Tommy blinks, the question barely registering over the steady buzz of his machine. Sometimes, he forgets it’s there, the faded lines, the eagle atop the globe, the ‘USMC’ in hollow letters beneath.
“Uh, yeah. Afghanistan, then Iraq. Three tours.”
It was his very first tattoo, paid 20$ and a 6-pack of beer for it. Got it after his first tour. Since then, it seems Tommy had done an active effort to bury it, covering himself head to toe in ink. He’d thought about blasting over it many times, hoping to avoid questions like this. Eventually, with a lot of help from therapy, Tommy figured it was a part of him, like everything else, acquired or inherited.
“Cool. Thank you for your service!”
Cool. He can still feel the hot air of Fallujah kissing his face in his nightmares. That and the smell of burning– breathe. In, then out. You’re out of the sandbox. You’re here. Steady hands.
“Steady mind.” Tommy whispers under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Uh, um. I said ‘that’s kind’. Kind of you to say.”
Thankfully, the kid in his chair switches subjects. He starts raving about the new Witcher 4 about to come out upon noticing Tommy’s Ciri figurine on his many adorned shelves. Tommy smiles, banters easily with the guy while shading a particularly sensitive area. The guy winces, and then laughs, says something about being tougher usually. Tommy promises there’s not much left in that spot.
Then in walks Evan– Buck. As ever, he greets everybody with huge smiles and waves. He even sends greetings his way. Tommy nods in return, cursory, acknowledging. He could swear he sees Buck’s smile falter a bit at that.
Buck goes to the lobby and his client is already there. It’s the usual ticket too; young, attractive, female. Tommy notices the back-and-forth, thinly veiled flirting between the two. He sees out of the corner of his eye how Buck’s fingers brush just under her elbow, how she looks up at him ready to eat him alive. He scoffs discreetly to himself. Unprofessional.
It’s not that Buck has a bad work ethic, nor is he predatory in any way. But he should know better than to get pulled in by these girls, jeez. It’s not the first time Tommy sees this in a shop either. It’s quite a rampant problem actually, especially with young, talented and attractive tattoo artists. Sometimes they get cocky at all the tail it gets them, and they start hitting on clients.
Thing is, this is the kind of shit that can get real ugly, real fast. Buck should know better.
She wants a rib tattoo, of fucking course.
“Hey man, you ok?”
Tommy snaps back to reality. The kid in his chair is looking at him funny. Tommy wonders if he’s been pushing the needle too hard or something but it’s none of that. The guy must have caught Tommy’s deer-in-headlights look and reassures him he’s not in pain or anything.
“What did that guy do to you? You’ve been a black cloud ever since he walked in.”
Damn. That kid is nosy. That or he just lacks a sense of tact. But it’s fine really, besides, why should he let it get to him?
Tommy scoffs and laughs it off. Assures the guy that it’s nothing, just got distracted. But out of the corner of his eye, he sees Buck put the stencil on her ribs, his thumb a hair’s breadth from running along the curve of her breast. They’re giggly and pink the both of them, Buck’s huge hands running over her ribs and sides more than necessary. She bedroom-eyes him so hard Tommy can feel it and it makes him want to gag. Fucking unprofessional.
–
“Hey, uhh, why do you hate me?”
Tommy holds the smoke inside his lungs at that, trying not to choke. Both of his eyebrows knot in confusion in the middle. Buck’s energy is a weird mixture of douchebaggy asshole and giant puppy, which disturbs Tommy, and his big, bright smile is the tight kind.
“I don’t hate you.” Tommy says on an exhale, somewhat coldly.
Buck is looking straight at him, big eyes blue and sort of pleading behind the overinflated tough-guy routine Buck tries to have going on. Tommy forgets they’re at the same height sometimes, something about that makes his guts churn a little.
“Are you kidding? I can feel the daggers from a mile away. What is it? What did I do?”
Tommy fights the urge to roll his eyes, but Buck catches it.
The energy changes. Soon, Buck’s smile falls and turns into a scowl, barely hiding the hurt behind it. “Oh what, are you too good for me or something? Is this an ego thing? What’s your problem with me, man?”
“I don’t hate you. Matter of fact, I don’t feel any particular way about you.” Tommy says placidly to the ground.
“Okay so it is an ego thing. I haven’t done anything to you, why the fuck do you come at me for?”
Oh he wants to do this macho bullshit right now?
The baring of teeth, the passive-aggressiveness, it bleeds into Tommy like he hasn’t spent the last decade figuring out how to be less angry. He breathes through his nose. “I just think it’s a little unprofessional to sleep with two thirds of your clientele.”
“Who I sleep with is my business.” Buck says defensively.
“Not when you make a habit of sleeping with clients. People talk, it looks bad for all of us. But hey, maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s not like I’ve been in this business for the past thirteen years.” Oh Tommy is looking at him now.
“I-I, I didn’t–”
“Didn’t what? Realise? Mean to?” Tommy feels it bubbling now, the rage. He drags from his nearly finished cigarette and exhales harshly. His eyes are tight and his jaw is clenched so hard he can feel his teeth grinding with the force of it.
