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Jul 10

TIMING: July 7, 2026, morning. LOCATION: Wicked's Rest Fire Department (East Station) PARTIES: @bazzledazzle & @kellydays SUMMARY: Baz visits the station to return Kelly's beloved sock; as a reward, Kelly gives Baz the (fire)house tour! WARNINGS: Spice (mild)

The firefighter was very handsome, wasn’t he? Baz had thought so even in the first video the department (which they followed on social media for obvious reasons) had posted, with the ridiculous outfit. Then came the one where said firefighter had evidently injured himself doing something brave and heroic (and, wait a moment, hadn’t Baz seen him when they’d dropped the tardigrade off with Colt’s friend? They’d been rather focused on the concept of tacos at the time, but they thought they recalled something of the sort), when he’d managed to look both miserable and handsome in a way that was a bit impressive. And then, of course, had come the real kicker: the birthday party.

Invitations for Baz’s birthday party had not been hard to come by. They’d plastered word of the event all over town, gleefully extending the invitation to anyone they’d ever had the pleasure of speaking to. Exclusive parties were all well and good, but Baz preferred a crowd. What good was fun if you limited the amount of people allowed to be involved in it? Some might disagree, of course — some might say a party having a more limited guest list made it more impressive to be invited — but Baz thought those people were idiots. Parties ought to include everyone. How else were you meant to be properly celebrated?

They hadn’t anticipated the arrival of the fire department. In fact, when the truck had first pulled up Baz had assumed — reasonably, they might add — that the people stepping off of it were hired strippers. It was only when they’d recognized the pair of firefighters that they’d realized the truth of things, though they’d been excited enough at that arrival as well. Giselle had been lovely when they’d run into her at the Mush Room, and the handsomely injured firefighter was exactly the sort of person Baz liked to have around. Even better when Giselle — angel that she was — had announced that her partner could take the night off to join the festivities, prompting him to remove his shirt.

Things, of course, got a bit fuzzy after that. There had been drinks and dancing and more drinks, and Baz had woken up the next morning tangled in their own sheets with the previous night’s excitement still coursing through them. They’d sorted through the items left behind, returning the ones they felt compelled to return and making use of the ones they didn’t. But, until recently, they’d seen neither hide nor hair of the handsome firefighter’s beloved sock. It wasn’t until they’d finally decided to take a go at doing the laundry (a chore they were usually excused from, thanks to the time they’d filled the washer with the wrong sort of soap and been far too pleased with the resulting explosion of bubbles to be trusted not to make the same mistake a second time) that they’d come across a sock just unfamiliar enough to fit the bill. It certainly looked official enough, as far as socks went.

Naturally, Baz knew they had to return it. And, as they didn’t know the firefighter’s home address, they’d have to venture into the firehouse to do so. They dressed accordingly — a bright red button down with only the bottom three buttons done up, their bare chest exposed beneath it, and high-waisted white jeans so tight they’d have made it difficult to walk if Baz didn’t have experience with such things — and headed to the same station where they’d sent the firefighters’ party favors after the party. They sauntered in through the open garage door, taking in the concrete floors and the high ceilings. A decent space, they thought. Could use a bit more decorating, but the firefighters were probably busy with their boots and their jackets. “Hellooooo!” the doppelganger called out, cupping a hand to their mouth and delighting in the way their voice bounced off the walls. “I’m looking for a handsome firefighter! A specific one, though I’ll be happy to talk to multiple to find him.”

—

Kelly owed Giselle a massive favor—and she wasn’t fae, so Kelly hadn’t been shy about telling her so. Somehow, someway, the only evidence that Kelly had attended—much less taken his shirt off at—Baz’s birthday party was some… admittedly damning eyewitness testimony. Turns out, it was hard to deny your actions when your face had been shared across the town. Not that Kelly was all that interested in denying, at least not outright. Now, hiding it from the crew for as long as possible? That, he’d do. It was easy enough, since none of them were all that active on the town’s forums. So long as Baz and Sawyer (…and Jade) kept their chatter there, Kelly was in the clear.

