You know, as clunky as Josh's Glee speech was, I really think the SPIRIT of it reveals just why Tommy is such a divisive character, and I honestly think it's because Tommy is AT LEAST an "elder millenial" and possibly late Gen X (cause fuck a timeline am I right?) and portrayed pretty accurately to that experience, and a lot of the people who are so rabidly against him are much younger. And they just cannot fathom the world that queer millennials, elder millenials, and Gen X grew up in and had to survive in. Like, the rules were different guys. So, so different.
So yeah, it makes perfect sense to me that Tommy resonated DEEPLY with a lot of older queer people and a lot of younger people just don't understand why he would.
Harry twirls a lock of dark curls between his fingers. Tips his chin against Tommy's head and stares up at the ceiling. He considers not asking, this time.
The sex is good, and Tommy's funny, and if he closes his eyes he could imagine there could be something - Tommy twitches and shifts his hand lower like he might be gearing up for another round, and it breaks the fantasy. That's new.
"Tell me about him," Harry says, and Tommy's eyes tip up to glare at Harry.
"Making an assumption, there," Tommy warns, but Harry just raises an eyebrow. Six years of this and Harry knows better than to expect Tommy would show up at his door for any reason other than to get his mind off of something - someone else.
"So we're both asses," Harry intones. He needs to call the super, see what they'll do about the water stain on his ceiling. "Tell me about him."
Tommy sighs. Twists, drifts away to the second pillow, and Harry's done this enough times not to mourn the loss, exactly. It's not like he's ever told Tommy -
"He's too young. Impulsive. New."
Harry fails to hold in his snort. "Okay."
Tommy at 34 had been a fucking hurricane. Newly out, no holds barred, he'd jumped right into the deep end and let the storm whirl him around. They'd been friends, for the first six months, Harry a watchful presence while Tommy made it his mission to be more than the guy in the dark corner getting a risky blowie fifteen minutes before last call. To be out - not loud, that wasn't Tommy's style - but to at least be himself.
He'd lasted two months in a real, actual relationship before he'd shown up at Harry's door with a six pack and a box of condoms.
"He looks at me and sees this - cool suave guy -" Harry shifts, nearly interrupts because that guy is exactly what Tommy projects, even if he doesn't mean to. Fucking Scorpios. "- and I was falling for him."
Yeah. Harry can extrapolate from that. Tommy fell ass over tea kettle and then got spooked.
"He's just so fucking open with himself. No brainworm goes untouched, and he can't hide his emotions for shit, and he's so goddamn stubborn and so goddamn ready to bulldoze through every hurdle ahead without looking back at the damage, and..." Tommy trails off. One hand shifts down to hitch the duvet up over his hips, and Harry adds the duvet cover to his list of laundry. "I gave him too many chances to slow down on his own."
"What, did the kid ask you to marry him or something?"
"He's the Himbo," Tommy retorts, and it takes Harry a moment to make the connection. He whistles through his teeth just to watch the scowl fall into place on Tommy's face. "And the connection freaked him out so much he asked me to move in. To his bachelor pad loft." Harry waits. "It has two balconies, Harry. Two."
"...he knows you have a mortgage, right?"
Tommy shoves at his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. We're just - the timing wasn't right."
"Did you want it to be?"
That's always the thing he ends up hung up on, in Harry's experience. Tommy's scared out of his mind to be the right person at the wrong time. Always has been. There's probably some mommy or daddy issues hidden in there somewhere he hasn't explored. Tommy's eyes drift up to the water stain. "Don't these apartments all have the same layout?"
This is the shove-off. This is his hint not to push. "Yes, and I really don't want to ask how the upstairs neighbor flooded their bedroom. Back to the guy." He's never been one for acknowledging unspoken cues.
"Buck," Tommy says, and the name sounds harsh in his mouth.
"Buck," Harry repeats, and pictures Tommy's usual type - tall, light-eyed, more smiles than common sense. There was always something distinctive, too - freckles, a scar, weird shaped ears.
"I miss him."
It doesn't hurt the way it had those first few years, when Harry was convinced that eventually Tommy would see him as more than a friend to blow off steam with. Still. There's a twinge there, beneath his rib cage.
"So stop missing him. That's an option, isn't it?"
And Tommy does that thing - that frustrating, enchanting thing, where his whole body seems to hold the emotion flickering across his face. "I walked out on him. I dug the damn knife in just to make sure he wouldn't try to convince me to stay."
"Would you have? Stayed?"
Tommy's quiet. The sweat has cooled on his skin, and the lights coming in through his window dance across the skin of his shoulder, his chest, that stupid thick neck of his.
The phone he left on the bedside table is dark, but that doesn't stop Tommy's gaze flicking to it.
"Cards on the table, Tommy?" Harry sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose. "Once upon a time, I convinced myself you were it for me. That I'd be satisfied with what you gave me, and I wouldn't ask for more. I cut you out of my life for eight months when I realized how fucking dumb that was."
