“... Be fast.”

Buck eases away slowly, ghosting one last kiss to Tommy’s cheek before slipping out of bed. Tommy makes a small noise of protest that quickly shifts into a pleased hum when Buck returns a minute later with a warm, damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Here,” Buck murmurs, kneeling on the bed. “Sit up, baby. Sip first.”

Doing as asked, Tommy takes the glass and drinks, blinking at the other. The coolness of the drink helps, clearing the last of the haze, but when he hands the glass back, he flops down again, utterly pliant as Buck gently wipes over his chest, his stomach, the insides of his thighs.

When he’s done, Buck tosses the towel into the hamper before straightening, eyes raking over Tommy and quietly assessing him. He reaches out, tracing the curve of Tommy’s hip with careful fingers, his thumb brushing over a faint, reddened mark near the bone. Not quite a bruise, but close, but the other doesn’t flinch or even twitch. He just watches him quietly back, eyes soft. “Is it okay if I help you dress?” Buck questions softly.

Tommy nods once. “Sure.”

Rising without fanfare, Buck crosses the room to the dresser, pulling out the softest things they own: worn cotton briefs, loose sweatpants, and one of his hoodies, well-worn and smelling like detergent. He returns and helps Tommy sit up, working the clothes onto him with the kind of focus most people reserve for bomb defusal.

Tommy could do this himself. They both know that.

But he doesn’t.

He lets Buck lift each leg one at a time, lets him guide the sweatpants up his hips, and smooth the hoodie down over his arms. He leans into the touches, the little tugs, the adjustments. His eyes grow damp, but he says nothing, a little overwhelmed by such care.

And maybe it’s because he remembers the last time.

How the disorientation had swallowed him whole, how he’d barely registered the burn in his skin or the ache between his legs. He remembers fumbling with the leftover knots on his own, frantic and confused, sobbing as he struggled to free himself. He remembers the nausea that followed, how he’d barely made it to the hallway before throwing up, and how, in his panic and disarray, he’d almost walked out the front door naked, only realizing he’d wandered halfway down the drive when a car horn startled him into lucidity.

The cold. The shame. The hurt.

But now—

Now there’s none of that.

In the end, Buck runs his hands gently over Tommy’s thighs, checking pressure points, brushing over the base of his spine, the curve of his waist, fingertips searching for tenderness or tension. “Anywhere sore?”

Tommy shakes his head, then pauses. “Not in a bad way.” He corrects with a rueful smile.

Buck grins, leaning in to press a kiss just beneath his jaw. “Sorry about that.”

When they’re ready, they make the slow journey to the kitchen side by side. He’s moving a little gingerly, legs still loose from pleasure and muscles warm with the kind of ache that comes from mindblowing sex, but his head is clearer now, and he doesn’t want to be doted on from bed like a pillow princess. He can walk— wants to walk.

Still, he leans into Buck more than strictly necessary as they shuffle barefoot across the apartment, pinkies linked.

The kitchen smells faintly of garlic and herbs, proof of Buck’s cooking earlier, well before the scene even began. Now, he plates two bowls of pasta, rich and hearty with roasted vegetables and thick sauce, and gestures Tommy into a chair before grabbing utensils and napkins. He kisses the top of Tommy’s head as he sets everything down, then joins him at the small table, legs brushing together under the wood.

They eat slowly, companionably.

Conversation flickers between subjects— nothing heavy, nothing important. They talk about Chim’s latest kitchen disaster, about how Jee Yun insists on belting out the latest pop hits at top volume during every single commute, about the feral raccoon Hen caught rifling through their station’s trash cans last shift. Buck tells every story with his hands, gesturing wildly as he mimics Chim screaming and dropping a hot pan, and Tommy laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his water.

At some point, their feet start playing footsie under the table, unspoken and easy, trading nudges and slow brushes, toes curling around ankles. It’s familiar, safe.

And then Tommy rises, sliding his chair back with a scrape and stepping around the table. Buck glances up from their shared dessert, confused for a beat, before Tommy leans down, cupping the other’s face between his hands.

The kiss is soft, chaste, all love and little heat, and when he finally pulls back, Tommy rests their foreheads together and breathes the other in, Buck’s arms tight and secure around his waist. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a little in awe. “For everything.”

