...well it's been over ten years since I've attempted this site but hi I guess.
I think I joined the blue birb site for hockey reasons, Discord because chemistry, and here (at least this go-around) mainly because of a little weewoo firefighter show - tumblr was grumping at me for trying to browse without signing up, oops.
Chances are if I'm not online (lol) I'm in the lab yelling at science for not cooperating, at one of my happy places (farmer's market, local botanical garden, my favorite cafe), in the kitchen attempting to cook something, on the couch rewatching something for the millionth time, or...more than one of the above.
Side note: same Ao3 name.
ETA: icon pic was one I took after feeding a giraffe at the zoo last summer (but is currently my Dumpster Fire O'Lantern from this year because spooky season), header pic is sunset at a lighthouse from a few years ago
Stealing your header and suggesting: "It must be Thursday"
My header is a The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy quote, and so this too must be a thhgttg au.
Early on the Thursday morning that the Earth was scheduled to be demolished to make way for a hyperspace bypass, Tommy's ex-boyfriend knocked on his door and said, "You still keep a go bag packed, right?"
Tommy was in his ratty old man bathrobe and his ratty old man boxers and his ratty old man slippers and was not prepared to see Evan Buckley on his doorstep with a hiking backpack slung over his shoulders and a huge tablet with the comforting words Don't Panic scrawled across the back clutched in one hand after seven months of silence. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
Evan made a frustrated noise and pushed past Tommy to grab the go bag out of the closet. "You still have those ready made protein shakes right? You're going to lose a lot of calories in the transfer."
Tommy belatedly went after Evan, who was shoving bottles and, inexplicably, canned peaches into his backup. "Are you having a stroke? Am I having a stroke? Evan, what's going on?"
Evan grabbed his hand and dragged him outside. "We have to go. I'm sorry there's no time for you to put on real pants."
And then Evan stuck out his thumb and they hitched a ride.
--
After Tommy vomited, had a nervous breakdown, downed one of the shakes, had a second breakdown, ate half a can of the peaches Evan packed, went through the five stages, spent twenty-eight minutes silently staring at the unbroken field of stars outside the spaceship's view port, invented another three stages of grief, and had a third breakdown, he said, "So when you said your family wasn't local you meant they live on..."
"Betelgeuse," Evan said, not making eye contact as he fiddled with his weird space ring.
"And when you said you worked for a travel publishing company and hitchhiked around the world, you actually meant this." He waved the copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Evan had handed him around the eighth stage of grief. The entry for Earth just read "mostly harmless."
"I was working for a travel publishing company. I was hitchhiking."
"Don't pretend you weren't omitting several key fucking details, Evan."
"Don't you pretend I could tell you I was an alien when you broke up with me when I said I wanted to move in together, Tommy!" Evan shot back, shifty eyed guilt replaced by righteous anger.
"You said I helped get gay marriage passed and then said we should get married!"
"No, I said that because of people like you we had the option of getting married if we wanted. And I gotta say," Evan added with the casual viciousness he was so good at, "I don't remember why I ever wanted to!"
The words hung in space in much the same way that Earth no longer did.
"Got it," he said dully, backing up as Evan's anger was visibly overtaken by horror. "Out of everyone on Earth, why'd you bother saving me?"
"Why do you think?" Evan said in a small voice.
Outside the view port, a chunk of what used to be the Earth drifted past. Everyone he knew was dead. His parents were dead, which on the whole wasn't a terrible loss. On the other hand, Sal and Gina and their girls were. He wasn't going to be able to take that vacation to New Orleans or London or Norway to see the fjords now. The little pizza joint where he and Evan had their second first date was gone. He was never going to eat pizza again.
When he came out of his fourth breakdown, his head was on Evan's lap and Evan was tenderly stroking his hair. "I'm sorry," he said.
"You didn't plan the hyperspace bypass and then hide the plans in another system that we don't even have the technology to reach," he said, resisting the urge to press his face into Evan's stomach. Tommy had missed him so much.
"Wasn't apologizing for that." Evan gently tugged on his hair in light reprimand.
"I know." He rolled carefully onto his back. Even under the harsh lights of an alien spacecraft, Evan was beautiful. "What now?"
"Well," Evan said with a brave little smile, "how do you feel about hitching a ride to Betelgeuse?"