“Bobby doesn’t see it because he’s too damn in love to notice anything else happening around here, and Han unfortunately likes you too much to say anything. Eddie arrived here with you like a conjoined twin and I don’t think he sees anything wrong with what you’re doing which is a problem in and of itself. Hen’s too busy with her life to take on that project. So yeah, Buck, I’m the one that has to tell you that you’re fucking up the reputation of this shop that I’ve helped put on the map for the past ten years and that three months into your apprenticeship you’re about to blow it all up for yourself and me because I can tell you the second Bobby notices what you’ve been doing, your ass is out of here faster than you can say ‘I didn’t mean to’.”
It’s only once it’s all out that he sees it, the threatening tears brimming at the edges of Buck’s eyes. The tight jaw, defeated posture. Shit. He may have been a little harsh.
“Listen, kid… I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s just… I care about this place, and it feels like you don’t. So, you can either continue treating the shop like your personal tinder or– or prove me wrong.”
Tommy took one last drag before butting his cigarette in the ash bucket, leaving Buck just standing there.
2 and romantic analogical for the drabble prompt?👀 (i saw your submission!!!)
Thank you for the ask! Let’s go!
___
Logan’s eyes fell shut. Forceful he yanked them open again and looked back to the screen. Focus. He needed to focus. Needed to finish this schedule. But sleep was tugging at his eyes and exhaustion weighing him down.
“Teach?”
Logan felt his head slipping from his hands and shot back up in an upright position. He turned. Saw Virgil. Oh, so sweet Virgil. He looked gently at him and Logan just wanted to bury himself in his arms and sleep.
“I need to finish this,” Logan whined incoherently.
A smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he shook his head and scooped Logan up from his chair.
“Sure teach. I don’t understand but I believe you. Yet now I think it’s bedtime, so you can do whatever you need tomorrow well-rested.”
Logan barely made a sound, as he nuzzled against Virgil and was fast asleep in his arms.
A fic where He Tian and Mo Guanshan are partners as detectives. Mo has a special ability where he can see the last things the victims experienced and saw before they died. This is how the duo are so successful with cases. But the special gift takes a lot out of Mo mentally, physically, and emotionally. Luckily, He Tian is always there to pick Little Mo back up.
Buck knows that in four weeks, the simple mention of chicken breast and rice will make him want to hurl. But for the time being, he gets his protein in, weighs his food, eats whatever coach tells him to eat. It goes down dry, there’s little joy in his meals, except for breakfast. Breakfast he could die for. Eggs, bacon, sausage and fruit. It’s the one meal he’s allowed to go all out, full carb load and greasy, greasy plates.
It’s only four weeks; high-protein training diet, after which he’ll be allowed to go back to his laxer, still somewhat controlled eating habits. He misses beer, he misses cheesecake, he misses team barbecue cookouts. Soon, Buck thinks, let’s just win us a ship and then you can eat all the cake you want.
Eat.
“No gym for us tomorrow, bro. Coach says we play.”
It’s gonna rain tomorrow. Buck loves it when it rains. There’s something about the grime of playing in the rain, the slides of feet on the grass, the mud caking every part of you. It’s like the more miserable you can make it, the more tolerable the sport. Buck’s played balmy 70 degree days less enjoyable than brutal, heavy downpour games.
Eddie looks a little put off, not matching Buck’s unhinged energy, he’s not as into mud as Buck seems to be. But that’s the sport, once you’re in it you barely notice.
“I’m gonna be scrubbing dirt out of my ears ‘til I’m sixty.” Eddie bemoans.
“Only if you get your face smashed into the ground. Run fast enough and it won’t happen. Or, you could just not grab the ball, you seem to be good at that lately.” Buck laughs. Eddie pulls a face, eyes narrowed in his glare. It was one fumble. Buck only grins wider at his best friend and teammate.
Train.
Game season could be hard on sleep for so many reasons. It was important for athletes to remain disciplined in order to not fall behind. Buck had learned the hard way his first year back from England, playing major league with FCLA. In England, he could get away with a lot. There was Buck, twenty-something, American and freshly recruited into what wasn’t even Britain’s premier league. He thought he was hot shit, chasing tail after games, getting drunk in pubs, blowing off training. But he was good, too good for the RFU Championship circuit, and he knew it.
When he got drafted back home, everything changed, except for him. Buck had made the mistake of not catching up to his exploits and hit a wall his first season, a wall named coach Nash. Suddenly, being good wasn’t enough, because there were men who woke up at 3 AM and had played for big clubs in New Zealand and dreamed of playing the World Cup and Buck was there making a mockery of it all.
One morning, Buck had played hung over, fumbled nearly all of his passes, and was almost cut from the team before even playing half the season.
In the face of losing it all, Buck had straightened up, and Bobby – Coach – had taken the raw materials of him in his hands and transformed Buck into an athlete. He hadn’t missed the booze; the parties, a little. The food, well, coach had a way to put a spin on the diets so that wasn’t too bad. But what Buck had missed most at first was sleeping alone. Now, six years later, it was still his biggest hurdle.
Away games almost always meant being far from friends and family and sleeping in hotel rooms, so girlfriends would’ve been out in any case. But one-night stands often stayed when they saw the lush hotel suite. Buck knew now what he had been chasing back then, even if back then he’d have said it was just sex. Seven years older and with better perspective, he started to understand the shape of what kept him awake hours past his bedtime most nights.