It wasn’t like Kelly was embarrassed, even. For one, he had nothing to be ashamed of, either in his actions or in his assets. For another, he’d taken his shirt off professionally. Baz didn’t know it, but they’d gotten a sneak preview of next year’s Mister March (‘cause the crew was a collective dog with a collective bone, and nothing had stuck quite like Saint Patrick’s Day in their minds—not even his recent injuries). Wasn’t like Kelly was worried about losing his job, neither. Giselle had taken care of that. Lingering questions about how she’d accomplished that aside, Kelly’d gotten away with murder. The one wrinkle in his total getaway had been the painting—but, luckily, there’d been two. Easy enough to pass it off as a gift from a victim, with only token snickering from folks on the other shift. (And if the members of his shift didn’t remember Baz from a call, well, being firefighters, faces didn’t always stick.) All in all, Kelly’d marked it down as a success. He hadn’t had a ton of those, lately, so he’d take ‘em where he could get ‘em.

…Which is why Kelly should’ve expected Baz to show up at the station on an otherwise q-word shift, and weeks later at that. Kelly saw ‘em come in from where he’d been leaning against the railing of the loft, surveying the station. Kelly saw, too, one of the probies perk up once he heard “handsome firefighter” and leap to his feet, faster than Kelly’d seen him move in any real emergency. (The hell was that one’s name, again? Whatever.) The probie slid down the pole (nearly fell off the damn thing), tripped and stumbled (far too eager), and leaned against an engine to speak with Baz. By the time Kelly made it down the stairs and over to the pair, he only caught the end of what the “young buck” was saying. “Ah, I could give you the station tour” was a bad enough line that Kelly felt obligated to grab the moron by his collar. (Functionally scruffing him—though, since Flip was better behaved and, importantly, a child, Kelly’d never had to grab the kid by his scruff, even at his most wolf.)

“Probationary Firefighter…” Kelly started. “Believe my friend here was lookin’ for the real deal. How ‘bout I help ‘em out, and you… Well, if you got time to run your mouth, you got time to grab a rag and polish somethin’, right? Get to it.” He let go of the younger man, who turned, rearing up to run his mouth some more. But whatever he saw on Kelly’s face had him scrambling away, tail between his legs. Kelly’d apologize later. (Maybe. Assuming the dumbass could follow directions better than he could flirt.) Kelly waited until the probie was out of earshot before turning to Baz, flashing ‘em a warm smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. Would’ve moseyed over a little faster, but you looked like you had it pretty well in hand.” Kelly leaned up against the engine, a big laugh breaking past his lips. “Handsome firefighter, really? You know how to make an entrance, huh?” Rumor mill would get a kick out of this, he was certain. “What brings you by, Baz? Get all impatient? Just couldn’t wait for me to drop on by for lunch?”

—

The firefighter who slid down the pole — wasn’t that so wonderfully cliche? A pole! That firefighters slid down! Baz was delighted at the sight. — wasn’t the same one that had graced the doppelganger’s birthday party, but he was handsome enough to catch Baz’s eye, anyway. (In all fairness, most people were attractive enough to catch Baz’s eye. They’d never bought into the idea that conventionally attractive people were the only ones capable of looking good; to Baz, there was something in every face that was worth looking at, some feature that drew their eye and their interest.) He seemed eager to impress, too, which Baz always enjoyed. They grinned as he sauntered up to them, his charm clearly turned on and up to eleven.

He wore a cute metal badge with his name on it; immediately, Baz wanted one of their own. They didn’t have name badges at the museum, which was something of a shame, really. Baz’s name would have looked lovely carved into metal like this. Maybe they’d become a firefighter! They’d seen jackets with their names on them, too, which made it twice as appealing. And did the helmets also have something like that? They mulled over a career change while flirting unashamedly with the handsome firefighter (Tony Montana, he’d introduced himself as, which Baz thought was a lovely name), pausing only when someone else joined the fray. A familiar someone.

Baz grinned as their handsome firefighter shooed the other one away, delighted by the notion that he must have been jealous someone else was talking to them. They’d have to let him down easy, when all of this was over. Romantically, they had nothing to offer him, but they could console him with a quick shag. He’d certainly enjoy that — they’d make certain of it!