Buck grins, slow and crooked, eyes dancing. “You say that like I didn’t get something out of this, too.”

Tommy hums. “Still. Thank you.” Another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible,” Tommy deadpans, and Buck laughs, leaning up to steal another kiss.

[bottomtommyweek]

Bottom Tommy Week Day Six! Aftercare

We have two more days yall! Today let’s slow things down and really give Tommy some TLC!

As always remember to use #bottomtommyweek or tag the blog and add you fics to the collection BottomTommyWeek2025 on ao3

[kinardstits]

(@AO3) day 5: topping from the bottom pairing: bucktommy tags: hurt & comfort, near-death experiences, angry sex, under-negotiated kinks, riding, ass-eating, bondage, discussion of boundaries

-

Testing the waters, Buck tugs at his restraints.

They’re tight around his wrists, keeping them pinned to the headboard. They’re not painful, just snug— The rope is cotton, slightly elastic, but not enough for him to break free. It’s comfortable. Secure. He wiggles a little, pleased that his boyfriend had gone through the trouble of finding it for him.

He rolls his shoulders, tries to shift, but his ankles are bound too, one to each leg of the bed, leaving him spread wide and helpless.

Starfished.

Buck’s never been harder in his life.

He cranes his neck, trying to get a glimpse of where Tommy’s gone. “You know, if you’re trying to edge me, this is a solid plan,” he quips. “Just leave me here long enough and I’ll combust.”

Tommy walks around the bed, still clothed, watching him test his bounds. His arms are loosely crossed as he watches, his eyes slowly dragging down Buck’s bare body. He’s not smiling, not exactly, but there’s a curl at the ends of his lips that has Buck shivering. “Feel good?” He eventually asks. “Not too tight?”

“It’s perfect, Tommy—”

He shushes him, and Buck snaps his mouth closed so fast his jaw clicks.

Slowly, Tommy begins to strip. He takes his time, his movements slow and deliberate— the shirt is the first to go, revealing inch by inch of golden skin, muscles rippling with the movement in the low lamplight. The jeans are next, peeled off with agonizing patience and kicked aside carelessly, leaving him in black briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is.

Buck can’t take his eyes off him— can’t stop squirming. “You look so fucking good, babe.”

And Tommy just hums, calculating, thumbing the elastic of his briefs before pushing them down his thighs. He’s a dream, and Buck’s mouth goes dry, eyes drinking in every plane of bare skin. He wants nothing more than to bury his face in the curve of Tommy’s groin, feel the trimmed but coarse hair at the base of his cock tickle his nose while he mouthed at heated skin. 

Tommy, however, has other ideas.

He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between Buck’s spread legs. For a moment, it looks like he might touch— his hand hovers, fingertips mere inches from Buck’s skin, brushing the fine hair on his thigh— but then he pulls back, looking down at him.

Before Buck can protest, Tommy turns his back on him. “T-Tom?”

He ignores him. Instead, Tommy reaches behind himself with one hand, slow and practiced, fingers gliding down until they disappear between the curves of his ass. Buck watches, wide-eyed, burning the image of those thick fingers tracing his puckered hole onto his retinas. Tommy sighs as he starts to work himself open, soft sounds escaping him as he pumps his fingers, patient and precise. He leans forward, one hand braced on the bed for balance.

Close enough that Buck feels the heat of him on his leg, but not a single point of contact.

Buck’s cock twitches in the open air, aching and ignored. “Jesus,” He breathes. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Tommy hums, head tilting just slightly to the side. “Maybe. Or maybe you can do that all on your own.”

Buck’s smile falters.

At the silence, Tommy looks over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, but his face is perfectly composed, all smooth marble. “Or did you not jump off a second-story window after being ordered to stand down?”

He opens his mouth, but when nothing comes out, Buck swallows.

Tommy doesn’t wait for a response. He turns back again, fingers still moving slowly and deeply between his thighs. His other hand curls into the sheets beside Buck’s hip, knuckles brushing the skin but not touching, and Buck decides he would rather have the cold shoulder from before than the quiet, concentrated fury now radiating off of him.