(And then shenanigans occur where they maybe end up stealing a ship with an improbability drive and meet the Earth dolphins who are quite put out they didn't bring any fish and Tommy learns to fly, which is to say he forgets how to fall. Also they fall back in love and kiss the end)
There's just one problem with Tommy crying: Buck's absolutely getting hard listening to Tommy sniffle quietly. He shifts in his seat awkwardly. It's just… nice knowing Tommy trusts him enough to show his tears.
A movie night brings Tommy to tears and Buck to a boner. Tommy is really, really okay with it, though.
chemmy!!! i love this. okay. parallel universes shenanigans here we goooooo.
Tommy is at his favourite coffee shop, wearing his post breakup misery uniform of ratty sweats and the single solitary shirt Evan left at his place (he wouldn't normally let himself be seen in public like this but he's out of coffee and he hasn't breathed outside air other than days he's on shift in longer than he cares to think about). He's planning to get coffee and a cake or three to go and return to his sad little loser life to feel like a sad little loser when a...thing crashes through the coffee shop window while he waits at the pickup counter.
'Thing' is the best description he can get. It has four...legs? Arms? Limbs, anyway. It has shaggy fur that's blacker than anything he's ever seen, like a void in the world rather than an animal. It's shaped like a wolf, or maybe an ape, and he can't see any eyes but he absolutely can see a mouth full of luminous bluegreen - holy fucking sharp - teeth when it opens its huge mouth and lets out a screeching rattling noise that says: hi, hello, you are dead. People are screaming and scrambling and then another figure follows the thing through the window and slices it in half with a big-ass sword. Blue-black blood sprays everywhere.
The sword-wielding lunatic looks around and - oh, fuck - his eyes settle on Tommy.
"You bastard," Evan says. "Just because we break up you think you can duck out of patrol? Hen could have died!"
To which Tommy says, "Uh...what?"
Meanwhile, across town, Evan is in the company of a sword-wielding, scarred and confused version of Tommy who is frustrated that Evan doesn't have his creature-tracking gear on him.
So they have to figure out how to get the new Evan and Tommy back to their own world while hunting down/trying not to be hunted down by gorilla-wolf motherfuckers creatures. Peril! Arguments! Forced proximity! Inevitable happy ending bc it's me!
WOW, this took way longer than i thought it would. i forgot how to write, and then decided i could no longer write :)
here's PART TWO -- or the aftermath -- of buck and tommy's disastrous first date, this time from tommy's POV.
(PART ONE is here) and here is @sad-girl-hours23's original post that inspired both of these ficlets!
thanks for letting me play in this sandbox, jess <3
*****
To describe the inside of Tommy's new house as 'sparse' would be like describing the Sahara as 'kinda dry' or his savings as 'pretty low'. To describe Tommy's new living situation as uncomfortable would only be accurate if, wandering around his new 2 bed, 1 bath Craftsman, you were unable to look beyond the lack of furniture and decor to see a man taking his first real breath in years.
And as Tommy leans back in his deck chair in front of his 80 inch flat-screen that he can't mount because his living room wall is too unstable he reminds himself that it's all ok, because this is mine and it's not going anywhere. He reaches down into the cooler he's been using as a footrest, right to the bottom where the iciest beers are, and fishes one out. He props his bare feet back up as he pops the cap, uncaring where it lands.
That's a tomorrow problem, just like everything else.
Tonight, it's just him, his snacks, and whatever he can zone out to on TV.
After hopping around, Tommy settles on While You Were Sleeping. It's a film he's seen more than enough times, but never like this. For one thing, it's the wrong time of year — the twinkling lights on Lucy's Christmas tree are a reminder to put himself down to work the holidays again this year, rather than something that sparks anticipation and excitement for his first Christmas in his own home.
Tommy used to think it was sweet — endearing, even — how Lucy tangled herself up in such a crazy lie and, in the end, was rewarded with an unexpected love… but the laughs that used to ring out while he watched her fall deeper and deeper in lies and love have been replaced by a tightness in his chest, and the bitter memory of a lying, beautiful idiot who managed to turn to the best date Tommy had ever been on into one a stand-up comic could turn into a career defining bit.
Why depress himself with a rom-com when he can fall into a pit of despair by watching the news instead?