It’s gotten a little better, and just sharing a two-queens room with Eddie during away games helped, having a presence there eased him into sleep. It wasn’t quite it but it would do for now.
Sleep.
The news had come in the off-season. Buck had been ecstatic at first, then anguish settled in his gut, until he’d gotten the other good news. Eddie had been drafted too, they were moving up.
Leaving FCLA was gut-wrenching, six years with the team that had made him into the player he was today was no small feat, but this was the Eagles, the dream, the national team. They’d play the world stage against the best of the best, and they were on line for the Olympics coming up. Moreso, Buck got to do it with his best friend, his brother, he didn’t have to go it alone.
That night, when they’d gotten the news, Buck and Eddie had celebrated with family and friends, and cried joyful tears holding Christopher tightly between them.
This was it, the highest rung of the ladder; the Rugby World Cup.
Repeat.
“Holy shit.” Buck says to Eddie as they step onto the green for the first time in their new colors. “That’s Tommy Kinard, #17. You know he played FCLA with coach Nash before we got there? Man, that guy is a beast.”
“Yeah, good guy too. I met up with him a few weeks ago, turns out he’s a hell of a mechanic, fixed up the Chevelle real nice. You should hear that baby purr now.” Eddie answers back nonchalantly.
Confusion wears itself on Buck’s face. “The Chevelle? Wh-when did you–?”
“Oh, we ran into each other at the gym and he recognized me. We kinda hit it off.” Eddie says with a smug grin. “Hey, Kinard!”
The tall, muscular man’s head whips and a smile breaks across his face when he sees Eddie.
—
As full-contact professional men’s sports went, rugby was pretty open. There was no place for masculine insecurity when you were that close to another man’s junk at any given moment.
Buck was honestly surprised the sport hadn’t awoken anything in him sooner. He always chalked it up to post-game adrenaline, the thrill of victory and all that. And if he admired another player’s physique, it had always been reasoned into admiration for form and dedication rather than anything more, uh, primal.
It only took one kiss, one incredible, earth-shattering kiss from Tommy – #17 and two-time world champion – Kinard, to flip Buck’s entire world view. He was an athlete, a professional, of course, and his head was always in the game. But he couldn’t help what he felt during the off-time, watching Tommy stretch, drop to the ground, sprint and tackle. Buck thanked all his lucky stars they had to wear a cup for this sport.
The first time Tommy tackled him during practice, Buck popped a semi so fast it had made his head spin. Tommy had just looked down at him with a knowing smile.
“It’s like you want me to throw you down, Buckley.”
Oh little did Tommy know how right he was.
Of course, some NP tags <3 @geddyqueer (of course) @fanaticallyfleeky @nobigsecrets @blahblahwoofwoof @hippolotamus @bidisasterevankinard @tizniz @monstertrucksactually @hmg621
Might write more of this one too ! LMK if you guys like it :)
Rated E
Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Thomas "Tommy" Kinard
Fandom: 911 on ABC
Words: 1.6k
Enjoyyy~ rest of fic under the cut
“Were talking about your intentions.”
“Are they honorable?”
Tommy remembered the first night he slept over at Evan’s. It was right after the hospital wedding, Chim was feeling weary and the crowd shuffled out of the room-turned-wedding hall when Buck looked up at him, all twinkly-eyed and sheepish.
“You must be wiped. Y-you could stay at my place tonight, shower, sleep, no ulterior motives. I-I can lend you clothes.”
The ‘if you want’ hung back unspoken at the end, and Evan looked at him like a pleading puppy, unable – to the best of himself – to play it cool. Tommy just chuckled and closed his eyes for a second before answering that it sounded like a great idea. If Buck had had a tail he would’ve wagged it. Instead, he just leaned forward, wide toothy grin threatening to smash against Tommy’s own in a sweet but clumsy kiss.
That night, Tommy had laid down his turnouts at the door of Buck’s loft, while the younger firefighter wrestled with the noticeable full-body flush he was sporting. Tommy would never reveal his play, not even under duress, but he could admit that in that moment, he might’ve been trying some things, pushing some buttons. And he’d laugh, once out of the shower, at the clothes that Evan had laid out for him, which were perfectly fine… except for one white t-shirt that might’ve belonged to another, smaller version of Buck. He put it on nonetheless, the fabric almost see-through with the way it stretched over the swell of his muscles. He could probably tear the shirt if he flexed hard enough, Tommy thought.
Walking out of the bathroom, Tommy wagered that the shirt worked in his favor, as well as Evan’s, judging by the way the younger man was practically drooling on the floor.
“I think your shirt might be a tad small. Do you have another? Or- y’know, I could just go without. I… run hot at night.”
Evan just nodded vigorously, made faces and choked off sounds like he was trying to find his words, and Tommy grinned. It had been a while since he’d made a man go non-verbal.
“Right.” Tommy pulled the obscenely tight shirt off of himself while Buck watched, making sure to flex a little, drag it out just a little bit. “Where’s your couch?”
Buck looked dazed, stuck. His eyes were hazy and his cheeks were furiously red.
