40-something, she/her, pansexual, pagan, INTP. Pictures/quotes/random bits from some of my favourite fandoms and other random stuff on occasion when I feel like it! 9-1-1, S.W.A.T, Sherlock, Doctor Who, Star Trek, Stargate, Person of Interest, Castle, NCIS, Hawaii Five-0, CSI, Buffy/Angel, MCU, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, Agent Carter, Kingsman, Tolkien, etc. (endless list is endless)
Here is your card for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Happy writing!
One in the Chamber (Russian Roulette)
Dominique Luca/Donovan Rocker, Teen
Luca and Rocker are just enjoying a nice date, flirting over desert, when they run headfirst into a problem.
Press Here to Stop the Bleeding (Hair Matted with Blood)
Dominique Luca/Donovan Rocker, Teen
Rocker and Luca are trapped, while Rocker has suffered a head injury.
The Wounds Remain (Reopening an Old Wound)
Dominique Luca/Donovan Rocker, Teen
“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” ~ Rose Kennedy
Rated T
Read it here.
Just a short fix-it fic for the past episode!
☕☕☕☕☕
After discovering the “ghost” haunting his house isn’t Bobby but an intruder, Buck’s world shatters. When no one else shows up, Tommy does. Over hot cocoa and quiet confessions, they find their way back to each other through grief, warmth, and love that never really left.
Takes place in 9x5.
Snippet Below!
☕☕☕☕☕
Tommy almost missed the call, the phone vibrating against the coffee table while Kate Hudson delivered yet another quirky monologue about finding true love. He muted the TV, squinting at the caller ID. Ravi. Odd.
"Hello?" Tommy shifted on his couch, one hand still buried in the bowl of microwave popcorn.
"Tommy, hey, it's Ravi." The voice on the other end sounded tense, tired. "Look, I know this is out of the blue, but Buck needs you."
Tommy sat up straighter, popcorn forgotten. Evan? I haven't talked to him since..." The funeral hung unspoken between them.
"Yeah, I know." Ravi sighed. "Listen, something's happened. Buck's been... he was convinced that his new house was haunted, more specifically that it was being haunted by Bobby.
"What?" Tommy pressed the phone closer to his ear, certain he'd misheard.
"He needed it, I think. To cope. Having Bobby still around somehow." Ravi's voice dropped lower. "But tonight we found out it wasn't Bobby at all. It was an evicted tenant living in his attic, messing with him this whole time. Moving things around, making noises at night."
Tommy's stomach twisted. "Jesus. Is Evan okay?"
"No. Not at all." Ravi answered quietly. "We called the cops, they took the guy away, but Buck... he's devastated, man. It's like losing Bobby all over again."
Tommy stood up, already looking for his keys. "Did you call anyone from the 118?"
"That's the thing." Bitterness crept into Ravi's tone. "They kinda all shrugged it off, when he told them he thought Bobby was haunting his house. They essentially chalked it up to Buck being Buck.”
Heat rose in Tommy's chest. "You're kidding me."
"Wish I was."
Tommy found his keys under a magazine. "Text me his address. I'll go check on him."
"You sure? I know you guys haven't exactly been close lately."
Tommy was already grabbing his jacket. "Doesn't matter. Nobody should be alone after something like that."
---
Tommy slid into his truck, the key turning with a familiar rumble that matched the churning in his stomach. Ravi's text with Buck's address glowed on his phone screen. Thirty minutes away. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and pulled out of his driveway.
The streetlights cast intermittent shadows across the dashboard as Tommy drove, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. How long had it been since they'd actually spoken? The funeral, yes, but that had been brief—a hand on the shoulder, mumbled condolences that felt hollow even as he'd said them.
Tommy took a left turn harder than he meant to.
After all this time, Buck had been suffering alone. Believing Bobby's ghost was with him, only to discover it was all a cruel trick. Tommy's chest tightened. He should have checked in, should have called, should have done a thousand things he'd been too afraid to do.
Because the truth was simple and terrifying: through all the silence, all the distance, Tommy had never stopped loving Buck. Not for a single day.
The GPS announced his arrival, and Tommy pulled up to a modest house on a street buzzing with the last of the night’s festivities. Laughter drifted through the air, and a group of kids in mismatched costumes raced past his truck, their candy buckets clattering.
He killed the engine, sat for a moment gathering courage, then stepped out into the cool night air. Buck’s house was darker than the rest, its single porch light a lone beacon amid the orange and purple glow of his neighbors’ decorations. The walk to the front door felt longer than it should have.
Tommy knocked, the sound sharp in the quiet neighborhood. For a moment, nothing. Then came the soft sounds of movement inside—shuffling footsteps, a lock turning.
The door swung open, and there was Buck. A blanket draped around his shoulders like armor, his face ravaged by grief. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes—were bloodshot and swollen, tear tracks mapping his cheeks like rivers. He looked smaller somehow, diminished.
"Tommy," Buck whispered, the name barely audible, confusion and disbelief mingling in that single word.
Tommy didn't trust himself to speak. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled Buck against his chest, wrapping his arms around him with all the strength he had. For a heartbeat, Buck remained stiff, surprised. Then, with a sound like something breaking, he collapsed into Tommy's embrace.
Buck's body shook with sobs, his fingers clutching desperately at Tommy's jacket. Tommy held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of Buck's head, feeling the warm wetness of tears soaking through his shirt.
"I've got you," Tommy murmured against Buck's hair. "I'm here now. I've got you."
They stood there in the doorway, locked together, as Buck's grief poured out in waves. Tommy closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of Buck's shampoo, feeling the warmth of him even through the blanket. He would stand here all night if that's what Buck needed.
The Wounds Remain (Reopening an Old Wound) Dominique Luca/Donovan Rocker, Teen “It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” ~ Rose Kennedy
@whumperless-whump-event for "day 5: at least it's not manual"
The world is upside down.
That can’t be right.
The horizon is skewed – folded like a crumpled photo, the sun melting into the dirt, dripping tangerine and blood-orange into the earth. The light’s too bright, too low. It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be anywhere near his feet.
Something’s off. Something’s missing.
When Tommy stares, blinks dragging with heavy eyelids, he feels the weight of it. There are tides changing in his mind, sweeping between sand, trying to collect it all and bring it back to sea. Instead, grains scatter, loose and wet, packing together but falling apart – reaching out but finding nothing.
He’s supposed to be…
With someone?
Doing something?
Somewhere?
Why is the world upside down?
Tommy looks into the sky – earth? – and sees shattered glass, a windshield fractured like thin ice under a boot, glittering between blinks. Shards twinkle like stars. His mind is just as fragmented.
There should be a reason.
He should remember why he’s here. What he was doing. Who he was with.