Tommy flips channels quickly and is greeted with rolling new coverage of yet another explosion. With multiple crews on scene, and a firefighter down, Tommy shoots a welfare check text into the work chat and keeps his phone close by as he watches the scene develop in ultra HD.
Preoccupied with his phone, Tommy missed the part where the reporter mentioned a firefighter trapped under an engine, and he definitely missed the part where she revealed that said firefighter was one the 118's very own. Not long ago Tommy was arranging a water drop to save them. Bobby's a great captain but shit, his house seems to be taking hit after hit.
He sits forward, totally absorbed by the scene unfolding on-screen. Flashing lights and shouting fill the gaps where the reporter runs out of commentary and Tommy finds himself hypnotised and unable to look away.
The camera shifts and zooms.
The screen fills with a shaky close up of a firefighter clinging to consciousness, his face rubbing against the grit beneath him as shards of glass glitter on top of a life-threatening amount of lost blood.
It's a scene Tommy's intimately familiar with; he thinks of his 1st Lieutenant who was laughing at a dirty joke minutes before he never laughed again, his body all twisted up in the wreckage of an Apache blown out of the sky.
Tommy shivers; another fallen brother writhes in front of him. His breath catches when, on a particularly ghoulish close up, the firefighter's face is revealed.
The burst of red above his eye isn't just blood, and Tommy couldn't tear his gaze from his blue eyes if he tried. If he knew the man's name, he'd call it out. If he could somehow break through the screen and into the chaos, he would.
Whatever bond they forged during the few hours they knew each other has strengthened beyond measure: how is it that this guy, who he hasn't been able to stop thinking about, who has ruined every date Tommy's been on since, should be a firefighter at the very house that Tommy left less than three years ago?
Tommy's never put much stock in fate but he's starting to think it might be time to.
The coverage rolls on, endless, continuing after a street full of people lift the fire engine off his long lost date's leg and paramedics bundle him into an ambulance.
Tommy pulls up the message he sent to Howie months ago when he promised to find some time for them to catch up in person and types out a quick hope your boy's ok before switching channels.
He settles on a documentary about Machu Picchu, partly because he doesn't know anything about it but mostly because he'd rather think about Mark's smile and eagerness to tell Tommy all about his adventures in Peru instead of the pain-stricken grimace he's become nauseatingly familiar with.
*
His name is Evan Buckley. Tommy learns that from the news.
Evan Buckley lives in an extremely nice building on Grand Street. Tommy learns that from Howie who probably should have questioned why Tommy was asking for Evan's address in the first place.
Howie calls Evan Buck. Tommy's itching to know why Evan spends his life hiding behind any name that isn't his own.
Standing outside Evan's door, mouthing the words to a script he's nowhere near close to memorising, Tommy wonders who the hell he thinks he is turning up unannounced. He knocks gently — if Evan doesn't hear it then Tommy can take it as a sign that he's making a huge mistake and run a mile.
Rocking back on his heels for long enough to feel like an intruder, Tommy seriously considers walking away. Evan's injury is probably career ending and there's a pretty high chance they'll never cross paths again. He could end it here and spend the rest of his life regretting it.
Finally, when Tommy's thinking about high-tailing it down the hallway, there's a gentle shuffling on the other side of the door.
'Uhh,' comes a muffled voice, 'if you've come here to kick the shit out of me you should know a fire engine already beat you to it.'
'I come in peace.' Tommy waves at the peephole awkwardly. 'Can we talk?'
The lock clicks with noticeable hesitation and then, very cautiously, the door opens. On crutches and with dark circles under his eyes, Evan looks as beautiful as he did the night Tommy met him.
Or some version of him, anyway.
Evan turns away from the door, nimble on his crutches for a guy with a lot of leg to swing, and leaves Tommy to let himself in. He propels himself forward easily and props himself up on a bar stool to rest while Tommy eases the door shut.
Tommy should ask how Evan is, even though it's obvious. Quick as Evan is, he still looks worn out from walking to and from the door. What comes out instead is, 'Should I be worried that Howie calls you Buck? You don't have like, a secret, third identity, do you?'
Evan leans his crutches against the kitchen island. 'Should I be worried that you know Chimney?'
Tommy shrugs honestly. 'I don't know, should you?'