“You could’ve broken your neck, Evan.” Tommy’s voice is measured, but Buck knows better. He recognizes the tightness around his lips, the redness in his eyes. “Fucked up your leg for good. Or snapped your spine .”

Buck’s breath stutters, and he pulls at the restraints on instinct— he wants to touch, wants to apologize, wants to do something, but all he can do is lie there and watch, to be at the mercy of Tommy’s hurt and rage.

“I get one single call,” Tommy continues, still working himself open like he’s not discussing Buck’s latest brush with death. “And that’s what they tell me. If something goes wrong— One call, Evan. And my life as I knew it is gone.”

Buck’s throat works around the ache rising in it. “Tom—”

“Shut up,” Tommy cuts in, soft but firm, and Buck obeys without hesitation.

There’s silence for a beat, interrupted only by the slick sound of Tommy’s fingers, but then even that stops as he straightens and pulls them out. Buck watches, holding his breath, as Tommy crawls forward slowly. He straddles his chest with measured precision, knees bracketing his ribs, his cock heavy and flushed between his thighs. “You want to be reckless and mouth off to your new Captain?” Tommy wonders, staring down at him. “Fine.” He reaches down, running his fingers through Buck’s curls before tugging hard at the ends, sharp enough to make Buck wince. “Color?”

Buck licks his lips. “Green.”

“What do you do if you can’t speak?”

“Snap my fingers.”

Tommy nods. Then, he shifts higher, planting one hand against the headboard for balance as he reaches the head of the bed. “Then let’s put that mouth to better use.”

He shifts forward slowly, one knee planted on either side of Buck’s shoulders now, his balls brushing Buck’s chin as he settles above him.

From this angle, all Buck can see is skin and muscle and the flushed head of Tommy’s cock bobbing heavy in the air. He licks his lips, aching to taste it. It’s so close, but still completely out of reach, his tongue nowhere near long enough.

Tommy takes his time watching him. “Open.” And the other obeys instantly, lips parting wide. He shifts just enough to drag the head of his cock across Buck’s mouth, smearing precome over his parted lips, but doesn’t slide in. Just teases, uses Buck’s face like a canvas, dragging it along his cheek and tapping his lips with the head. Buck groans, desperate, tongue flicking out, but Tommy grabs his curls again and tugs, making him still. “You don’t get to chase,” he warns. “You watch. You feel. I decide when you get more.”

Then, he moves higher.

Buck’s breath hitches as Tommy lowers himself slowly, the thick weight of his thighs pressing to either side of him. And then— warmth. Soft, intimate skin. The scent of him, so inherently Tommy, floods Buck’s senses and he groans in anticipation before he can stop it, dick twitching against his stomach.

Mercifully, Tommy lowers all the way, settling his full weight over his mouth.

Buck moans, relieved, lips instantly latching onto the silky skin as his tongue slides out to taste. He licks long and slow, then short and fast, trying every angle, desperate to please.

And Tommy doesn’t guide him. He allows Buck to work for it, just shifting his hips slightly until the other’s tongue hits just where he wants it to— and then he starts to roll his hips, to ride.

(Secretly, Buck is glad he didn’t break his neck during his fall— he’d rather break it now, smothered by the weight of Tommy’s mouthwatering ass.)

It’s slow at first, lazy and controlled, Tommy using Buck’s mouth for his pleasure. He grinds down into it, breath growing heavier by the minute while Buck works beneath him, moaning into the mess, mouth relentless in its devotion, eyes fluttering shut.

Tommy tugs his hair again, grounding them both. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Make it up to me, baby.” Buck groans, louder this time, and Tommy grinds down harder, the vibrations of the sound causing a shiver to run up his spine. “I want you to feel it, Evan,” he says, his voice still maddeningly calm but at the edge of breathlessness. “Every time you gasp for breath, I want you to remember what we could ’ve lost.” He lifts slightly, letting Buck suck in a sharp, much needed gulp of air, then lowers again, grinding down on Buck’s tongue. 

Buck nods into the skin, feverish, but says nothing, delivering only desperate, messy, devoted licks and kisses.

They start to move in earnest now, Tommy rocking his hips against Buck’s face, chasing friction, chasing power and pleasure and reassurance. His moans start coming more freely, deeper in his chest, ragged around the edges. “Yes,” He breathes, eyes closed. “Yes, baby, you’re doing so good.”