Something wet and tacky drags along his face – it feels like syrup, sticky with tears and sweat and dust clinging to his skin. Looking around brings more questions than answers.
He’s in a truck – his truck? – the window on his left is missing, the seat on his right is empty. Was someone with him? The door – gone? Crumpled? It’s hard to tell what’s shadow and what’s damage.
Tommy’s frustration grows – the déjà vu only serving to confuse him more – every blink feeling like failure. Why is he here?
Growing up, Tommy never got a chance to go on a roller coaster, his friends would run down the block and bang on his door, tiny knuckles sharp against the bright red wood.
His friends’ voices still echo from summers past – shrill, full of excitement.
“Tommy! Six Flags! Let’s go!”
He begged. Pleaded. Swore he’d never ask for anything again.
“You know we can’t afford it, Tommy. Why don’t you go to the park? Hang upside down on the monkey bars.”
He hated that. Hated how his face flushed when he told his friends he couldn’t come. Hated the weight of their disappointment, of pretending not to care.
He would claim he wasn’t a kid anymore. Then stomped and sulked like one.
It wasn’t until he graduated, signed up for the military and got his bonus check, that he finally had the chance. Charlie, grinning like a kid himself, rapping on the door of his shoebox apartment, fingers curled through his.
“Tommy! Come with me.”
He dragged Tommy to the bus stop and didn’t speak another word until it roared through the welcome gates and stalled at the stop near the entrance.
They rode every ride. Some twice. Some three times. That day, Tommy discovered what it meant to fly – to surrender to momentum and gravity and trust. To fall and not fear the landing.
Here, now, Tommy feels the same weightlessness with no track beneath him. His hands are shaking and there’s something strapped across his chest – is he on a roller coaster? Stuck? Upside down?
But there’s no reason for that – he’s 40 years old – he doesn’t remember planning to go to a theme park. Had he gone on a whim? Charlie’s not around anymore to take him.
The sky looks pretty this time of day but he can’t figure out why it’s not above him. When he turns his neck, it screams with a sharp pain and he hisses, the sound vacuumed into the air and swallowed by silence.
Is he alone? He’s in his truck, but he just can’t – it’s on the tip of his tongue, like a bad jingle from a commercial in the 90’s.
Tommy is supposed to be somewhere. He should remember.
*
*
Tommy is late.
Buck is a little annoyed, but more worried, especially when Tommy doesn’t reply to his texts, or bother to answer his calls.
They’ve only been together for a couple of months, so Buck is holding back from sending another fifteen messages and calling another ten times just to be safe.
They’re supposed to be on the way to dinner right now, Buck has a reservation scheduled in half an hour. Butterflies flutter through his ribs every time he thinks about seeing Tommy again – the kiss shared under his dim kitchen lights and the times they’ve seen each other since catching Buck so much by surprise he’s made a fool of himself more than once as he stumbled to impress the man.
He hasn’t felt this way about someone in a while – Natalia was gorgeous and kind but was easily lust shifting to fondness. Taylor and he had been friends for so long and started out on such sour footing, he had grown in love with her as they shared pieces of themselves along the way. He met Ali in the middle of an earthquake, and Abby over the phone – each experience colored by tragedy in some way or another.
With Tommy, he feels like he’s in junior high again – giddy and nervous with each interaction – drilled with safety and warmth, the experience so overwhelming it literally opened his eyes to his attraction to men at all.
Still, Buck is nothing if not punctual, and the way the minutes tick by leave him with a lingering feeling of frustration and, admittedly, the first flash of weakness in Tommy’s cool exterior he’s been captivated by in their time together.
Buck would gladly take late over any number of terrible alternatives, but his mind races with the possibilities of Tommy’s tardiness. As a firefighter himself and a sister at 9-1-1 dispatch, there are few conversations he enters that don’t mention intense calls or moments of disbelief.
Buck hopes Tommy’s not about to be the subject of one of those conversations, but he can’t help the images that flash through his mind. Tommy electrocuted in the shower, poisoned by expired medication, held at gunpoint or at the bottom of a staircase, broken and bleeding.
He tries again after five more minutes to no avail. Tommy’s chipper voice echoes through the speaker as his voicemail connects once again and Buck hangs up before he has to leave a message, wearing a hole in the kitchen floor as he waits.
*
*
Tommy’s upside down.
The world is upside down.
The sun is setting – or rising? – on the wrong side of the sky.
Blood trickles across his cheek. His chest is pinned, strapped down along with his hips holding him in place when the rest of the world caved in. He tries to move his legs, to somehow right side gravity, but every time he does pain flares and his vision fades at the edges.
The steering wheel is pressed into his hips, pinning down his legs, and the world is upside down, or is it right side up and him that’s upside down?
There’s a ringing. Somewhere close.
A phone.
His head rolls. He cranes upward – downward? – and sees his phone on the ceiling – floor? The screen flickers to life with a bright burst.
Evan.
Evan’s face, smiling. The contact photo blurry from the angle. His name below it, calling.
The world vignettes at the seams, and Tommy can’t tell if it’s the shattered glass, the night falling, or something more sinister at play. Nausea coils in his gut, but can’t figure out exactly why. His neck is starting to hurt, and his hands are shaking steadily.
The ringing stabs through the air again, louder this time. It's everywhere – his ears, the phone, his pulse. A symphony of warning. Something in Tommy’s chest pulses so hard it knocks the air from his lungs.
Is Tommy supposed to be at work? Is he supposed to be at trivia, is that why it’s night out? He was working before – he knows he worked on Tuesday – or was it Monday? Was there someone else in the car with him?
Tommy’s hands are shaking harder, the ferocity of something swimming through his veins like amphetamines. He looks around again and sees the world in slow motion – or stops and starts. Everything is jumbled, half-thoughts crashing into one another like thick clouds during a storm.
Is Evan okay? He thinks he remembers talking to Evan, or at the very least seeing him, but he can’t recall when or where. He has a date with him in a couple of days, or at least he thinks he does.
The ringing returns again, and he can’t tell if it’s sound or memory or both. Something inside him begins to scream that this is wrong. This is bad.
His eyes flutter and he hears a voice.
“Sir, can you hear me?” It calls out from behind him. Does Tommy know him? Why is he in the back seat of his truck? The movement only forces the nausea through his gut once again and reverberates between breaths into his skull.
“Mmm,” is the only sound Tommy can make, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He blinks hard, brows furrowed. Tries to focus.
Glass shatters and metal grinds on metal, and Tommy realizes that he’s really hurt. His body feels full of static. His blood fizzing like shaken soda. There’s a voice. A familiar one.
“Kinard, is that you?”