'Probably. He's dating my sister so he's probably got a ton of dirt on me.' Evan sighs. Despite only having met once, the distance between them feels unfamiliar. Tommy has only known Evan in close-up, both in person and on-screen. Now here he is in full view, vulnerable in a way Tommy assumed you saw after years knowing a person. 'How?' Evan prompts.
'We used to work together.' Tommy keeps his approach gentle. He takes a casual step forward and stops. 'At the 118. You probably took the spot I freed up when I moved to Harbour.'
'Oh.' Evan rubs the back of his neck, probably to soothe himself, but Tommy guesses he's been sleeping like shit, too, and is probably full of aches and pains from top to bottom. 'That's really cool. Weird, but cool. T-thank you, I guess. You kinda changed my life by leaving.'
'Kinda changed my own life, too.'
'There were three other Evan's at the academy.'
Tommy narrows his eyes. 'Ok?'
'That's why I go by Buck?'
'Oh!' At least someone's paying attention; Tommy's too preoccupied with the stubble darkening Evan's jaw. 'Got it.' He closes the space between them. He pulls out the bar stool next to Evan, careful not to drag it along Evan’s very nice floor, and perches there. He forces himself to look more relaxed than he feels, because there's a brittleness to Evan that wasn't there before, and Tommy doesn't want to be another person adding to his stress.
'I'm really sorry for lying,' Evan says and Tommy doesn't just know he is — he believes it, too. 'My name isn't Mark, obviously, and I've never even met a gym teacher but everything else I said is true.'
'Even the part about it being your first date with 'a dude'?'
'Especially that part.' Evan drops his head and winces. If he's in pain it isn't coming from his busted leg, but somewhere deep inside that Tommy wants to reach and learn how to soothe.
'Did you like it?'
'O-oh yeah, I mean — it was totally unexpected but I do that sometimes just… jump in, you know?'
'I'm starting to,' Tommy says honestly because he's only recently developed a taste for impulsivity. Buying a house in dire need of love he isn't yet skilled enough to give is just the first in a long line of decisions he'll make that will change the course of his life.
The other decision is fidgeting around next to him and desperately trying to find a more comfortable way to sit.
'Let me help,' Tommy says before he can second-guess himself. He stands and motions for Evan to put his arm around his shoulders so Tommy can help him to his feet. Evan doesn't hesitate to accept — he puts his arm around Tommy and hisses when his cast bumps Tommy's leg.
As they walk towards the couch, Tommy clocks that Evan's bed is a flight of stairs away. It doesn't bother him, the thought of Evan struggling up the stairs at night, but it does pull at something inside of him that reminds him that he'll be going home to an empty house tonight.
Tommy helps Evan down onto his couch which would not look out of place in a show home, and would definitely not feature next to the word 'comfortable' in the dictionary. But he settles Evan the best he can and, to Evan's surprise, does his best to prop his leg up.
'How's that?' Tommy asks, doing his best not to loom over the guy he barely knows but is worrying about like they've been married for 20 years.
'B-better,' Evan stammers. In the harsh, industrial lighting of his loft, Evan's eyes are so blue and soft and sincere. Tommy wants to kiss him — probably will — but he retreats to grab Evan's crutches first so he's not stranded.
Away from Evan, Tommy takes in more of his surroundings. It's a gorgeous property. A little… minimalist, if Tommy's being completely honest, but then who's he to talk? He's still sleeping on a mattress and pulling balled up Henleys out of a suitcase.
'How long have you lived here?' Tommy minds his tone so Evan knows he's genuinely curious and not passing judgement. He grabs the crutches and decides to wait until their next meeting to try them out himself.
'Um, not too long. There was a girl. Then there was a lease. And then' — Evan points to his leg as Tommy sets the crutches down in arm's reach — 'no more girl.'
'Jumped in?'
'Oh yeah,' Evan laughs, 'belly-flopped in the deep end.'
'Ouch.' Tommy laughs, too, and fuck it feels good. 'If it makes you feel better I just bought a house that's falling down. I have no furniture and no idea what I'm doing.'
'Ouch.' Evan's still laughing and wincing. He reaches down to rub the cast that's clamped around his leg as if he might be able to feel his hands rubbing his skin through the plaster. 'Where's your furniture?'
'I was leasing a furnished place. I have a TV.'