Tommy frowns. Harry hadn't really ever expected him to notice.
"I've seen you through shitty relationships, and one sided ones. I've heard all the bullshit you and Greg put each other through. I've been there for every fucking heartache."
And he'd offered up his body like it was absolution for always being fucking thrilled when a relationship ended.
"You called me Evan," Harry murmurs, and Tommy's eyes go wide. That's never fucking happened before. This thing wouldn't have lasted nearly as long if he'd ever heard another man's name in his bed before. "You should shower. Go home. Take a day or two, if you need it. But I know for a fact you wait this shit out, justify coming to me with time and space from whatever guy has you strung out. I know it's been a minute already, and I know you've never sounded so unsure about cutting someone loose."
Tommy's gaze flicks to him.
"Whatever it is that's got you so scared of this guy, figure it the fuck out. Because it sounds to me like you fell fast and hard and hit a fucking wall before you ever thought to tap the brakes. That's not fair to you or him. Call him. Text him. Show up at his door with a bouquet or an industrial size bottle of lube and figure your shit out. Together."
Tommy stares at him for a long, long time in silence.
"Them's the brakes, huh?"
Harry hates that he knows exactly what Tommy means. Still, he clarifies. "This is your forever guy." Six years of watching him flail and learn and grow and hurt and love and fuck. He knows a thing or two about Tommy and his flights of romance. Knows this lonely man has never sounded quite so lonely before. "You don't need me, anymore."
He's quiet as his eyes drift back up to the stain. "I'm not his forever guy." Harry can't actually refute that, considering he's never met the guy. But he knows Tommy. Knows exactly how captivating he can be. Knows Tommy's a sucker for that starry-eyed look that so often has meant not love, as Tommy reads it, but idolization. "What if I'm not his forever guy?"
Harry digs toes into the spot in the duvet where Tommy's knees should be. He shifts Tommy about half a millimeter. "He has a nickname you don't call him except when you're punishing yourself. He dated Abby and that shared history didn't scare him off. You'd never let yourself fall for a guy that wasn't throwing clear signs that it was serious. I'd put my odds on him doing something weird and wholesome every time he thinks about you until his entire two balcony loft is filled with trinkets or treats and he still can't get you off his mind."
Harry's never seen Tommy's face do that before. Not in the throes of a honeymoon phase and not in the worst of a bad breakup. It's some awful mixture between unbridled hope and abject despair.
Harry thinks it's probably fair to hate him a little, for that face. He's earned the right.
"If he kicks you to the curb, I'll take you to one of those expensive wine tastings you pretend to hate, and I'll let you drink all my samples too." It's not an idle promise. Tommy may pretend to hate it but Harry fucking loves wine tastings. "If he doesn't..." Harry shoots him a fond look, "...knowing your type I'm not invited to the wedding anyway, so I guess then I'd been seeing you around."
Something shadows his gaze for a moment, but he's quick to hide it, to smack Harry on the chest like they've just had a good game, to shift out of bed and into his briefs before Harry can blink. He doesn't love Tommy. Not the way he'd have liked to, years and years ago. Still, when Tommy shoots him the dorkiest finger guns known to man and scoops up the rest of his clothes to take to the bathroom with him, Harry still wonders what it's like to have him enough to love him fully.
---
The name catches him off guard every time he hears it. 'Evan' isn't hard to filter - Evan had been a popular enough name to immediately write it off but Buck wasn't white noise of a name
Buck was a character in a movie, an old grizzled war vet, a dog. The name Buck wasn't popular enough not to hear it every time it was so much as whispered in his direction.
The coffee shop isn't crowded, but it's not dead either. When the girl at the counter calls out an order for Buck, sliding three cups down the counter, Harry can't help but look up.
A tall broad shouldered hulk of a man smiles a dimpled smile at the barista, and Harry watches him palm two cups and grab the third one in one practiced move. He's cute, Harry thinks. Maybe his grandpa ordered, Harry thinks, a little harder, and then caves, following his path through the three-tops littering the lobby.
Harry catches sight of him without being noticed. He's grinning, one of those rare earnest ones that make his ears rise and his face crinkle like a Shar Pei, hand spread out over something lying open on the table. The little girl on the seat to his right is a surprise, but Harry hasn't spoken to Tommy in two years. Maybe he's had enough time to get his mind around the idea that he's nothing like his father. The girl responds to something Tommy says by palming at as much of his face as she can reach and turning to the man now approaching their table.
"Uncle Buck!" he catches, another firm tug at the part of his brain that's been stuck on this for too long. The man barely gets all three drinks on the table before the girl is launching herself up into his arms, and it's too late for Harry to turn away without notice. Tommy's gaze shifts across the room and lands right on him.