“Y’ah,” he mumbles, words slow.
“We’re gonna get you out, man, just stay still.”
“’Kay,” Tommy tries pull at the sharp pressure across his chest, but his hands are shaking so bad he can’t hang onto it.
The world flickers. His body flickers.
“Where are you hurt?” It’s Teddy. The 217’s here, Tommy thinks, and maybe Teddy knows where Tommy is supposed to be. Maybe he can help get him there. He thinks something happened to his truck.
Tommy groans, “Head.” He takes another sharp breath, and it feels like his torso is full of soup, everything stirred around – not quite where it’s supposed to be. “Ever’where.”
“Okay, okay, it’s Teddy. I’ve got Eve, we’re just gonna get you stable while the guys work on getting you out.”
Tommy tries to wiggle his legs, figure out if he can feel anything or if something’s really wrong – “M’ legs are pinned.”
Peering into the wheel well, Teddy straightens his neck as much as he can in the tight space and curses under his breath. Static crackles as he pulls his radio to his mouth, words sharp between them. Tommy’s trying too hard to remember something important to notice.
There’s an IV in his hand for some reason, even though he’s probably fine – a little scraped up but hardly in need of the loud fuss moving around him now. He can probably get out on his own if they just get the steering wheel up a little bit.
“Hey, Tommy, eyes open bud.” When had he closed them?
“S’rry,” he murmurs, and realizes it’s getting harder to breathe. There’s something sticky on the side of his face and the world is still upside down. The sun is almost gone, and Tommy’s certain he’s supposed to be somewhere.
Eve’s blonde hair suddenly shines so brightly inside of the truck, Tommy feels a spark of adrenaline at the movement, realizing if they’re both here - two aero medics - he doesn’t think he’s doing well. It’s getting harder to breathe.
There’s a shrill sound, a loud whine along his left side and Tommy’s jolted awake, torn out of a fraction of time that left behind the throbbing of his skull and the jagged breaths in his ribs.
“Hey. There you are,” Teddy smiles at him, holding a jacket around his shoulders, over their heads. He looks relieved, really relieved. “You gotta stay with us, okay? Team’s almost got you out and we’ve got 1701 read to fly.”
“What?” Tommy doesn’t need a helicopter ride, but he can’t figure out where he is exactly or what’s going on. Every time he tries to hang onto something solid, it slips away, and he’s left wondering what he’s missing.
“You were in a car accident,” Teddy tells him as the sharp sounds of the jaws of life slice behind him. “You’re pinned, we’re getting you out.”
“Oh,” Tommy’s tongue feels heavy and so do his eyelids. Blinking brings years of time between them. He follows Teddy’s broad shoulders and Eve’s blond hair and tries to keep track of something – anything – that will keep him grounded.
Pressure is pulled from his waist and his hips feel like they’re on fire. A scream echoes from somewhere in the truck and it takes a moment to realize it’s his own.
“Get the backboard in here!” Teddy’s voice is loud, low, rumbling through the cab, but Tommy's heard it before. Something bad happened. The truck is totaled and there’s blood on his face.
Eve’s hands pull his belt and slices it away, and strong hands hold him, moving him onto the backboard and out of the truck. The world flips and so does Tommy’s stomach, and he barely has a breath before he’s puking. Hands urgently flip him on his side, only making the retching more violent.
Tommy’s eyelids droop again, and his chest feels heavy. The adrenaline has faded. Now it’s just cold. Not from the outside. From inside him.
He’s tired. So tired.
His hands are shaking, and the world is fading, and before he realizes, it turns to darkness.
*
*
“Hey, Maddie, I need a favor,” Buck says, pacing the kitchen in tight loops, skimming past corners like he's trying to outrun his own anxious thoughts.
“Is this going to be a legal favor?” Maddie’s voice lifts on the line, cautious.
Buck pauses just long enough to take a shaky breath. “Tommy’s not here. He’s not picking up his phone either.” His fingernails pinch into his palm as he works his anxiety out through his fingertips. “It-it’s not like – he hasn’t been like that.”
“Buck,” Maddie starts, and before she has a chance to continue, he interrupts.
“I know, Maddie, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m telling you – we were talking earlier today about our date tonight – he was excited. He always replies to my texts like – right away – an-and what if something happened?”
“What exactly do you want me to do? I can’t track him.”
“Could you at least check? See if he’s at home or-or maybe already headed to my place? I just – I need to know where he is, Mads. I’m worried.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Buck hears her exhale, the weight of his ask settling between them.
“Please,” he adds quietly.
The sound of Maddie’s fingers hitting keys fills the line. “Okay. What’s his number?”
Buck rattles it off, then immediately starts chewing at a thumbnail while he waits. The worry tightens in his chest, knotting his breath. Butterflies turn traitor and where there was anticipation a few hours ago, now there’s only dread.
Then Maddie inhales sharply.
Buck stops mid-step. “What? What is it?”
He catches a muffled voice – Josh, maybe – speaking quickly near her.
“There was a pile-up near your place,” Maddie says finally, her voice strained. “The 217 said they recognized one of the victims.”
His stomach drops. “Is it – do you know if it’s Tommy?”
“I don’t know, Buck.” she murmurs, already half gone again, relaying information in hushed tones. He strains, leaning closer to his phone as if it'll sharpen her words on the other end.
“They’re taking him to First Presbyterian.”
“Th-Thanks, I’ll – I’m gonna go over there…should I? I mean…is that weird?” Suddenly Buck feels doubt, second-guessing everything. Twisted worries and recollections of his awkwardness on their first date fill his mind. Maybe Tommy wouldn’t want him there.
No. He was on his way to Buck’s apartment, he was coming for dinner. He was excited.
“I think you’ll have to wait until he says he wants to see you anyways,” Maddie says gently. “Do you want me to have Chimney come pick you up?”
“Uh – no, that’s okay. I-I can – I’ll be fine.” Buck collects his wallet and keys and hurries out the door, heart racing as his worst fears fall into reality. “Thanks, Maddie.”
“Will you let me know how he is?” she asks, her voice steady despite the clamor of calls in the background. The world on her end continues spinning, while Buck’s has ground to a halt.
“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll text you,” he says, already halfway down the stairs. “I’m leaving now.”
“Be safe,” Maddie tells him, voice tight on the other end.
“I will,” he replies before hanging up, barely a whisper.
*
*
There’s a high-pitched beep and a hissing sound, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the vacuum of a blood pressure cuff echoing in Tommy’s ears. His head is pulsing with pain, his ribs aching, breath haggard behind them.
Every piece of his body feels like it’s been warped in a blender, skin raw and bruised, every tiny movement intense and sharp.