And Buck— god, he’s falling apart.

His lungs are burning, the heat and weight of Tommy’s body smothering his breath away. His arms tug uselessly at the restraints, aching to touch, to grab two handfuls of Tommy’s ass and keeping him close, chest heaving in desperate little jolts against the pressure pinning him down.

Too much skin.

Too little oxygen.

He never wants it to stop.

Buck whines into the inferno above him, the sound muffled and frantic. The scent of Tommy surrounds him, thick and dizzying, and still his tongue rolls, jaw aching, lungs screaming.

Still, he doesn’t snap his fingers.

He trusts Tommy.

And when Tommy finally lifts, easing up just enough, Buck gasps like he’s been dragged out of water. He sucks in greedy lungfuls of air, chest rising and falling in shuddering waves, pupils blown wide, lips wet and red and trembling.

Tommy stays above him, thighs still bracketing his shoulders, cock flushed and bobbing in the air as he looks down, assessing. He watches the other breathe, studies the way his chest rises and falls, the subtle tremble in his arms where they’re bound. Buck’s lips are pink and kiss-swollen, damp down to his chin, and his cock is aching, flushed dark and twitching against his stomach. “Color?”

Buck licks his lips, still panting. “Greener than a bell pepper,” he rasps, having the time of his life.

Tommy, however, doesn’t smile.

He just tilts his head, watching him with growing disbelief while Buck catches his breath beneath him, still bound, still aching, cock straining against his stomach, flushed dark and leaking.

“You’re still joking,” Tommy scoffs, more observation than rebuke. His eyes, that had grown softer with pleasure, hardened again. “Uh.”

Buck’s mouth opens—some instinctual attempt to backpedal, explain, soothe —but Tommy’s already moving. He slides off Buck’s chest and down his body in one fluid motion, silent but purposeful as he stands.

“W-Wait, where are you—?”

Tommy opens the wardrobe. “Do you think this is a reward?” He asks, riffling through it. “Do you think you get to scare me half to death and still laugh through this?”

And Buck, absolutely not reading the room, lifts an eyebrow flirtatiously. “Of course not, but I am enjoying my punishment.” The room is dim, but he can still see the muscles of Tommy’s back stiffen, his head hang low. “Tom?”

When he turns, it’s with something clutched in his hand. Tommy looks like justice itself, bare and hard save for the hurt clouding his eyes. He gets back in bed, settling between Buck’s spread legs, a cock ring held between his fingers, and doesn’t waste time in sliding it down the other’s dick, adjusting it until its nice and tight around the base.

Buck groans, craning his neck to watch.

“You stay like this,” Tommy says, grabbing the discarded tube of lube and squeezing a generous line directly onto Buck’s cock. The chill makes Buck hiss, a sharp inhale that melts into a moan as Tommy spreads it, slow and deliberate, slicking him up. “Until I say otherwise.”

And Buck— he’s so hard he could take someone’s eye out. His arms strain uselessly against the ropes, his whole body squirming with need. “Tommy—” The other straddles his hips with practised ease, knees pressing into the bed on either side of Buck’s thighs, and reaches between them to grip Buck’s dick and guide himself down. It’s a tight descent, causing Buck to hiss through his teeth at the pleasurable pressure of Tommy’s body swallowing him up. “Babe, holy shit .”

“Why are you tied up, Evan?”

“I, uh,” Buck stammers, brain scrambled. Tommy is so tight, dangerously so, clearly not having prepped enough, that it’s almost painful for both of them. “I disobeyed orders, went back in.”

Tommy’s body flexes around him, tightens, but he doesn’t stop moving. Just sinks lower, deeper, until Buck is seated fully inside him, throbbing and overwhelmed. “And why did you do that?”

Buck swallows. Tommy is so warm, so wet, he feels like a dream. “I thought I—I thought I heard someone crying.”

“Remind me,” Tommy’s nails dig into Buck’s stomach.“What are we supposed to do when we think we hear something?”

“We report,” Buck manages, trying to buck his hips, but Tommy presses down, keeps him still.

“Did you?”

“There was no time—”

“So you decided to run into a collapsing building on a hunch ?”