“Evan?” Tommy tried gently snapping him out of it.
“Uh? Uhh, don’t have one.”
Buck squirmed in his seat at the kitchen island, embarrassed.
“You don’t have a couch? Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Friend’s wife gave birth on the last one, haven’t gotten around to buying another one yet and umm…” Buck squirmed even harder then. “W-with me?”
Tommy softened, a lazy smile on his features. He was secretly fond, well, maybe not so secretly. That night, they slept each on one side of Buck’s enormous bed at first, and then slowly inched towards each other until they were spooning, Tommy’s face nestled in the crook of Evan’s neck as his big arms encircled the younger man. Tommy was out like a light, the weariness of the past 24 hours weighing on him finally. They stayed like that most of the night, until Buck inevitably starfished on the bed and Tommy moved snuggly on his back.
Now the night was innocent enough, it was the morning that took them one step further in the physical aspect of their relationship. Tommy had wanted to go at Evan’s pace, not rushing him into this frankly new territory he was now in. He didn’t account for the speed at which Evan was willing to go. He found that out pretty quickly, gasping his orgasm into Evan’s mouth as they jerked each other off in the massive bed.
From that moment on, everything kind of… snowballed.
They were together pretty much every time their shifts synced up. Three days after Tommy had slept over for the first time, they had gone to Maddie and Chimney’s to welcome the latter back home from the hospital and settle him in his home for the next few weeks as he recovered. They had said their goodbyes early as Chim was too tired from the meds and Maddie had to put Jee to bed. Barely thirty seconds through the door of Tommy’s house, Buck already had a dick in his mouth for the first time. And once Evan discovered he was good at something, he just wanted to do it over and over and over again.
One morning, after the whole Shannon-doppelganger-brownies debacle, Evan just walked out of Tommy’s shower and into his bedroom with intent and what seemed like frustration, demanding that Tommy finger him.
“Something’s missing when I do it.” Evan rasped, straddling Tommy and fishing in his bedside drawer knowing he’d find a bottle of lube there. He hadn’t even dried off before and water fell everywhere on the sheets and on Tommy, but the older man didn’t care.
“Your hands are so big.” Evan practically cried into his mouth as Tommy crooked a first finger inside of him. He was so pretty like this, all flushed and wanton and wet. Evan’s hair curled when it was wet, and Tommy liked it a lot. They ended up going up to three fingers, with Evan on his back begging and babbling. He came untouched.
Turns out Buck loved getting his ass played with. It wasn’t long before Tommy was fucking him in earnest. The first time they did, they couldn’t even make it to a bed.
“Fuck me here.” Evan had begged and commanded both at once, pressing his ass backwards into Tommy’s hard on. They had been sparring in Tommy’s garage, finally getting those Muay Thai lessons so enthusiastically promised. Sparring was a loose term in this case, as the actual sparring had only taken place for about ten minutes before it devolved into furious rutting and making out.
“Uh– baby, lube.” Tommy was wrecked. Even with the younger man pinned under him he didn’t have the upper hand. Evan had his chest pressed into the mat for leverage, a hand grabbing behind him into Tommy’s hair. It made Tommy’s head spin.
“First aid kit on the tool bench, every good kit has some.”
Buck had a point there, and indeed there was, Tommy remembered. A first responder was never off duty.
“Ahh–” Buck had just tugged harshly at Tommy’s hair while grinding up into him. “Condoms.”
“Do we need ‘em?” Evan had said practically on a whine. “We’ve swallowed each other’s cum enough already, I think one of us would’ve said something by now.”
Evan, enthusiastic in his newfound bisexuality, had gotten tested the day after their coffee date. Tommy, for his part, had a standing annual checkup which included STI testing. He hadn’t had any other partner between his last checkup and Evan.
“You sure?” Tommy checked in, he always checked in.
“Tommy, if you don’t fuck me into this mat right now I swear–” Buck was cut off by Tommy thrusting hard against his ass, grabbing his chin, and kissing the younger man filthily until Buck was a puddle under him.
“Hold tight.” Tommy pecked Evan’s temple where his birthmark was, and then he was gone. Seconds later, he returned with the lube which was not intended for sex, but would work just fine in a pinch.
Evan had dragged his shorts and briefs down with both hands while his cheek pressed into the floor, fingers fumbling in his haste. A finger quickly gave way to two, then three, and it wasn’t long before Evan begged for the main event.
That first slow thrust felt like sliding home. Buck was drooling into the mat; the prep had been done well and there was no resistance at all. Tommy bottomed out and Evan was already rocking shallowly against the older man, using his forearms as leverage. It had helped somewhat that Evan was regularly taking fingers, Tommy was not small in any way.
They were not gentle, as Evan coaxed Tommy into going harder and harder until Buck came with a keen and a hand in his hair. Evan squeezed around Tommy’s cock, chanting for him to come in me, please Tommy. And so he did, with a drawn out grunt, punched out of his gut with monster-truck force as his vision blurred. When he came to a few seconds later, the Evan under him had drool on his chin, cum dripping out of his ass, and a deeply sated grin on his face. Brat.