“Oh, no need to apologize,” they assured the firefighter as he turned back to them, offering a wave to Tony, who glanced back at them longingly during his retreat. Who could blame him? “He’s a lovely lad, that Firefighter Montana.” They returned their full attention to the firefighter in front of them, still grinning. “Right! Sorry about that, I didn’t quite catch your name the other night. You might have said it but, well… I was a bit distracted, wasn’t I?” They let their gaze drop down to his chest with a dreamy sigh. “I am known for my impatience, but I’ve a reason for being here today!” They initiated a drumroll against their thigh with their right hand, using their left to dig in their pocket and retrieve… “Your sock! I know you were missing it, so I thought I should hurry it on by. And, well, I don’t actually know where you live, so…” They trailed off, gesturing broadly with the sock.

—

That was the name. “Probationary Firefighter Montana,” Kelly corrected, again, ‘cause it was worth repeating—especially around someone like Baz, who Kelly figured wouldn’t know the ins and outs of the profession. “Which means he ain’t quite stuck a year out.” Just to screw with Montana, Kelly raised his voice, speaking from his gut. “His odds of graduatin’ shrink for every extra second he hides out just watchin’, might I add.” Montana was lucky he wasn’t a hunter with how obvious he was being. He’d tried—“tried”—hiding behind a supply rack to listen in on the conversation. Not that it was much to listen to, not yet. The station’s old gossip hounds were insatiable, even the pups.

“Not sure I gave it. Or if I did, I was… three sheets to the wind and might’ve been lyin’.” Kelly smiled again, more practiced. “Name’s Firefighter Brooks, proud member of the Wicked’s Rest Fire Department, East Station… but you can call me Kelly.” The glance at his chest was conspicuous, a little too conspicuous for Kelly’s taste, least here in mixed company, but he’d let it slide. Just… ‘cause the sigh that broke past Baz’s lips did wonders for Kelly’s ego, and that’d been bruised up pretty bad, here lately. Kelly hadn’t yet fished out what persuasion of compliment Baz liked, whether handsome or gorgeous was the better name for ‘em, but he’d find that out sooner or later. Not on a shift, mind, but there was nothing stopping Kelly from pursuing that avenue after or before work, now was there?

“You didn’t know my name until ten seconds ago. Why would you know where I live?” Kelly asked, not unkindly. “Though… Your friend Sawyer does. Little shocked she hasn’t tried to sneak you into my pool, actually.” Speaking of the pool, though, Kelly had left a sock at Baz’s party. It wasn’t his sock, technically, just a uniform sock. If he remembered right, he’d told Baz not to worry after it. But worried they had, apparently. Kelly squinted at the article of clothing, taking the sock gently from Baz’s hands and inspecting it. It… was a sock. Might’ve been his missing one. Might’ve been Baz’s housemate’s sock. Socks lost in the dryer went somewhere. This one, apparently, made its way into the hands of an eager Baz, then over, now, into Kelly’s. Its true owner? Forgotten. Irrelevant. ‘Cause there was no way in hell Kelly was going to check. (Hell of a gesture for a stranger.)

Kelly pushed off the truck, clapped Baz on their shoulder with a firm hand, and gave said shoulder a soft squeeze. ‘Cause he’d been raised right and ‘cause he’d been raised by wardens, (even if there was no telling if Baz was anything supernatural at all), Kelly offered, “How ‘bout I give you a tour of the station, hm?” Kelly would do a much better job than Montana, ‘course.

—

“Oh, I’m sure I could help him get off probation,” Baz hummed, looking off to where Probationary Firefighter Montana lurked to listen in on the conversation. “Or, at the very least, I could help him get off something.” They’d come here with a specific firefighter in mind, but Baz was hardly picky. They were happy with any handsome firefighter paying attention to them. Preferably multiple at once, of course. They sighed as, upon hearing the thinly veiled threat to his career, Montana scampered off fully towards the lockers. What he hoped to do over there, Baz wasn’t certain, but his cheekbones would be sorely missed.

They turned their attention fully back to the firefighter in front of them — Firefighter Brooks. Or Kelly. Both names suited him well enough, though Baz thought they might be more partial to the title. (They’d love a title of their own, but the museum didn’t offer that, either. Maybe it was time to look into finding a new job, one that came with shiny name badges and official titles.) “You do look very proud,” they said, tilting their head with a faint smirk.