Some of Buck’s blood seems to rush back north. He pauses, jaw clenching. “It wasn’t just a hunch—”

“There was no one inside.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Exactly,” Tommy presses, voice cracking. “A hunch you gambled your life on.”

Buck tugs at the restraints. “What did you want me to do? Walk away if someone really was in there?”

“Yes!” Buck freezes at the outburst. Tommy is glaring down at him now, eyes blazing, flushed all the way down to his navel. It’s a sharp contrast, the anger in his eyes and how tight he feels around his cock. “Yes, Evan, I want you to fucking walk away! I want you to think about what it means to die !”

And then he starts to move.

Hard.

He lifts and drops again with force, purposeful, the sound of skin on skin loud in the space between them. His jaw clenches, brow furrowed, and he rides Buck like he’s trying to drive the lesson into his bones. Buck moans, loud and startled, spine bowing off the mattress. “Fuck, Tommy—”

But Tommy doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t soften.

The drag of skin is raw and messy, on the verge of too much, but Tommy takes it anyway, groaning low in his throat at the burn. His thighs tremble from the strain, his fingers curling into Buck’s abs for balance. Buck is just happy to be along for the ride, can only take it, moaning as the air is punched out of him with every drop of weight onto his hips. He’s wrecked. Desperate. His cock is steel-hard, pinned in the ring, throbbing inside Tommy’s slick, suffocating heat, but then Tommy continues his tirade. “You think you’re untouchable,” he gasps, voice gone ragged and breathless. “You don’t think about what it’d do to me. To Maddie. To your team—”

“I do think!” Buck snarls, breathless, fists clenched against the ropes. “But I needed— I needed to know— holy shit, Tom, so good— I couldn’t just walk away—”

But Tommy just shakes his head, still riding, refusing to listen. His breath hitches, hips snapping harder. “I’d rather live with your guilt than with your death, Evan.”

They’re both panting now, shaking. Buck’s whole body strains toward climax but the cock ring won’t let him. He’s trapped right there, on the precipice, overstimulated and wild-eyed. “Tommy— fuck, please—” Buck gasps, barely coherent. “I need, please—” But Tommy just keeps going, leans forward, braces his hands on Buck’s chest, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut as he rides him mercilessly.

It’s the ride of his fucking life.

Buck can’t think.

The pressure is unbearable, pleasure tipping into pain, muscles locking down like they’re trying to tear him apart, so he resorts to begging. “Tommy, fuck, please— please, just let me come—”

But the rhythm shifts, grows uneven.

Tommy’s hips start to stutter, his spine arching in a way that no longer matches the pace. His hands curl slightly, fingers clawing uselessly at Buck’s chest like he’s losing control of his own body.

And that’s when Buck sees it through the haze of lust.

The tremble in Tommy’s arms. The way he has begun to hunch, the tiny shake in his breath, the rivulets of sweat running down his nose.

— or what he thought was sweat.

Tommy’s not running out of stamina.

He’s crying.

Buck’s heart seizes. “Tommy?” he croaks, trying to shift brains. “Tom— hey—”

Tommy suddenly pulls off, breath heaving, and Buck doesn’t even have time to panic before he’s moving again, turning away, climbing back on, sliding Buck back in with one smooth stroke.

Buck can’t help a choked moan at the new angle, at the almost painful way the other digs his nails into his thighs as he resumes. Still, it’s not just angry sex anymore— Tommy is shaking in his lap, but they jerk now and then with what Buck now recognizes as sobs— quiet, muffled, choked-down gasps he’s trying to hide by keeping his back turned.

And Buck realizes, to his fucking horror, that he’s fucking Tommy while he cries.

While he tries to pretend that he’s okay, that they’re just in a scene.

“Tommy,” Buck’s voice is frantic, realizing now that he had been blind. It was never play, it was never just sex— “Tommy, stop. Red, red! ”

And Tommy freezes, finally coming to a stop.

He falters, movement catching mid-thrust like a puppet whose strings have suddenly been cut. His head drops low between his shoulders, tense, his back gleaming with sweat.

“Red,” Buck repeats, softer this time. “Tommy— get me off these restraints. Now.”