The world is dark – he can’t remember what happened, but he knows he must be in a hospital if the noise and smell is any indication. It’s been a few years, but as a kid, he rolled through its doors every other month like clockwork.
He groans softly, throat raw. His hand twitches against stiff sheets, searching.
“Hey, man. You’re in the hospital.”
That’s Teddy. Tommy can hear the softness in his voice, his bedside manner familiar but never directed at him. It’s a little alarming hearing it now, something bad must have happened to Tommy for Teddy to be here, voice tinged with so much concern.
Tommy groans again and tests opening his heavy eyelids, squinting against the world shifting from dark to technicolor. He flinches and shuts them again.
“Sorry,” Teddy mutters, moving with surprising care for someone of his size. The room dims slightly, giving Tommy a second chance to adjust. He tests again, blinking slowly.
“You ‘kay?” he croaks, voice thin. Tommy can’t remember why he’s here but if Teddy is, maybe he was a part of it.
Teddy tentatively leans forward, elbows pressed against his knees, hands clasped tightly together in worry. There's a frown across his face that Tommy’s never seen before. His dimples are always so pronounced, his face looks weird without them rooted into his cheeks.
Teddy gives him a tired smile. “Yeah, T. I’m alright.”
Tommy starts to nod, then winces as pain radiates down his neck. “Ah. What happened?”
“Car accident,” Teddy explains softly, leaning closer. “Twenty car pile-up, your car rolled – flipped into a ravine, you were pinned in.”
“Hmm,” Tommy groans, exhaustion already pulling at him again. He hasn’t been awake for five minutes and it’s already too much.
“Want the full injury report?” Teddy offers.
Before he can answer, the door clicks open. Eve steps inside, her smile cautious but warm.
“Tommy,” she says, voice light with relief. “You’re awake.”
“Was just about to give him the list,” Teddy quips, crossing his arms as Eve steps closer.
She bounces on her toes, hands behind her back. It looks like she’s been pacing outside for hours. Tommy can tell she’s twisting her hands together, her energy needing an outlet. She’s never been great at patience.
“Let’s hear it,” Tommy says, attempting a smirk but only managing a weak breath.
“Concussion, five broken ribs – one punctured a lung – dislocated shoulder and knee, stitches in a few places from glass. But no surgery. You got lucky. It's been about twelve hours.”
Tommy shuts his eyes again, trying to process. The words blur together. There’s something he’s forgetting. It’s just out of reach.
Eve’s talking, he realizes, and she looks worried when Tommy opens his eyes. He blinks up at her, trying to clear the haze. “What?”
“Your boy’s been here all night,” she says softly, suddenly in a chair beside the bed. When did she move across the room? How long as she been sitting there?
“What?”
“Evan,” she clarifies, brushing her thumb gently along his arm. She’s warm and it feels nice, soft and comforting even with the bruises littering the flesh beneath it. “He came as soon as he found out. He’s in the waiting room.”
Tommy’s eyes snap open and his body tenses with the attempt to sit up before he immediately regrets it. Both Eve and Teddy ease him back down.
“I was supposed to pick him up for dinner. He’s gonna be upset I didn’t show. Is he – he wasn’t with me, right – is-is he okay?”
“He's really here?” Tommy’s never had someone do that for him – not since he came out. Especially not someone he’s dating – he’s barely had anyone that would qualify as a boyfriend.
He realizes too late that his eyes are burning with tears and he curses the narcotics – most certainly responsible for his emotions being so fragile.
Eve’s brushing her hand against his arm again and she looks at him with a soft smile – he’s certain he won’t hear the end of this once he’s back from being so broken.
“Want me to get him?” Teddy asks, gesturing to the door. Tommy hesitates, but nods.
Even if he wanted to say no, to resist Evan seeing him like this, he knows the guy’s reputation and – beyond that – he knows he’ll worry until he sees Tommy himself. And Tommy will do anything to remove any ounce of discomfort Evan has, especially if he can.
When he blinks again, Evan is there. Sitting in the chair Teddy vacated. Fierce blue eyes rimmed with worry. Chewing his bottom lip.
“Tommy,” he says, voice quiet. He looks like he’s holding back, trying not to reach out. But they’ve been tactile from the beginning, holding hands as they stroll down the street, ankles tangled together at dinner, small kisses when the car door is opened for the other. He looks scared, worried that he’ll hurt Tommy.
“You okay?” Tommy asks. Evan looks exhausted - fragile and apprehensive.
Evan lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, Tommy, I’m okay. Are you okay?”
Tommy tries for levity. “No. I don’t think I am, actually.”
“I’m so happy you’re – well, I-I’m not happy you’re in so much pain – bu-but I’m happy that you’re okay, that you’re awake.”
“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” Tommy admits quietly, his fingertips slowly stretching, doing their best to reach out for Evan, to take his hand. “Am I?”
“You’ve got a pretty bad concussion,” Evan says, and Tommy feels like he’s heard that already. “You were on your way to get me.”
“Our date,” Tommy realizes, heart sinking. “I missed it.”
“I thought you stood me up,” Evan says with a small, sad laugh. “For a second.” He finally moves his chair closer, and Tommy can smell the lingering citrus of his cologne, the bitter tang of coffee from his quiet breaths.
Tommy’s quick to reassure Evan. “I’d never do that.”
“I-I know,” Evan says, his hand wiping at a stray tear. “I feel like this is my fault.”
Tommy – already confused – is even more so at the suggestion. Evan wasn’t even with him when his truck tumbled over the edge of the freeway. “What?”
“If you – if you weren’t on your way to me, you wouldn’t have…I could’ve met you there bu-but I complained about losing my parking and you – you offered and –”
“Evan,” Tommy cuts in gently. Evan’s adorable curls flutter when he shakes his head and looks back up at Tommy. He wants to smooth out the frown on his face, brush his thumb across the tiny divot between his brow, soothe his sadness. “This is not your fault.”
Evan rolls his eyes and Tommy knows – much like every conversation he’s bound to have over the next several weeks – this one will be a repeat. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t mind reassuring Evan. Especially not when he doesn’t deserve any blame.
Tommy moves his hand again, wiggling his fingers. Another tear falls down Evan’s cheek and he chuckles, taking it, warm and steady. Their joined hands fit together like puzzle pieces, soothing something in him, warming him up where he'd felt so cold in the crumpled metal of his truck.
“Thanks for being here,” he mumbles, already drifting. “Stay?”
“Of-of course, Tommy, I’m here as long as you want me to be.” Evan promises, brushing his fingers in Tommy’s hair. Tommy leans into it, the aches and pains fading behind Evan’s healing touch.
Tommy hums as sleep pulls him under again. The noise of the hospital fades, and all that’s left is Evan – steady, grounding, safe.