'And a two-thousand dollar coffee machine.'
'I — yes,' Tommy says dumbly, remembering how hopeful he was that Evan, or Mark, wasn't only planning to follow him home from the bar for something as innocent as a coffee. Unless that coffee was going to be sipped in bed long after the sun had come up.
'Are you, um, still serious about it? The coffee?'
'Absolutely.' Tommy eases himself down and sits on the floor so he can look Evan in the eyes when he says, 'I didn't come here for an apology. I came here because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.'
'Oh,' Evan says, his mouth forming a perfect O. 'It might just have to be coffee for a while.'
'Of course.' Tommy looks around. Evan has a nice kitchen. 'Maybe I can come over and make us dinner. Save you a car ride.'
'I'd really like that, Tommy.'
There's an accumulation of miscellanea on Evan's side table: a couple of books, a half eaten bag of Sour Patch Kids, a remote control, earphones, and a marker, which Tommy zones in on quickly.
'Tell you what,' Tommy says, grabbing the marker and uncapping it with his teeth. 'When you're ready —' he sets the tip of the marker to Evan's cast and waits for permission. The hitch of Evan's eyebrow is all it takes for Tommy to scrawl his phone number on the inside of Evan's thigh. 'Give me a call, ok? Or text me. Whatever.'
The tips of Evan's ears are bright red. His cheeks, too. Their fingertips graze when Tommy hands the marker back and even from the slightest touch Tommy knows Evan's palms are sweating.
He's completely charmed and in real danger of testing their limits of their combined restraint.
'I should get going,' Tommy says and is that a pout on Evan's lips? 'Do you need anything before I go?'
Evan taps his chin with his index finger. Tommy can tell he's not really thinking about it — he made his decision as soon as Tommy asked the question – but if he's finding some joy in making Tommy wait well, then Tommy will wait.
'How about you kiss me better, huh?'
Not wanting to lose his track record for his excellent bedside manner, Tommy rises up on his knees, leans over and, with only the tiniest moment of hesitation — just enough to feel Evan's nose bump his own — presses their lips together gently.
They kiss and kiss until Evan's fingers tangle in Tommy's hair and Tommy's neck starts to ache from the angle he's being held at. Reluctantly, he breaks away, and there's that pout again, more vibrant now Evan's lips are cherry red and kiss-bitten. His eyes are still closed, and Tommy kisses both of Evan's cheeks, and the underside of his jaw, as an apology and a promise.
'Better?' Tommy asks, breathless and so, so happy he knocked on Evan's door before he could talk himself out of it.
'Not sure,' Evan says, 'we should probably try again just to, you know, make sure the treatment's working.'
Tommy laughs because, despite barely knowing each other, Evan's already an expert at twisting his arm. 'Ok,' he says, still breathless and caught up, and leans in.
been a while since i've posted about tattoo artist tommy & punk buck au
previous posts are here, here & here.
The 118 responded to a grease fire. When they arrived on scene, Buck realised why the address sounded familiar. They were on Tommy's street. The fire was in the diner they'd gone to.
It wasn't too bad, but bad enough that civilians couldn't handle it. People from the surrounding businesses poured into the street, including the tattoo studio.
Buck seized the opportunity to say hi. The street was too clogged anyway, they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
”Tommy!”
Tommy beamed at him. ”Hi! I like your outfit.”
Buck looked down at himself, at his shapeless turnouts. ”I know, right? Really shows off my figure.”
Tommy nodded at the diner. ”How bad is it?”
”Nothing structural. The repairs should be easy enough. Looks worse than it is.”
”That's a relief. Was gonna go there for lunch.”
Buck looked at him for a beat. It would be insane to ask Tommy to come with him, so he could have lunch at the station. He'd been prepping with Bobby, before the call. It wasn't unheard of to have a civilian ride with them, but Buck was probably too new still, to be able to make an argument for it.
He was technically on crowd control, so he did some of that. With arms wide, he went up and down the length of the engine, to keep it clear. The job was easy enough, so it wasn't long until they packed up and got ready to leave.
Tommy was still on the sidewalk. There were no half naked people around, so maybe he was on admin today. Buck walked up to him. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and was about to say something about heading back, when Tommy pulled him close and kissed his cheek. ”Stay safe.”