Tommy makes a broken, choked sound in his throat, followed by a very deep self-soothing breath. He slides off slowly, and Buck bites his lips, trembling from the effort of holding back any sound, the cock ring still locked around him. Tommy moves to the foot of the bed, fingers shaking as he undoes the first knot. The second comes free just as quickly, but when he turns to climb back up the bed, to move toward Buck’s arms, the stony mask is back in place, despite the tear tracks drying on his cheeks. Buck’s heart clenches, and he mentally kicks himself for not noticing sooner. “Tom…”

The other shakes his head and moves to the headboard, arms close to his chest as he reaches to untie the ropes around Buck’s wrists, body angled just so, hiding his face from view.

The moment Buck’s wrists are free, he lunges, arms wrapping around Tommy’s waist and hauling him in, twisting them until Tommy lands half on his side, half sprawled across Buck’s chest.

Tommy grunts, tries to twist away. “Don’t—”

“No.” Buck holds on tighter, arms caging Tommy in, voice soft but firm. “You don’t get to hide right now, not anymore.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy finally snaps. He tries to push away again, hands braced on Buck’s chest, elbows sharp, nails digging in, but there’s no real strength behind it, and they both know it.

The man knows Muay Thai— if he truly wanted to break free, he would.

“You’re not fine,” Buck counters. “And that’s okay, but you were crying and still trying to ride me like that could make it go away—”

“I had to—” Tommy chokes.

“No, you didn’t,” Buck says, catching his face in his hands.

And Tommy flinches, turning his face away from the touch. He tries again to shove at Buck’s arms, but Buck just tightens his hold around him like an octopus, unrelenting. “Let me go —”

“Not a chance, you’re stuck with me.”

And that’s what does it.

The mask cracks. A single, betrayed sound escapes Tommy’s throat as he covers his face with one hand, trying to retain some shred of dignity as he crumbles and folds in on himself with a broken sob. All the steel and stone he’s been holding in his chest melts in an instant, and what’s left is just grief. “I’m sorry,” Tommy hiccups. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to hurt you, to force— I just—” Another sob cuts him off, and he shakes in Buck’s arms, hand still covering his face like he’s ashamed.

“Hey, no,” Buck presses his lips to Tommy’s temple, cradling his shaking body so tightly he might as well be trying to burrow him under his skin. “You didn’t hurt me. You scared me, but you were hurting and I didn’t see it, and that’s on me too.”

Tommy whimpers again, low and awful, and Buck tightens his hold. “I love you,” he murmurs into his temple, pressing as many kisses there as he can between words. “I love you so fucking much. And I’m here. I’m alive. We’re okay.”

“I thought—” Tommy makes a choked sound, trying to force coherence through the tears. “Your Captain called, didn’t even show up in person, and said you had fallen from a second story. That they were going to take you to the hospital, that I should be there, and I thought this was it. Until I saw you at the emergency room, I thought you were—” His voice cuts off, strangled.

And Buck thinks that maybe he should have mouthed off more, perhaps even insulted their new Captain, if that was their idea of bedside manner. “I didn’t know,” He winces, rubbing a hand up and down Tommy’s back. “I’m so sorry, Tom.” Tommy doesn’t respond— just presses his face into Buck’s shoulder, breathing through the last of his tremors.

They lie there for a long moment, tension slowly bleeding from their limbs, until, eventually, Buck grimaces. “Baby? As much as I’d love to keep you right here forever, I think this cock ring is gonna start cutting off circulation.”

With a jolt, Tommy pulls back, eyes widening. “ Shit — shit, of course.” He scrambles back, gentler now, and reaches for the ring, but before he can do much, Buck gently bats him away and does it himself, careful fingers working it off with a hiss of relief. 

Tommy hovers beside him, chastised and ashamed, eyes flicking between Buck’s flushed cock and his face. “Evan…” He reaches out, fingers close but not quite touching the head of Buck’s dick.

“I’m okay,” Buck reassures softly, but pulls away. “But I need you to not offer to suck me off while you’re still crying.”

“I wasn’t— I’m not crying now,” Tommy argues, though he sniffles, rubbing his wrist across his nose like it might erase the evidence. “And I edged you for nothing—”

“You were crying,” Buck interrupts, still gentle but firm. “And then tried to keep going. That’s not okay.”