He looks like he might wave Harry over, and Harry would rather die than know whether Tommy would introduce him as an old friend, or by name like Buck should know it. He tips a smile Tommy's way. Raises a brow at the man - Buck - and gets lips being sucked behind teeth in response, and then a slow, subtle head tilt.
Good. Good for him. Harry's never wanted anything for Tommy but to see him incandescently happy.
Witnessing it from a distance is better.
Buck twirls his - niece? - flops her back down on the bench seat next to Tommy and bends to say something that includes a pinky promise. He's got a wine-dark stain just above his brow, and Harry can't quite hide the tip of his smile.
Harry's name rings in his ears as he picks up his drink, and he's halfway to the door, feeling proud of himself for not turning back, when he hears the chorus of three laughs erupting from the corner where he'd taken his last good look.
He'd seen the ring on insta, a week and a half ago. Just an uncaptioned picture of two bands balanced one over the other on a rock, a killer sunset sky blurry behind them. No tags. 102 likes and counting.
Harry pushes through the doors and only glances through the window to watch Tommy tip his head back in laughter for a second, before he's cleared the coffee shop and rounded the corner back to his office.
Tommy stealing a helicopter for a third time would be so funny. He stops by Harbour and everyone is immediately onto him because he isnāt working today and also, heās acting kind of suspicious, sneaking around the place as if he isnāt 6ā2 with a penchant for stealing helicopters.
They try keeping an eye on him, but heās surprisingly slippery and they quickly end up losing track of him. After a while, they hear the sound of a helicopter taking off and sure enough, Tommy is in the pilotās seat.
The new probie, confused as to what just happened, asks who that was. Melton just sighs, resigned to knowing that this will happen again, turns to the probie and says āThatās Kinard. He does that sometimes. Youāll get used to itā before going to start the paperwork.
Can i get a bucktommy kiss nr.17 to distract, please š
Tommy's life used to be a lot simpler before he got tangled up with the 118 again. He'd had a few years of relative normalcy and quiet, and then Howie had called him asking to fly into a hurricane and nothing had been simple since then. He'd looked into a pair of blue eyes and his entire life had turned into one long series of complications.
For example, he used to just be able to give exes a birthday present and be done with the whole thing, but this is Evan. Evan, who takes care of everyone without expecting anything in return, who looked Tommy in the eye one day and told him he loved him and asked that he please stop running from that. Evan, who is turning 35 but trying to not make a big deal about it, because his birthday has rarely been a big deal, and so Tommy wants to throw him a surprise party.
Evan, who is home an hour early.
He meets him in the driveway with what is hopefully an apologetic smile and an excuse that he forgot to ask him to pick up some stuff at Home Depot for the gazebo they're building over the next few weeks.
"Do you want to go later?" Evan asks, and Tommy sees his eyes shift almost over his shoulder and realizes that someone might be looking through the curtains.
Thinking fast, he grabs Evan and kisses him, whirling them around so Evan's back is against the tailgate of the truck and facing away from the house. His boyfriend makes a soft noise against his mouth, and Tommy almost forgets why he's doing this in the first place. When he breaks the kiss, he feels dazed for a moment, and Evan is doing that thing where he licks his lips and tips his head down and looks at him through his lashes.
What was Tommy doing?
He sees the flick of a curtain out of the corner of his eye and remembers.
"So, definitely later?" Evan teases, his fingers curling in the space between the top buttons of Tommy's shirt.
"N-no, we should go now," Tommy says, even though he wants nothing less than to have to go out in public and pretend he doesn't want to be somewhere with Evan wrapped around him.
"You sure?" Evan asks, leaning in to nip at his bottom lip and then his chin.
Tommy is not God's strongest soldier, but there are a half dozen people in his house setting up a party. He can't ask them all to leave for a quickie. There's food in the oven, there's streamers being set up.
"Unfortunately, yes," he says, nuzzling Evan's neck and flipping off a cackling Howie in the front window of the house.
As he gets into the truck, he texts Maddie so she can take over the rest of the set-up.
Maddie
Got it! Chimney says to tell you your distraction technique sucks. I'm sure you did your best š
Tommy feels Evan squeeze the inside of his thigh as they back out of the driveway and sighs.
Maybe they can find a dimly lit parking garage near Home Depot. That'll keep them from the house for a while.
-
Later, when Evan looks properly surprised and looks at Tommy with a sunny smile and teary eyes, Tommy thanks Maddie profusely for taking over in his absence.
"The extra half hour you bought us really helped," she says, patting his back. "Also, you might want to put something on that rash."
He claps a hand over the stubble burn on his neck. "Is it that bad?"
"You look like you got wiped down with sandpaper," Howie adds unhelpfully. "Good trip to Home Depot? Saw that the truck bed was empty."
"They were out of wood," Tommy lies, squirming past the two smirking Hans.
"Oh, I'm sure there was plenty of wood!" Howie calls at his back, and Tommy hears the distant sound of a high five.
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