”I-I will,” Buck said, and stumbled onto the engine.
As they got situated, Hen asked, ”That the boyfriend?”
”What?”
”Was that your boyfriend?” she asked again, even though her words were perfectly clear over the headset.
”You mean Tommy?”
”Wait, that was Tommy?” Chimney asked and looked out the window.
Buck looked between them. He'd only brought Tommy to the firehouse that one time and he didn't introduce him to anyone. ”He's not my boyfriend.”
Hen gave him a look. ”Huh. I figured he was.”
”Why?”
”You're always texting him. Or calling.”
”What're you looking at my phone for?”
She looked at him over the rim of her glasses. ”I'm not the one waving my phone around.”
”Whatever,” he scoffed. ”He's not my boyfriend, he's my … friend.”
”He seems cool,” Chimney said. ”With all the,” he gestured to his body.
”He is cool.”
Buck was distracted for the rest of the day. He would've cut off his thumb, if Bobby hadn't intervened. He only stabbed himself a little bit and Hen assured him he didn't need stitches. It was dumb either way. It wasn't like he didn't know he had feelings for Tommy.
But he also hadn't put the words boyfriend and Tommy in the same sentence before.
”I'm bi,” he said, as Hen stuck a plaster on the heel of his hand. She glanced up, as she made sure the adhesive border sat flush all the way around. ”Just – you said boyfriend. Girlfriend is also an option.”
”How'd you meet?”
”He runs a tattoo studio. I needed some new jewellery for a piercing.”
She looked at his face. ”I thought you took yours out?”
”Most of them.”
She held up a hand. ”I don't wanna know.”
Buck chuckled. The station had about a million first aid kits, but Hen still took the time to neatly pack everything away.
”I really like him,” he confessed quietly.
Hen smiled. ”What do you like about him?”
”Oh,” he ducked his head. Hen probably didn't care that much, she was just using it as an opportunity to get to know him better. ”He's fun. And cool and kind. And I think he likes talking to me? I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but it really … It means a lot to me.”
”Is he a tattoo artist then?”
”He is! He's so good. He gave me–” His hands were on his belt when he realised Hen probably didn't want to see that. He fished out his phone instead. ”I have a photo.”
*
My team thought you were my boyfriend, isn't that so funny?
My coworkers thought we were dating, isn't that crazy?
Hen called you my boyfriend and it made my stomach swoop – thoughts?
You kissed me and I've been thinking about it every moment of every day.
I want you to kiss me again.
Why did you kiss me?
Can I kiss you?
I want to kiss you.
I think about you when I fall asleep.
I think about you when I wake up, I think about you when I fall asleep, and every moment in between.
”Evan?”
”Mm?”
Tommy smiled at him. ”I asked if you wanted another? You look tired.”
”Oh.” Buck looked at his cup. ”Yeah, just a small one.”
”You got it,” Tommy said and got up to order another coffee.
Buck sat back in his seat and sighed. The coffee shop was nice and quiet this time of day, just after the morning rush. Buck wasn't doing anything today. If Tommy let him, he was going to go to the studio with him and hang out for a bit. Tommy was taking clients today, so he couldn't hang out indefinitely. Buck was decidedly not pouty about it.
”What're you doing today?” he asked, when Tommy came back with a new coffee.
Tommy lit up. ”A sailboat. Client lost his grandfather, and he wants his sailboat on his thigh. It's stylised, so it's not a one-to-one, but I'm excited about it. Been looking at boats all week, because I want the lines to be right. You know, the shape of the sails, the number of sails, the colour, that kind of thing.”
”That sounds cool.”
”I'm gonna ask if he wants to add an anchor. Anchor with the sails up doesn't make sense, but since he wanted stylised, maybe he'd be up for it anyway. Wrapping the anchor chain around his knee could add some movement, but it wasn't part of the inital sketch, so we'll see.”
”Is it a big piece?”
”Oh, yeah. I'm only doing him and then a tramp stamp later tonight.”
He was going to be sore later, Buck thought. ”You wanna do dinner?”
Tommy looked surprised. ”Go out?”
”Was thinking takeout.”
”You don't have plans?”
Buck shrugged. ”Might take a nap later.”
”I don't know when I'll finish.”
”That's OK,” Buck said easily. ”You can let me know when you know.”