Tommy looks away, guilt spreading like ink across his expression. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate—”

“I know,” Buck interrupts. “I know. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about it. You were hurting, and I wasn’t paying attention, and we both ended up ignoring some major signals. That’s not how I want us to do this.”

Tommy nods. “I know,” He says, exhausted. “I’m so sorry.”

But Buck just threads their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m always down for you to take control— hell, I love it— but I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t ever think you have to perform through pain just to stay close to me. You don’t have to earn touch. Or sex. Or love.” Buck states, holding the other’s gaze as he says it. “Believe me— I had to learn it too, so I get it, but I don’t want this kind of connection anymore, okay? We’re either all in or it’s not happening at all.

Tommy exhales hard, eyes glimmering again. “Okay,” he concedes, and means it.

“And I promise to check in better, too,” Buck adds, his own guilt on display.

There’s a long pause between them, comfortable, this time, until Tommy scoots forward and rests his head on Buck’s shoulder, curling in close.

Buck sighs, content, and flops back onto the bed, one hand coming up to rub soft circles into Tommy’s back. “Now,” he murmurs, lips against the crown of Tommy’s hair, “let’s lie here until one of us gets hungry, falls asleep, or gets horny in a decidedly healthier way. Whichever comes first.”

They settle into each other, limbs tangled, skin tacky and warm, wrapped in the heavy hush that follows the hardest truths.

And when Tommy presses a kiss to Buck’s chest, soft and still apologetic, right over his heart, it’s the gentlest thing in the world.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

But With You I Just Go Wild

Written for @bottomtommyweek Day Two: Kinks (alternate prompt). Here there be drugged sex/somnophilia. It's Buck/Tommy!

Tommy exists in the realm of what he thinks of as “vanilla kinks,” which is to say that he’s spanked a few people, gone cruising via apps, and his boyfriend calls him Daddy sometimes. But Evan is helping him to expand his horizons, because normally Tommy would only be willing to explore most things if he trusts someone. There’s no one in the world he trusts more than Evan.

“You’ve gotta have fantasies, though,” Evan says from where his head is pillowed on Tommy’s stomach. “Like, I still have some I haven’t done because it would break the law or because it’s not physically possible.”

“You mean like porn scenarios or what?” Tommy asks, and Evan's eyebrows raise. “What?”

“Babe, all your porn is just us, amateur couples fucking, or bears with muscle bottoms,” he points out, and Tommy flushes. “There's no story in any of them, they’re just on a bed or whatever.”

“There used to be,” he admits, stroking his fingers through Evan’s messy curls. “Back in the day of dial-up, I used to download whatever was available. It was mostly sad Eastern European guys, gay-for-pay frat bros, and twinks getting fucked in classrooms by balding ‘roid monsters. I don't miss it.”

“That’s pretty fair,” Evan concedes, making a face. “You never liked any of them?”

“I mean, I was a horny teenager, so I was just happy to be looking at a dick that wasn't my own,” he points out, then pauses. “Okay, some of the frat guy ones were hot.”

Evan raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Yeah?”

Tommy reaches out to poke the eyebrow with his fingertip. “What about you? What's your not physically possible fantasy?”

“Freezing time, playing with the person I want, and then time unfreezes and they feel everything I did all at once,” Evan says easily, and Tommy blinks. “I read it in a porn story once. It'd be with consent in my case, obviously. But you'd blink and be fine and normal and then immediately be cumming and feel like you just got fucked.”

“That's…you know what? Fair enough,” Tommy says, considering that for all of a half a second and deciding it would be really hot. “You could always just fuck me while I'm sedated. That's sort of similar. I'd try it.”

Evan scratches his nails through Tommy's happy trail for a moment. “If we hate it, we just never do it again.”

“Exactly.”

He smiles up at Tommy before wriggling up for a kiss, and Tommy wonders if being with another person was always supposed to be this easy or if Evan's just that special.

Read the rest on AO3 here!

[bottomtommyweek]

Bottom Tommy Week Day Five! Topping From the Bottom

Just because Tommy's on the bottom doesn't mean he's not calling the shots!

As always remember to use #bottomtommyweek or tag the blog and add you fics to the collection BottomTommyWeek2025 on ao3