They weren’t sure what knowing a person’s name had to do with knowing where they lived. Baz went home with plenty of people whose names they didn’t know, though they did tend to make it a point to learn those names before leaving them behind (even if they tended to forget them shortly after). Names were important, the sort of things that had meaning. Baz liked knowing them. “Sawyer did mention that she’d been by. She’d invite me along if I asked her to.” Something in their throat burned in quiet warning, because they didn’t know if that statement was true or not. Sawyer was fond of them, but Baz never quite knew how far a person’s fondness went. Did someone liking you meant they’d invite you along with them when they went to handsome firefighters’ pools, or was there a secondary level that needed to be reached before such a thing could be expected? Baz preferred not to think of it. Much more fun to think instead of Kelly’s hand brushing against theirs as he plucked the sock from their grip, the warmth of skin on skin sending an exciting spark through them.

That warmth spread as Kelly’s hand landed on their shoulder, clasping them with a grip both strong and gentle. This was what Baz had really been after, of course; not returning a sock, which they cared nothing about, but the bits that came after. The human contact, the gratefulness, the house tour. A grin split the doppelganger’s borrowed face, eyes lighting up at the offer. “Oh, I’d love a tour. You know, the firehouses on the telly have rooms full of beds. That’d be a nice place to start, wouldn’t it?” No one had ever said Baz wasn’t forward.

—

Baz gave Montana one last look, and Kelly did his level best to hide his distaste. Not for Montana himself, necessarily. Hell, given Kelly had forgotten the probie’s name, he couldn’t damn well pretend to have an opinion. (Not even that was a real mark against Montana. Probies were a dime a dozen, especially in this town. Kelly figured it was best to wait until they’d gone official to get attached.) No, it was more… Kelly thought Baz could do better than to hang around firefighters. Baz was an artist. They could find more interesting folks for friends (or lovers, if their outfit was anything to go by) than some soot-covered, smoke-smelling weirdos. Kelly wasn’t self-conscious about it; it just seemed obvious to him. Art was about creation, not destruction. When it came down to it, Kelly’s job was about the latter—trying to hold it back, cleaning up after it’d carved a path.

Though, it wasn’t like Kelly wasn’t proud. And if there was an implication in Baz’s voice, Kelly didn’t catch it, too focused on the task at-hand.

“We’ll see,” Kelly said. Though, if Baz knew about Sawyer’s furrier form, there wasn’t much he could do to stop Baz from getting in with her. Even if Kelly drained the pool, that woman had seemed stubborn enough to fill it back up from Kelly’s own hose. (And there was a water crisis, so that’d be a real waste.) Before Flip, Kelly hadn’t been shy about inviting folks back to his place. Now, admittedly, his “place” was the Chevy, maybe a motel room once in a blue moon. So, even back in those days, it had been much more convenient to see if someone was willing to let him come around theirs. Dangerous, in a way. Even if Kelly couldn’t sense someone was a threat, didn’t mean they couldn’t be one. Thrilling, in another. After he’d left his folks’ place, Kelly hadn’t had a home to speak of. Sneaking peaks at others’ lives, even brief ones while Kelly was tangled up with ‘em in the dark, was a voyeuristic glimpse into something he’d never really expected he’d get.

“There are nicer places to take a nap, if that’s what you’re anglin’ for. But sure, we can start back there.” Kelly knew exactly what Baz was angling for. Unlike Kieran’s initial attempt, Baz’d made their interest immediately obvious, and, being honest? That was a point in Baz’s favor. Kelly could do with more of that, less innuendo or talking around it. The former could be fun, the latter could be a dance, but there was something to be said for just a forthright offer, an easy acceptance. (Were still plenty of ways to be a tease. Hell, he hadn’t been intending it as such, but Kelly figured the wait for him to just take his dang shirt off had been a little enticing. Else, why the hell had Baz kept asking?) Though if Kelly’d wanted an opportunity to get away with fooling around in the station, while he was injured would’ve been the better pick. (Firing an injured firefighter was a bad look.) Even then, Kelly wouldn’t’ve. Not even a chance, no sir.