Evan had turned on his back and dragged Tommy down for kisses. They must have stayed like that for at least twenty minutes, just lazing about in the afterglow. At one point, Buck’s stomach grumbled and Tommy proposed a shower and a bite which Buck agreed to easily, even if that meant breaking apart for the time it took them to get to the bathroom.
Tommy remembered fondly, thinking about all the times that came after that, and all of the places it happened too. Just this morning, before the medal ceremony, Evan had climbed on top of him and ridden him while Tommy was halfway into putting on his dress blues.
“Tonight, medals stay on.” Evan had said breathlessly against Tommy’s mouth as he took him like a pro, completely naked against the older, much more clothed man.
Tommy smiled internally.
“I’m wearing a medal.”
Okay. The big sisters were going to need more than just jokes. Just went to show how well Evan was loved.
“We are taking it very slow.” Lie. “In fact, I’m letting him set the pace–” Tommy tried not to look smug as he could see Hen trying to fight off a grin. That part was very true, but not nearly as much as the next. “–and I’m just trying to keep up.”
Friends ! You may have noticed I've been out of the 911 fandom for a while. Truth be told, I haven't watched the last season, I've been really disappointed in the fandom, the show, and even some of the actors. I thought the treatment of LFJ by this fandom was despicable, and it all made me drop out.
That being said, I have about a million Bucktommy drafts (and some buddies as well) I never shared with ya'll, so I'd like to post them here at least so the ones still here can enjoy !
There's still a part of me that loves them, and that is grateful to the show for making them happen, so this is for you and for me🩵
I'll list them here as I post them !
Tattoo Shop AU
Rugby AU
Ski Patrol AU pt.1 pt.2
Of course, some NP tags <3 @geddyqueer (of course) @fanaticallyfleeky @nobigsecrets @blahblahwoofwoof @hippolotamus @bidisasterevankinard @tizniz @monstertrucksactually @hmg621
Had a fever dream about this so here ya go, more under the cut
He was giddy on the drive up. Him and Chris were testing the waters, starting off with a little three weeks in L.A. together. The past few months had been amazing, mending a relationship Eddie thought he had all but lost. Therapy helped tremendously, and they were going religiously every single week, which is how after a while, Christopher brought up the idea of going back to L.A., see the people he was missing, see Buck, who, even under all that hard teenage pretense, he dearly missed. Buck had been notified, of course, mi casa es su rented casa, and everything was set up for their arrival on the 15th. But that’s the thing, Eddie was coming up early.
It gave Chris time to finish school and leave on his own unaccompanied teenage self (part of the growing independence Christopher had wanted and discussed at length with his father), and for Eddie to surprise his best friend, get to spend a little bro-time before 110% of his attention was back on Chris. Which is how Eddie found himself at the stoop of his former home one sunny afternoon. On the 9th. 6 days early.
Eddie figured he still had the key, if Buck was home then all the better, but if he wasn’t he’d just let himself in, surprise him even more that way.
The pickup was nowhere to be seen, so Eddie took out his key and walked to the door, only it was… unlocked?
Gingerly, Eddie took a step inside. All the lights were off, the couch was slightly askew. Something felt… off. That’s when he heard it, very faint but there all the same: someone was in the house.
As soon as he clocked the fallen lamp, Eddie knew this was a bad situation. Silently, he grabbed for the baseball bat he had kept in the entryway closet hoping it was still there. Bingo. Bat in one hand, phone ready to dial 911 in the other, Eddie slowly made his way towards the source of the noise, when he heard another, louder.
Signs of struggle. Shit.
Fuck it, after their luck? Eddie dialed.
It rang, then answered. A familiar voice answered though Eddie could barely notice anything else as he advanced towards the noise.
“I think there’s a burglar in my house.” He whispered. He stepped closer and closer to the door of his former bedroom where he heard the burglar rummaging, grunting, all while the voice on the other line asked him for his address.
“4995 South Bedford Street. Hurry.” Steeling himself, Eddie pushed the door opened with his bat.
“Bedford Street… Eddie?” The operator said on the line.
“Tom– ahh fuck-”
“Buck????”
“Eddie?!?!”
“Tommy?!?!?”
“Eddie?!! Shit–”
Eddie stood there unmoving, phone in hand, bat touching the floor, eyes comically wide as he took in the scene before him. He was seeing so much more of his two friends than God ever intended for him to see. Well at least, it was nice to see that they’d made up. There were less explicit ways to find out, though.
“Uhh–”
“Shit– Uhh heyy Eddie, you’re– you’re early.” Buck scrambled to disentangle and cover himself as best he could, turning red from head to toe in an instant.
“Hey Eddie, uh, long time.” Tommy offered apologetically.
“What’s going on?” Said the 911 operator on the phone. “Is everyone okay??”
In the eerie silence, everyone could hear and recognise the voice of one Maddie Buckley-Han, the only 911 operator in all of L.A. apparently. Buck groaned.
“H-hey Maddie, everything’s w-uhh– everything’s okay.” Buck shouted, hoping she would hear him.
“Are you still…” Eddie made a gesture which would not have done well in charades, then gave up entirely. “...Uh– connected?” He winced as he said it.
Tommy snorted behind Buck who was absolutely mortified at this point.