He’ll be there when Tommy wakes up. That’s enough for now.
Day 2 of answering asks daily and this is for my darling Kez! 351 brand new words for contract roommate Ruca!
-
The hour crawls by at a snail’s pace, or at least it feels like it does. Rocker gives up on paperwork in the last fifteen minutes of shift after reading the same sentence six times and still not comprehending it. He’ll probably need to ask Murdock to write a new copy, but that’s a problem for their next shift. Right now, all he wants to do is shower and get the hell out of HQ before someone needs him at the last minute. He shoots Luca and Chris a quick text and grabs his gear, heading to his locker to get his clothes and go get ready for a night out.
Chris ends up vetoing their Uber idea, insisting that they can drive her car home for the night if she drinks too much. Rocker gives up arguing with her, knowing from personal experience how stubborn she can be, and shares a grin with Luca who merely shrugs and says it’ll be nice to save the money. Chris drives them to a little dive bar that’s off the usual path and owned by a friend of hers. Rocker’s tastes are affronted by the onslaught of neon signs and 80s decor scattered everywhere, but it has a certain charm to it. Chris sets up for them to play darts and Rocker gets the first round of drinks on Luca’s tab. When he turns around, there’s an older woman damn near pawing at Luca and he forces himself to take a deep breath before walking over.
So this one didnt have a pairing and since you submitted another one I figured it was probably a mistake but I picked one anyway....
“In my defence…” Clint paused
“…go on, im dying to hear this.”
“I didn't actually have a reason, no one usually lets me get that far.” it was statements like that that made Bucky want to destroy everyone that had ever dismissed this wonderful man that lit up his life and annoyed the shit out of him in equal measure.
Bucky could see exactly what had happened. Clint was actually a great cook when he was focused, and his pancakes were nothing short of a religious experience on a good day.
Unfortunately it appear that Clint hadn't finished his pot of coffee before starting on breakfast, because the pancakes looked like a charred mess, the microwave was missing a door, there were three trick arrows on the counter top in various states of undress and his boyfriend was holding a pan with the remnants of the glass coffee pot that had woken Bucky in the first place.
“I love you.” Bucky said, pressing a short, soft kiss on the archers forehead. “I'm going back to bed.”
He had a complicated relationship with sleep at the best of times, but his relationship with their huge, soft bed was not that complicated. He stretched out and closed his eyes, not sleeping but just listening to the crashing and banging from the kitchen that was Clint.
The radio turned on to Clints favourite revolving playlist and the coffee maker burbled away, probably with either a new pot or a tupperwear bowl under it. Lucky's collar tinkling against the side of his ceramic bowl as he ate his own breakfast.
The familiar sounds of the apartment sent him into a light doze where time got all bendy, but he could still hear the blondes quiet cursing as he burnt himself against the pan. Again.
He didnt miss when the bedroom door opened and a big golden shape wagged his way into the room. The retriever had taken to living with two assassin's well and waited for his invitation onto the bed before he jumped up and lay with his head on Buckys stomach ready for his love.
Clint looked much more awake carrying a tray into the bedroom piled with two coffee cups, two glasses of juice and two plates piled high (one much higher than the other) of pancakes, bacon and syrup with strawberries surrounding the golden stacks.
“Got there “ He beamed proudly and waited until Bucky shoved himself up in bed before slotting the tray over his legs and Luckys golden head.
He dropped a kiss on his forhead and turned to leave. Bucky snagged the back of his pants with his metal arm.
“Food first.” He plucked a strawberry off one of the plates. “Then i'll help fix whatever is going on out there.”
“Oh thank god.” Clint picked up a plate and a cup and sat cross legged at the end of the bed so as not to disturb the dog.
Bucky didn't want to know what that statement meant and what sort of carnage he was going to be walking into, but it was fine. Guaranteed he had seen worse.
Prompts here if you want to send one in: Kiss Prompts
Mass Effect, M!Shenko
21. ...on a place of insecurity.
Under the cut for a mild M rating
They both had scars. They'd survived things no human ever should. So of course they both had scars.
Kaidan didn't even notice John's most of the time. He knew every inch of John's body <i>intimately</i> and while he recognised the marks that littered his skin - knew the stories behind many of them - they were just another part of the man he loved.
He couldn't quite give himself the same... grace. Not entirely anyway.
Most of his scars were just scars. Another story of survival against the odds. John didn't seem to notice them any more than Kaidan took note of his scars. They were there, part of him but they didn't define him. Or if they did, they defined his own choices. His decision to serve. To fight.
The small scar on the back of his neck, partly hidden by his hairline, where his L2 implant had been inserted was... different. He hadn't really had a choice, no matter how it was framed.
Kaidan had always discouraged past lovers from touching it. From asking about it. John already knew though. He knew the worst of it. He'd always trusted him, even before they were lovers.
John didn't judge him. Didn't shy away from the... darker aspects of his past. Of his biotics. He embraced every part of Kaidan, even the parts he'd never been able to embrace himself.
It made him shudder, as John's mouth brushed over the scar, soft lips pressing a series of small pecks just where his hairline stopped.
It made him ache, his body begging for more, as John sucked his own little mark over the skin, teeth and tongue and lips working until John made a satisfied little sound.
It made him whine, as John pressed more soft kisses on the new mark, just as he found a home inside Kaidan.
The feeling of John over him, inside him, filling him over and over, made everything else pale in comparison. He felt John's mouth kissing the back of his neck, trailing along his shoulders, nipping and sucking little marks into his skin before returning to that one place he'd been so afraid to let anyone else touch - physically, or emotionally - as he made Kaidan cry out one final time, burying himself as deeply as he could with his own gasping cry.
Kaidan settled, John still covering him from head to toe, both of them breathing heavily as John nuzzled and kissed along his shoulders and neck, murmuring softly. Kaidan had never imagined how openly affectionate John could be sometimes. How easily he told Kaidan he loved him. Loved every part of him. Even the parts Kaidan didn't.
Prompts here if you want to send one in: Kiss Prompts
9-1-1, Evan 'Buck' Buckley/Tommy Kinard
17. ...to distract
"Tommy you're um... early," Chim said, voice rising to a pitch Tommy was almost impressed by.
"Hello to you too," Tommy said.
Chim laughed nervously. "Yeah sorry, hi, hey."
"Did you hit your head recently?" Tommy teased.
"No. What? Sorry I... we just got back from a call, still kinda... hmm, I'm going to go have a nice soothing cup of tea. Yup. You should..." Chim faltered. "Uh... go check out the engine. We got a new ladder."
"Tommy!" Buck called, before Tommy could consider if maybe Chim really had hit his head.