”You sure?”
”I'm sure.” He had cash in his pocket, to get his debt down. It wasn't a lot, but Tommy hadn't asked for anything specific. He was holding on to it for now. Handing over cash during their little… breakfast date, or whatever this was, didn't feel right. He didn't want to sully it. ”Can I tag along to the studio?”
another snippet of tattoo artist tommy & punk buck au. this is a bit later in the story, where they're settling into being friends.
previous posts are here & here
Being tattooed was an intimate experience. One of his better tattoos, was the result of a short, but intense relationship. They'd met at a hostel, while travelling in the same direction. Their lives overlapped for a few weeks. She was on her way to an apprenticeship. Buck was lost and aimless. He felt buoyed, being around someone who knew exactly where they were going.
On their last night together, they'd had sex. In between rounds, she'd asked if she could tattoo him, promising she knew what she was doing. The apprenticeship was basically a formality. Buck, drunk on weeks of mattering to someone, said yes. They'd kept fucking afterwards, with blood and plasma running down his arm. She wasn't as skilled as she claimed she was, but the tattoo still sat on the crest of his shoulder.
Standing in Tommy's shop, about to do it properly, he longed for something different. A setting where he didn't have to think about what he looked like. He wore his heart on his sleeve, according to everyone he'd ever met. It was hard not to think about that, as Tommy shaved his thigh. Hard not to wonder if Tommy's colleagues could tell how he felt about Tommy. If the longing was as obvious as it felt.
Tommy uncapped a marker. ”Alright, what are we covering and what are we keeping?”
”The coffin nails still look good, so I wanna keep those.” He circled the tattoo with his fingertip. ”I'd like this one and this one covered, if you can.”
Tommy drew a rough outline on his skin, while referencing the sketch on his tablet. He moved some of the leaves and petals around, to cover the tattoos Buck wanted to get rid of.
”It's a good thing the quality is shit. They should be easy enough to cover.” Buck was too caught up in the feeling of Tommy's hands on his body, to take the bait. ”Evan?”
”Mm?” he looked up from Tommy's hands. ”Sorry, what?”
”I asked if you'd be OK with freehand? If I do the stencil, I'd have to do a lot of cutting and pasting, and I'm really not in the mood for that. Freehand might take longer, though.”
As if sitting for hours, while Tommy drew all over him, didn't sound like the best time ever. ”Freehand's fine.”
Tommy pulled up the leg of Buck's boxerbriefs, and taped it to the waistband, to hold the fabric out of the way, then got to drawing. It didn't take long at all. Tommy drew with light, confident strokes.
When he was done, Buck was told to check it out in the mirror. The poppy sat front and center. The cantua buxifolia sat next to it, a little higher and toward his outer thigh. The trumpet shaped flowers were perfectly nestled between the tattoos already there.
The details would be added later, but the outline was already beautiful on its own. Buck really hoped he could raise the funds to finish the whole thing. The mockups Tommy had shown him were gorgeous. When all the flowers were done, they would wrap around his leg, like a ribbon on a maypole.
He caught Tommy's eyes in the mirror. ”It's perfect.”
”You wanna change anything?”
”No. No, this is what I want.”
Tommy smiled. ”Alright, let's get started.”
He didn't handle it as well as he thought he would. Reluctantly, he had to admit sitting for a full colour piece, for hours on end, was a lot harder than he had imagined. Tommy wasn't heavy handed, but a needle was a needle and the colourwork meant Tommy had to go over the same places, again and again, to blend the colours.
”You holding on?”
”Mm-hm,” Buck grimaced, as he was wiped down again.
Tommy squeezed his thigh, below the tattoo. ”We're almost done. You're doing well.”
Buck scoffed and hid under his arms. If he was doing well, he would've kept up with the conversation. He would've flirted and people watched. No, he wasn't doing well at all.
The unceasing vibration made him want to move. He wanted to tap his feet, shake his legs, do something so he didn't have to feel it. Getting an inopportune boner would've been so much better than this.
He'd though two days would be enough of a buffer, but he wasn't sure how realistic that was anymore. He might have to ask to be man behind.
When Tommy turned off the machine, it took a few moments for the silence to settle in. It had been such a constant, Buck's brain kept the sound going in its absence. He raised his arms off his face and looked down.