“I should–” Eddie finally defrosted from his spot, pointed his thumb towards the hallway in the international sign of maybe I should leave, and promptly exited the room, and some minutes later, the house entirely.
Buck buried his face in the pillows and groaned again as Tommy gently chuckled behind him, every little jolt reminding him that they were still, as Eddie had so elegantly put it, connected.
—
“So it’s really fine?”
“Y-yes, Eddie it’s fine.”
“I can find a hotel if you want.”
“No! No, don’t be ridiculous, this is your house.”
“It was, but you live here now and uhh– I don’t, I mean it’s okay– I just, uhh–”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not gonna c-block you where you live, c’mon.”
“A-At least not while you’re there!”
“Oh, uh, yeah. And uhh– I’ll try to, uh, announce myself next time. No more surprises.”
“Yeah, that was a surprise alright.”
They both laughed, easing some of the tension.
“Man, I did not think I was gonna find out you mended things with Tommy this way but, uhh, I’m glad.” Eddie said fondly.
“That we mended things or that you found out this way?” Buck answered without missing a beat, a shit eating grin on his face.
Eddie sighed, exasperated. “You’re an idiot, Buck.”
Here's a snippet from the Bucktommy Ski AU that I've been writing, idk if this is anything
more under the cut
also, a little exposition for you first:
You can tell a lot about a person from their sticks. For example, Buck rode a pair of Bent Chetlers 110, 188 cm with a pivot 16 binding. He wore his goggles under his helmet, and had retractable poles and crabgrab mitts, and for the life of him could not go out in 20 degree weather without a buff covering half of his face. Oddly enough, he rocked race boots, Atomic with a 140 flex. Huh.
Meanwhile, Hen had a nice pair of Stöckli SCs, a hard eared helmet, and matching Stöckli poles. She also had the heated boots and the heated socks, not to mention the heated vest and the heated mitts. If she could have heated pants, she would. Chim had old tele skis that held mostly with p-tex and epoxy and prayer and he would swear up and down that these were still the best skis ever. His tele boots were even in worse shape, old Scarpas that started to crack in places. Then again, he also wore sunglasses most days instead of goggles.
Ravi had the latest model of Rossis, some short-turn-carbon-TI something or some other and the Leki poles of course. Albert had dead-center mounted K2 poachers, tiny ass poles, and an old pock-market helmet he always wore a beanie under. Also, his snow pants were too big.
Eddie snowboarded and that, in and of itself, said it all.
But Tommy skied an old pair Black Crows as tall as him, with a shift binding which meant he skinned up with those skis as well. He wore his goggles outside of his slightly worn, sticker-adorned Poc soft-eared helmet, and always had gloves on, no matter the temperature. He wore cochise boots, the orange clashing with his black skis, with a zebra powerstrap fitted on them.
Buck has never been this confused in his life. He skied his entire life and was particularly good at it, bathed in the culture from so early on he was friends with half the pro-riders on the west coast. Point is, Buck had seen some really impressive stuff from really impressive people. Buck had even been on the Dew Tour for a couple of seasons; hell, he had done some pretty impressive stuff himself. It never impacted him like this, though. It wasn’t even anything, really, not even by Tommy’s standards, the man was a rescue helicopter pilot for chrissakes.
Still, when Buck saw him throw that perfect, laid-back double back off the ridge, and land pillowy soft on the snow below, something weird happened in his gut. Maybe it was the fact that Tommy was in his early forties and could still do it, a bum knee and multiple concussions behind his belt yet he was confident as ever. Buck liked confidence.
Buck heard him from afar, yipping and yelling cheerfully into the bright blue sky as he slashed perfect turn after perfect turn in the pristine untouched snow of the bowl. He understood the feeling.
Maybe that was it, he understood it. The rush, the unicity between skier and slope, the feeling of floating on still waters while going at inhuman speeds down a steep incline. Maybe it was because him and Tommy were both part of a very exclusive community of people crazy enough to do this sport, which was already extreme, at this level of extremeness. So the warm feeling Buck felt in his gut was… what, admiration? Understanding? Acceptance? At this point he was still too confused to tell.
The competitive little shit in him needed to surpass, or at least match Tommy and so he sent after him, turned switch, and threw a rodeo 5 effortlessly… and almost went tits up on the landing, smashing hard into the backseat. Split-second reflexes kicked in and he regained his balance just in time to not tomahawk the rest of the run down to the tree line. Once Buck regained control, he criss-crossed Tommy’s line, yipping all the way down too. Adrenaline, what a drug.
When he reached Tommy, the smile on his face was about a thousand miles wide. Tommy’s smile matched, his eyes squeezing shut in the sunlight as he took off his goggles.
“Wow, that was–” Tommy began to say before Buck interrupted him out of breath.
“Terrible, I almost ate shit on the landing hahaha but you!! You threw that double-back like it was nothing!!” Buck pushed his goggles, and effectively his entire helmet up his forehead like that would help him breathe better, squinting too in the bright noonday sun.
“Yeeeah still got it.” Tommy smiled, bashful. “Still, switch rodeo 5? In the wild? Pretty gutsy.” There was something in the corner of Tommy’s smirk, the glint of his white teeth. Buck’s stomach twisted again.