"Oh thank god," Chim muttered, before scarpering for the stairs to the loft.. "I'll be... not here."
"Is he okay?" Tommy asked watching Chim go.
"Baby brain might be catching," Buck said, wrapping his arms around Tommy in a hug that somehow resulted in them doing a 180 and Tommy's face turned towards the doors.
"Evan, have you guys had any baked goods delivered recently?" Tommy asked, remembering the stories he'd heard about the... incident, with the laced brownies.
"What? No?"
"Okay, because first Chimney was acting weird and now you..."
Buck cut him off, as a strong hand curled around the back of his neck and he was pulled into a kiss that made him forget how to think.
Buck had never been shy about PDA around his friends or family - or complete strangers for that matter, once he'd gotten over the initial 'oh guys are an option' shock - but this was a little more than the PG rated kisses they'd normally share in public.
Tommy barely managed to utter a small sound of shock before it was swallowed by Buck's mouth, his boyfriends tongue sweeping past his teeth and tangling with his own, drawing him into a teasing battle for dominance that Buck clearly wasn't planning to lose.
Buck's other hand, the one not gripping the back of his neck to ensure he couldn't pull away - not that he wanted to - slid into the back pocket of his jeans, pretty openly groping his ass.
Tommy completely lost himself in the kiss. Only vaguely aware of where they were and the little sounds he couldn't help make. He was pretty sure he should stop them, before someone decided to pour a bucket of cold water over them but who could really blame him for his weakness? Had they seen his boyfriend?
"Okay, okay, put him down..." Hen's voice called from the loft. "You don't know where he's been."
Tommy whined, a little disappointed as Buck released him, with a soft peck and a grin. "I know exactly where he's been!" Buck called up.
"Well I don't want to," Hen said. "Come on, dinner is ready."
Buck laughed as Tommy felt his cheeks flush.
"Guess we better go up," Tommy said, coughing slightly, as Buck - whose hand was still in his back pocket - squeezed a little.
Buck unhanded him, or his ass at least, and grabbed his hand instead, dragging him towards the stairs and up them quickly.
"Surprise!"
Tommy jumped, at the shout as his gaze flicked quickly around to see that not only were the 118 there, but Maddie was there with Jee, Karen and Denny and Mara, Lucy, Steph and Mike and his wife from Harbour, Sal was there, smirking that annoying 'we got you buddy' smirk of his.
"Happy Birthday," Buck said.
"How... you were distracting me!" Tommy accused.
"Guilty as charged," Buck beamed at him. "I got permission from Bobby to grope you in the station. I wasn't going to miss out."
"Yes well... next time, maybe not in full view of the bay doors," Bobby said, clearly amused by Buck's antics regardless. "Happy Birthday, Tommy. We promise this time, your face won't end up in the cake."
Tommy laughed. He wouldn't even care if it did.
Hen waggled a finger at Bobby. "I promise nothing!"
Prompts here if you want to send one: Kiss Prompts
Mass Effect, James Vega/Steve Cortez
33. ...Forcefully
Steve always considered himself... not mild mannered exactly, but calm, cool, collected. He was good under pressure. Good at putting aside his personal feelings to focus on the task at hand.
But James Vega got under his skin in ways he could not account for.
Even Robert, who he had loved beyond reason, didn't get under his skin the way James seemed too.
Of course, Robert never <i>tried</i> to... honestly, to piss him off.
James seemed to enjoy riling him up, getting him all flustered and...
"Oh my god will you just..." Steve growled, pushing James back against the bulkhead, hands clutching those ridiculous biceps and...
He kissed him.
He didn't plan it.
He didn't think he even knew he was going to do it.
But suddenly he was pressing his full weight against James, his mouth pressing against those lips that had been taunting him for months and sweeping past his teeth to delve into the warmth beyond. He captured the moan that vibrated against his chest, as he crushed James into the bulkhead, pressing his leg between those thick thighs and...
Steve wrenched backwards, breath coming in sharp gusts. "Oh."
"Finally caught on, huh?" James smirked.
"You could have just told me you were interested," Steve said.
"More fun this way," James told him. "Besides, you're kinda hot when you're all riled up."
Post-reconciliation, where they have a first time that they didn't get around to during their first go at the relationship and maybe that was on purpose on the part of one of them (Tommy?) and something the other didn't realize was being avoided, but it's happening now and it's like a sign of trust.
The first time they fucked, Tommy had insisted on bottoming.
That had worked for Buck. He was ready, but he wasn’t ready ready. He hadn’t known how to put that into words at that time, and he had been grateful to have Tommy guiding him. Tommy had gotten himself ready while Buck had watched. He’d stayed on his hands and knees and instructed Buck to fuck him from behind. It was deeper that way, he’d said. Easier.
It had been different for Buck at first, lining himself up and looking down over a broad back, but the tight clutch of Tommy’s hole was so delicious that Buck had been surprised he didn’t come on the first press inside. He’d even held out long enough to start to get a sense of what Tommy liked, how he wanted it, what to do to wring some incredibly hot and undignified sounds out of him. Buck had come with his face pressed into Tommy’s spine, and the only thought in his head had been again. It was hot. It was fucking incredible.
They had fucked like that a few times, when they went further than hands and mouths and simple grinding. Buck memorized the constellations of freckles on Tommy’s back. Soon, though, the way that Tommy threw himself back on Buck’s dick and moaned in such deep pleasure had made Buck too curious about how it felt to wait any longer to try it himself. Tommy had started Buck off with fingers first, slowly moving one, two, then three of his thick fingers inside of Buck; stretching and massaging and wringing an orgasm out of Buck so good that he’d been left drooling against Tommy’s chest until his brain came back online.
When Buck was ready, Tommy had put him on his back and fucked him gently, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. When none arose, and when Buck dug his heels into the small of Tommy’s back on instinct and begged for it harder, Tommy, please, Tommy had given Buck his first taste of just how good bottoming could be. It had only gotten better from there.
After that first time, Buck had bottomed more than Tommy did. He hadn’t thought about it like that—he hadn’t thought about it at all. He just started kissing Tommy, rubbing on Tommy, touching Tommy’s broad chest, and then all he wanted to do was feel Tommy inside him, Tommy all around him, enveloping him, Tommy kissing his lips and neck with tender possessive passion, Tommy sweating and grunting into his mouth and telling him how good he was while that fat cock hit places inside of Buck that turned him into a mewling, brainless animal. It was intense. It was addicting. It was the most treasured Buck had ever felt.