”You did it,” Tommy smiled.
”It's done?” He propped himself up on his elbows. He was so relieved, he didn't feel the final wipedown.
”Slow. Slow,” Tommy said urgently, when he saw him moving. He reached out, but he was still wearing gloves.
Buck felt shaky. The back of his sweaty shirt felt cold, when it was no longer sandwiched between his skin and the table. He looked down at his thigh. His eyes were swimming a little bit. He closed his eyes.
”Thought I was gonna die for a sec,” he muttered.
”It's a tough thing to sit through.”
Buck looked at Tommy's arms, at all the heavy colourwork and thick lines, covering so much of his skin. ”Sure.”
”Hey,” Tommy lowered his head to catch Buck's eyes. ”You did fine. I promise.”
He clutched the padded table and watched his feet dangle above the floor. He imagined himself standing up, only for his legs to give it, and falling on his face infront of Tommy.
”This was the big one and now it's out of the way. The rest of them will be easier. And you'll get used to it,” Tommy said, as if he couldn't leave the silence be. Buck's silence. The shop was still busy around them.
Tommy stood up. He didn't think he imagined it, when Tommy didn't give him room. He edged off the table, feet touching the floor. He stood up, without so much as wobble.
Tommy took a step back, hands withdrawing from where Buck was pretty sure he was prepared to support him, if Buck needed it.
The pain was much more managable without the needle touching his skin.
The first thing he saw in the mirror, was how sweaty and flushed he was. His t-shirt was black, but washed out enough that the sweat was visible, in big, splotchy patches.
The tattoo. The tattoo was gorgeous. Even angry and bloody, the colours and the shapes. He looked over his shoulder. ”It's beautiful, Tommy. Thank you.”
Tommy came around the side he hadn't worked on, tapping Buck's outer thigh. ”You're gonna lose some definition, when the hair grows back, but I think it turned out alright,” he smiled teasingly.
Buck was still breathing hard. ”I thought I was tougher than this.”
Tommy squeezed his shoulder. ”Different people have different limits. I cried when I had my stomach done.”
Prompted by Buck's curious look, Tommy raised his shirt. Most of his stomach was blank, aside from a smudge of hair. The tattoo in question sat high on his stomach, on the bottom edge of his ribs.
”Of course you cried, that's, like, the worst fucking spot.”
Tommy laughed and put his shirt back down. ”There's no shame in crying when it hurts. You're supposed to.”
Buck glared morosely in his fridge, craving a salad
"Whatever you're mourning will not love you as well as these carbs," Tommy said from his spot at the stove, where he was stiring the juice of tomatoes that had been skinned and cooked for hours.
It was delicious, Buck already knew this; he'd taste it about as often as he'd tasted Tommy, but that wasn't the point - the point was that he just wanted some basic cold vegetables covered in a tasty fat.
"Salad goes with pasta," Buck grumbled.
"Think of all the sexual positions that will close to us when you have the epic shits for a month straight, Evan."
"You bring up a good point," Buck said, shutting the fridge.
omg I wrote this about four days ago and forgot to post it here 🫣
~
Tommy didn't even realize Lucy is behind him when she says "What's this?"
He jumps. "Jesus, Lucy," he says, "what are you doing, sneaking around like that?"
She just grins at him, then smacks the gum she's chewing, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'm just curious," she says. She nods down at the piece of paper in front of him. He covers the paper with one big hand, and scoots it further up the table. "So." Tommy's ears go pink at the tips, and Lucy flicks one. He swats at her but she ignores him. "Answer the question, Kinard. What are you doing, and why are you so embarrassed about it?"
"I'm making a grocery list," he says through gritted teeth.
"Yeah?" Lucy leans in closer, trying to read the words peeking out through the space between his fingers. Tommy scoots the paper even further away. "Why? Making something special?"
Tommy feels himself get even redder and tries desperately to pretend he doesn't. "No," he lies.
Okay. I was on my beloved AO3 and I saw something that made me do a double take. So, now I really want to know…
What is your AO3 user ID?
I’m an OG user 5 digits or less
Six figures baby!
I’m in the millions…
Remaining time: 2 days 20 hours
I’m so curious to see how long people have been on AO3! I know some people have been on there since beta/invite only, but I would love to see what the number is on tumblr!