“Phew! Yeah. My sister says I-I was born without the fear part of the brain, uh. Says she has enough for the both of us.” Buck said, still panting, in an effort to break the building tension inside of him.
“I think your sister is right.” Tommy said coyly.
In that moment, Buck was transported back to the night before, his conversation with Maddie in the kitchen at her and Chim’s house.
“I mean, you say he makes you nervous. He’s nice to you even when you suffer from chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome, which apparently gets worse when you’re around him, and you’ve volunteered for every assignment with him this week.” Maddie enumerates. “And now, he’s inviting you to backcountry ski together on your day off because he’s–” She’s making air quotes now, “ –rusty? I think Tommy’s trying to ask you on a date.”
Buck guffaws, surely she’s joking. Tommy’s straight, right? Hen talked about a past girlfriend so for sure he was straight… right?
Plus, Buck was straight so this… this didn’t make any sense, it must be something else making him feel this way.
But Maddie has this look on her face, and she’s rarely wrong.
Buck gulped. “Yeah, she-she is most times.” Tommy was looking straight into his eyes, the pale blue of his irises making him look so very soft, almost boyish. A stark contrast from the squarely shaped brick building of a man that he was, from Buck’s first impression that Tommy was all hard corners and sharp edges.
“There’s a spot past the tree line. It’s not too far, there’s an old hiker’s refuge in a clearing complete with benches and a firepit. I thought we could do lunch there?” Tommy said.
Buck took a second too long to answer, still transfixed by the shade of Tommy’s eyes. What was that about? “Uh, yeah. Sounds great.”
—
Buck was hot. Tommy hadn’t mentioned that the lodge was up a trail on the other side of the bowl, so they had to skin up once they’d crossed at the trail intersection. Thing is, it was a bright sunny day and it was like 50 degrees outside. He knew he’d regret his wet shirt in a minute as they’d sit down to eat, so Buck had brought a spare. He didn’t miss Tommy sneaking a peek as he pulled the wet shirt off of himself and changed into the dry one.
He wasn’t the only one. Buck hadn’t missed the way Tommy’s quick-dry shirt clung to his frame like a second layer of skin, highlighting the mass of muscle that roiled within. Buck wondered if his hand was big enough to cover Tommy’s entire pectoral.
It made his throat go dry, suddenly parched despite the snow everywhere. He turned away under the pretense of digging through his pack for lunch, just to give his brain something to do. The sunlight caught flecks of ice clinging to the nearby branches, making everything look almost too beautiful, like a scene out of a dream. It wasn’t helping.
He glanced up again after fishing out the sandwiches, and there was Tommy, sitting casually on the wooden bench, one leg bent and foot propped up on the side, sipping from a thermos. Tommy smiled when they caught each other’s gaze and Buck’s stomach flipped in that same weird way it had earlier, back when Tommy landed that double back and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.
He laughed a little, under his breath, trying to shake it. What the hell was happening to him? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been around objectively attractive men before. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the difference between admiration and… whatever this was. But nothing had ever felt like this. This low hum in his chest. This involuntary pull, like gravity had shifted and Tommy was the new center of it.
Tommy reached out to grab one of the sandwiches Buck was handing him. His fingers brushed Buck’s for just a moment. Buck inhaled sharply, eyes flicking up to meet Tommy’s. The silence between them was warm, albeit a little awkward.
“Thanks.” Tommy said softly, his voice low, steady. Steadier than Buck’s that was for sure.
“Yeah.” Buck said, but his voice came out rougher than he meant, like it had scraped against the inside of his throat.
They were… close. Close enough that their knees brushed when Buck shifted his weight. Close enough to see the faint crinkle lines around Tommy’s eyes from years of squinting into the sun. Close enough to smell that familiar mix of sunscreen and snow and cedarwood that Buck was quickly starting to associate with him.
They ate their sandwiches and drank sweet hot coffee from one of the thermos Tommy had packed and just talked. They talked about skiing, mostly, but about other things too; about Tommy’s other job as a pilot, about Buck’s brief stint in the spotlight, about the crushing leg injury that pulled Buck away from his X Games dream. They didn’t dwell too much on that one.
Soon, the sandwiches were gone, replaced by two cans of beer and more casual banter. When Tommy laughed, he did it with his entire face, nose scrunched up. Buck wanted him to make that face again and again.
The move was slow, but to Buck it felt sudden when their knees bumped on the bench, the toe of their ski boots touching. They were both leaning on their elbows, crouched forward but ever so slowly inching towards one another until their faces were only inches apart. In the warmth of the midday winter sun, their breaths barely puffed as they started to mingle. Words became low and almost nonsensical in the suggestions, veiled attempts at testing the waters, for what Buck was still too bewildered and caught in the moment to understand.
Tommy leaned forward first, bumping noses gently, asking for permission before diving in fully. Even if Buck knew the steps of this dance, it still took him by surprise when Tommy’s warm lips pressed against his own. Like muscle memory, Buck parted instantly when he felt Tommy’s tongue at the seam of his teeth. Before long, a firm hand held his face as Buck responded enthusiastically to Tommy’s advances, but the kiss was soft, unhurried. When they parted, they still shared that space between their faces, breaths materialising in the cold-ish air.