Tommy had seemed happy with the way their dynamic was progressing, and it’s not like he’d never bottomed again during their relationship. He’d done it all the time: bent over the kitchen island, up against the shower wall, on his hands and knees on the bed or the couch or the floor. Buck had fucked Tommy like that and never thought about it beyond yes good Tommy yes. Tommy had moaned and pushed back against him, and that same magic that always brewed between them popped and fizzed and bubbled over. Tommy rode Buck hard and pushed his hands down on Buck’s chest to keep him flat on the bed while Tommy took what he wanted. It was hot.
So Buck hadn’t thought about it. From the beginning, he had been struck with the near inability to think much around Tommy at all. Their relationship had been such a fuckdrunk blur of easy pleasure and simple joy that Buck hadn’t been able to see that Tommy had been avoiding receiving the intimacy that he gave to Buck.
That changes after they get back together.
They’re laying in bed one lazy morning about a month into their second try, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing and naked from the night before and still giddy about being allowed to have this again. Buck rolls on top of Tommy, settling between his legs without breaking their kiss, and thinking nothing of it. He starts grinding down on Tommy, Tommy ruts up against him, and their breathing turns from sweet sighs to harsh, hungry exhales.
Buck leans up onto his knees, forcing Tommy’s legs further apart. They wrap around Buck’s hips like a hug, keeping him close. It feels so good to have Tommy around him like this, their limbs tangled and bodies pressed together like they could fuse into one. There’s something different about it that Buck can’t quite put his finger on, but he doesn’t chase the thought. He has more important things on his mind.
“Wanna fuck you,” Buck breathes against Tommy’s mouth.
“Yeah.” Tommy nods and kisses Buck harder. “Want you to fuck me. Want you. Fuck, Evan, just like this.” He wraps his arms around Buck and pulls him closer, closer; tightens his legs around Buck’s hips to grind against him better and whines when Buck leans more of his weight down onto him.
Tommy wasn’t this clingy the first time around, didn’t make these kinds of noises, and Buck is living for it now. He has to lean away and untangle himself a little to find the lube, but the brief moment of separation is worth it when he slides two slick fingers into Tommy and Tommy howls; head thrown back and gorgeous thick neck calling to Buck’s lips like a siren song. Buck kisses, bites, sucks, and Tommy’s moans only spur him on. He knows he’s leaving marks, and Tommy knows he’s leaving marks, and still Tommy holds Buck’s head to his neck in acceptance of Buck’s claim.
Buck teases and stretches Tommy. He’s still pretty loose from last night, when Buck had fucked him face down into the mattress, hard hard hard as hard as you can Evan, please, I’m yours Evan please please take me.
That had been different, too. That had been incredible.
Tommy moans and squirms and pushes back against Buck’s fingers, writhes against Buck’s body, and Buck has never, never seen him this openly desperate before. He’s always enthusiastic, but there’s usually a bit of snark still clinging to the edges of his self control. All of that is gone now. This is pure need.
Buck pulls away from Tommy’s neck to kiss his lips again, to sip these beautiful and unprecedented sounds right from the source, but he stops short when he sees the tears in Tommy’s eyes.
“Hey,” Buck says softly, stopping the movement of his fingers. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Tommy shakes his head and lets out a string of jumbled words. “Just need you. Need you like this. You’re- Evan, it’s you, please. Please fuck me like this.”
Buck doesn’t understand. He hesitates, unsure if he should take Tommy at his word or stop altogether until Tommy can really tell him what’s going on. Then Tommy squeezes his legs around Buck’s hips again and whispers please more breathy than Buck has ever heard from him before, and understanding washes over Buck like a hot shower.
“We’ve never fucked like this before,” he says, incredulous. “You’ve fucked me like this, but you’ve never- you always keep your distance when you bottom. I never realized…” Buck trails off, just looking at Tommy until he nods. “But it- it’s different now?”
Tommy strokes up and down Buck’s back. “It’s different now. I wanted it before, but it was too… too real. Too vulnerable.” He blinks away tears. “You would’ve kissed me while you fucked me, all- all big on top of me like this, all around me, and I… god, Evan, it just would’ve been everything. I would have lost myself in you, no coming back. And it felt like if I let myself have that, it would’ve hurt too much when you left.”
“I’m not leaving,” Buck reminds him. “I wasn’t going to then, either.”
“I know. I know that now. I trust that. That’s why I want you to fuck me like this. I want to kiss you while you’re inside me, I want…” One tear tracks down the crinkles around Tommy’s eyes as he smiles up at Buck, lips quivering. “I want to let you in.”
Now Buck could cry too. He leans down and kisses Tommy, cradling his precious face in one hand. He tries to kiss every bit of emotion that he’s feeling into Tommy’s mouth: the wonder, the honor of being trusted like this, the joyful hope. Tommy kisses back and holds onto the back of Buck’s head like he can’t get enough.
Buck starts moving his fingers again and Tommy moans between their mouths. Buck swallows it down greedily. He’s aching with love, with pride, with protectiveness. He always wants to be good for Tommy, but this feels different: he wants to be good to Tommy. He wants Tommy to feel as loved as Tommy makes Buck feel—as loved as Tommy is. Buck presses and stretches his fingers inside of Tommy, and Tommy writhes with it.
“I’m good, I’m good, I’m ready,” Tommy breathes into Buck’s mouth. “Need you.”
Tommy chases Buck’s lips as he pulls away. Tommy’s cheeks are flushed, his pupils are blown wide, and naked desire is written clear across his face. He’s gorgeous—even more than he usually is. Buck has never been tempted to use the word wanton to describe Tommy before, but the needy limbs wrapped around him and the whiny little breaths that hit Buck’s face every time he presses his fingers in make the word stick in his mind.
“I like you like this,” Buck says. “I like you so open.”
Tommy whines again and tosses his head back against the pillow. “Evan, please.”
Buck doesn’t make Tommy wait any longer. He pulls his fingers out gently, gets lube onto his already leaking dick, and presses inside.
Sinking into Tommy feels like a dream. Warm, wet, tight; arms and legs clinging to Buck’s body like they never have before. Buck shivers and moans and hides his face in Tommy’s neck for a moment while they both adjust. He kisses the skin, licks the sweat, bites the muscle. Tommy rumbles a deep, content noise in his chest, and starts to rock his hips against Buck.
Buck thrusts shallow and gentle at first, testing how Tommy wants it. They’re in unprecedented waters: Buck doesn’t know if Tommy wants to be fucked hard and fast to match his earlier desperation or if this new position—this new deepening of Tommy’s trust in him—calls for something softer and more intimate.
Buck untucks his face to check on Tommy. The sight nearly takes his breath away. Tommy is looking up at Buck with such pure adoration that Buck stutters in his rhythm. He smiles his beautiful smile up at Buck and he looks more content than Buck has ever seen him. No one has ever looked at Buck the way that Tommy does, and Tommy has never let Buck see this depth before. The lines on Tommy’s face are smooth and relaxed, and the tension he usually holds in his shoulders has melted away. Buck can hardly believe that this is for him, because of him.