“Woah…” Buck said on an exhale, eyes completely glazed over, a furious blush high on the bridge of his freckled nose.
Tommy chuckled. “So, that was okay?”
“More than.” Buck’s mouth still hung open, mind not fully connecting the dots just yet. “So you’re… uh, you’re gay.”
Foot-in-mouth. Terminal.
Tommy tensed up a little, almost imperceptibly. “... Yeah, I mean, I thought–”
“No, yeah! Uh– I mean–” Well, it went from hot to awkward real fast. Trust Evan Buckley to Buck it up as usual.
Tommy’s confident facade started slipping. Panic started to grow in his eyes. “It wasn’t my intention, uh, I didn’t have, like, ulterior motives today, I just–”
“No and it’s totally fine, it’s just–” Buck saw Tommy pulling away, and though he had trouble computing what had just happened, he knew he didn’t want this outcome.
“And we got to talking, and you got real close– not-not that I’m putting that on you or anything–”
“Wh-what I’m trying to say is that–” Come back, kiss me again. Oh shit.
“Oh god, did I totally misread that? Oh fuck, Evan I’m so sorry–”
If Buck sucked at talking, there was at least one thing he was good at doing with his mouth. Taken by a spur of courage that came out of nowhere, Buck lunged forward, taking Tommy’s face in his hands, and kissed him. It was much hungrier than the one they’d just shared, so sudden Tommy even let out a little oomph as Buck’s face connected with his.
This kiss had more of everything, really. More tongue, more teeth. It was messy, and hard, and so, so good it made Buck’s head spin. Buck pulled away suddenly, still holding onto Tommy’s face, resting forehead against forehead.
“I-I don’t know what this means.” Buck said. He sounded raw, like he had gravel poured down his throat.
“Oookay?” Tommy’s wheels were too shook to spin, sporting instead a bewildered look as he tried to assess the vibe of the moment.
“I’m straight– well, I’m an ally– I mean, shit. I don’t know–” Something fell in Tommy’s expression, a familiar pain on his face. Bring him back, idiot. “I liked it, a-and I think I like you. And it only got clear to me like, seconds ago so–”
“It’s okay, Evan.” Tommy softened. “I swear I didn’t mean to–”
“Take me out on a semi-romantic backcountry hike and then kiss me?” Smooth Buck was making a small comeback. The tension needed a little break. At least it made Tommy smile.
“You got a point.” Tommy sombered then. “Plus, this is wrong, we work together.”
Buck burst out laughing at that. “That’s your argument?”
Tommy looked confused.
“It’s the ski patrol, half the team is dating each other. And they met while patrolling.” Buck explained.
“I’m kind of your boss, though.” Tommy said.
“So what? Bobby is literally married to the mountain’s GM. Like, she signs his paychecks.”
“You just told me you were straight.”
“And that I liked you. And to be fair, I am sort of having a revelation moment right now, so much stuff is starting to make sense I-I just have to let it!”
A silence.
“Sssso are you like, trying to convince me to date you?” Tommy said playfully.
Buck cracked a smile, the blinding kind. “I guess I am.”
Tommy smiled back, blue eyes shining in the sun. Fuck almighty he was gorgeous. How had Buck missed that?
“So, uh– I’m guessing we should take this slow. Y’know, since you’re figuring yourself out and all that.” Tommy said, fingers absently tracing the zipper on the side of Buck’s thigh.
“Y-yeah, uh, right. Slow. I’m guessing you, uh, might not want to start the rumour mill on your first few weeks either so uh, discretion?” Buck placed a lazy hand on Tommy’s knee, mirroring the slow languid touch of his fingers.
“I mean, I’m out, and I bet there are rumours about me already but uh, yeah, I think I’d like to get to know you on my own terms first. Before we tell our teammates.” Tommy plucked at a stray curl hanging from Buck’s forehead, tucking it in and massaging his hand through Buck’s hair in the process. If Buck shivered a little, it was probably just the cold, Tommy told himself.
“Yeah, especially since you’re sort of my new boss.” Buck’s hand was on Tommy’s chest now, splayed wide on one pec. The heat emanating from Tommy’s body was insane, like nothing he’d ever experienced with another person.
“I thought everybody dated each other in the ski patrol.” Tommy said with a smirk, tightening the hand in Buck’s hair and pulling just barely.
Buck bared his teeth in a wide shit-eating grin. “It is kinda hot though.”
—
“This is– aah– still considered as slow, right?”
“What? Sure, yeah. C’mere–” Buck pulled the suspenders of Tommy’s Helly Hansen bib, crashing his mouth against his as they stumbled into the ratty old refuge. “We’re just– uh– making out. H-high school stuff.”
Tommy had him pinned against one of the walls, tongue and teeth mapping the space right under Buck’s jaw.
“We should probably be making our way back– nngh– soon.” Tommy sounded out of breath, the opposite of composed, bitting out little fucks and aahs whenever Buck nipped at a spot on his neck or ground against him. Buck was obsessed.
“In a minute.” Buck twisted them off the wall, and still by the suspenders of his bib pants, pulled Tommy to one of the bunk beds.