His face heats up and his heart soars. He leans down to kiss Tommy, letting Tommy set the pace and tone. Tommy’s lips press back sweetly, languidly, unhurriedly, so Buck matches his thrusts to that same tempo. Tommy sighs into his mouth; a deep, rich, contented thing. Being able to give Tommy what he wants—being trusted to give Tommy exactly what he has truly wanted for a while; what he has needed and denied himself—sends a shiver of pleasure down Buck’s spine.
Buck hadn’t realized how much he had been craving this particular form of intimacy. The way they press into one—the way Tommy is wrapped around him in a full-body hug, squeezing him, keeping him together; the way Buck is covering Tommy, warm and protective, thrusting into him slow and sweet—is richly, achingly, indescribably bone-deep satisfying. Buck kisses Tommy as he fucks into him and he can’t believe he didn’t notice that he had been missing this.
This is what Tommy needs, and it’s what Buck needs, too. Buck is used to being the one who clings. It feels incredible to be clung to, and to know that Tommy not only welcomes but craves the heavy weight of Buck on top of him. Tommy said that it would be everything, and Buck thinks he’s exactly right.
Buck’s knee slips on the sheet so he hitches his hips off-rhythm to fix his position. He hits a new angle and Tommy moans high and reedy, writhing under Buck to get him to hit that angle again. Buck does. Tommy shudders and kisses Buck faster, harder, licks his way into Buck’s mouth with more force. Buck fucks into Tommy at the same speed, responding to the quickening pace of Tommy’s need. Tommy moans and whines and Buck swallows the sounds down deep inside of himself. He earned those.
His stomach rubs over Tommy’s cock with every thrust. Buck relishes the way that Tommy ruts up into the small wet patch he’s leaking between their bodies, ruts up against the hair on the soft give of Buck’s strong lower stomach in desperate little hitches. Tommy’s movements get faster, less coordinated, more slippery, and he digs his hands into Buck’s back hard enough to leave marks.
“Evan,” Tommy pants, his body curling tighter and tighter into itself. “Evan, I’m-”
“I know,” Buck says, and he does. Tommy is so open under him, not hiding a thing as he writhes and ruts and moans. Buck can feel every muscle of Tommy’s body moving so freely against his own. Even without the rich familiarity Buck has with Tommy’s body, he’d be able to tell how close Tommy is. “I know, I can feel you. I can feel all of you like this. Wanna feel you come for me. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Tommy’s arms tighten, his legs tighten, and his moans pitch higher. It’s not long before he’s clamping down around Buck and spilling hot and wet between them, crying out loud and unabashed. Buck watches the pleasure wash over Tommy’s face and only manages three more thrusts before he’s following Tommy over the edge. He feels primal and possessive as he comes deep inside of Tommy. Tommy is his. Tommy wants to be his. Tommy is letting himself be Buck’s.
Tommy had been worried about losing himself in Buck. Buck hadn’t been worried about that. Buck lost himself in Tommy the first moment he saw him. This—fucking Tommy so intimately, being pressed practically head-to-toe against Tommy’s sweaty body, coming inside of him, being fully enveloped by him—doesn’t feel like getting lost. It feels like coming home.
They stay tangled up together as they come down. Tommy holds Buck tight to himself, and Buck has no desire to be anywhere else. He kisses Tommy, kisses over his jaw and his cheek and his throat; gentle, tender, lingering presses of his lips to Tommy’s skin. He wants Tommy to know how loved he is, how treasured, how safe his heart is in Buck’s hands.
Tommy sighs, soft and warm and uncharacteristically earnest. He doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t push Buck away. He runs shaking fingers through Buck’s hair and presses Buck closer to him. With each kiss, he relaxes and sinks back heavier into the bed. With each kiss, he holds Buck closer.
Prompts here if you want to make a request: Kiss Prompts
9-1-1, Sal/Eddie
36. ...to give up control
Under the cut for a very slight M rating
Eddie shuddered. Fingers trailed between his shoulder blades. The pads of the fingertips were calloused, as they slid down his spine.
"Do you want to stop?" The voice was whisper soft, warm air tickling his ear, lips almost but not quite touching.
Eddie shook his head, holding back a whine as Sal's fingers teased down the cleft of his ass.
"Words."
"No," Eddie said, voice rough.
"Tell me what you do want," Sal asked softly.
"I..." Eddie didn't know how to answer.
"Roll over," Sal murmured.
Eddie hesitated. The desire to comply, warring with the fear of what it meant. Of what Sal might see in his eyes.
Sal waited him out, until Eddie gave in rolling onto his back, as Sal hovered over him. It felt like Sal was seeing into his very soul.
Eddie shook his head, biting his lip, closing his eyes against the onslaught of Sal's gaze.
Sal's fingers grazed a nipple, making him gasp softly.
"What do you want, Eddie?"
"I... don't want to... think," he whispered, voice catching. "I don't..."
Sal's mouth closed over his own, tongue sweeping into Eddie's mouth, as strong hands pressed him into the mattress. Sal didn't give him any quarter, he took what he wanted from Eddie it was... it was exactly what Eddie wanted. What he needed.
Eddie melted into it, suddenly boneless. He couldn't have fought it if he wanted to. And he didn't. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to control. Be in charge. He just... he just wanted to be and with Sal he could.
Sal smiled against his lips. "That's it sweetheart," he murmured. "I've got you."
It was now 8am, and his highly caffeinated self had cleaned the house, put a breakfast casserole in the slow cooker, stocked the cupboards with something other than his own sad-boy ramen and chicken and vegetable combos.
He had cursed every second of traffic standing between him and airport, which was a significant amount and by the time he had parked up in the parking lot his blood pressure was through the roof,stress battling with caffeine in his system to make the little vein on his forehead thump concerningly.
Arrivals was busy, but he took a second to compose himself while his eyes darted around frantically so that he didn't miss the shock of blonde hair. He was so busy scouring the crowd in front of him that he didn't even notice the figure moving up behind him.
Jack would have laughed his ass off and mocked him mercilessly.
“Boo.” He squeaked as his boyfriend's voice sounded and inch from his ear and whirled round, only to find himself enveloped in the strong arms he had been craving ever since Luca left for Germany.
The noise from the crowd quieted, and he felt all the tension leave his body as he breathed in the scent of Luca, leather and Plane from his boyfriend. The arms surrounding him held him firmly, creating a barrier to the world around them.
“God i've missed you.” He breathed, snaking his own thick arms around Lucas' waist, pressing them closer together.