Now, he would splay a hand on Baz’s back, given they hadn’t shrugged off the same to their shoulder. Kelly could nudge ‘em along, guide ‘em back to the bunk room. It could be interpreted as plain friendliness, get the crew off his back. But Kelly brushed his thumb, featherlight, across the fabric of Baz’s shirt, as he did. When he’d corralled Baz back to the room itself, Kelly took his hand away. The bunk room wasn’t much—bunk beds, like it was summer camp. Stacks of sheets in a cupboard. Thin mattresses. Even if Kelly was inclined to break several of his own rules (and more than a few of the department’s), it wasn’t the best place for a roll in the hay. (And Kelly’d rolled around in actual hay, so his standards for accommodations were literal dirt.)

Kelly’s bunk was in the corner—bottom ‘cause there wasn’t much headroom up at the top. He took a seat at the end—hugging the wall, eyes on the exit—and nodded towards the other end of the bed, hoping Baz got the hint. “Here it is.” Christ, Kelly… was going to give Baz an actual lecture, huh? “East Station’s the older of the two stations in town. Bunk room was made for smaller crews, so it used to be you could fit single beds. Nowadays, staffing that small a crew on a shift would have us all leanin’ on West Station for support. It’d be more like a skeleton crew. And just like the dead, we don’t take kindly to the sun, so no windows. We work for twenty-four hours straight, and emergencies might not take a nap, but we try to. Hell, I’ve managed to squeak out a full eight hours before, when the town cooperates.”

“So, as interestin’ as your shows or just plain borin’?” Kelly asked with a lazy grin.

—

We’ll see wasn’t the same as no, which Baz took to mean some interest existed there. There was a thin line to walk atop we’ll see, a dance to be had. No was a nonstarter. Trying to turn a no into a yes had never sat well with the doppelganger, who found choice to be an important thing after an upbringing of having very little of it. They weren’t in the business of trying to convince someone who’d already turned them down point blank, weren’t willing to risk losing someone’s interest and attention entirely by attempting to whittle it into the shape they most wanted it to take. If someone said no to sex, Baz tended to shift into something more interested in casual conversation instead, in friendship or quality time spent doing other things. Anything to avoid the lonely feeling that came when they were the only person in a room, really; they’d rather have parts of someone than have no one at all.

But we’ll see was different. We’ll see was convince me. We’ll see was show me how much you want it. We’ll see was an opener, not a closer. Baz was happy to work with we’ll see. Kelly would see. And if experience was anything to go by, he’d like what he saw. Maybe even enough to prompt him to ask to see it again.

“Oh, I’m sure the pair of us could find a way to make it more comfortable,” they hummed, grinning devilishly at Kelly’s statement. They both knew, Baz suspected, that the doppelganger wasn’t angling for a place to nap here. If Kelly’s preferred method of flirting involved beating around bushes, Baz would happily beat him off. Or… something along those lines. The metaphor had gotten away from them, just a bit.

It was hard for that not to happen, really, with the warmth of Kelly’s hand against their back. Instinctively, they leaned back into the touch, even as they let Kelly steer them forward. They caught no sign of Montana, who must have been so humbled by Kelly’s intervention that he’d slipped off somewhere to lick his wounds. (Hopefully not to the bunk room. Though if he was there, Baz could be talked into a group activity.)

The bunk room wasn’t particularly impressive but, then, Baz cared very little for the actual content of it. They had no real interest in bunks or firefighting; their interest was only in firefighters. Specifically the one in front of them now, though they’d just as happily go off to find another if he determined he wasn’t interested. Kelly took a seat on one of the bunks and indicated to the mattress beside him. Rather than take a seat on the mattress, Baz sprawled themself across the firefighter’s lap, making half an attempt to pretend to have wound up there accidentally. “Is sleeping the only thing you do in here?” they questioned, shifting their weight a little. “Lots of long nights, I’m sure. You must have other ways of passing the time.”

They hummed at the question. “Well, not very interesting on its own, but the ones on the shows aren’t, either. It’s what happens in the bunks that makes them interesting, isn’t it?”

—

Baz had not gotten the hint. In the short time it took Kelly to list off a few key facts about the bunk room, his younger… acquaintance had fallen into Kelly’s lap. For a second, before Kelly realized the ploy, his grin had flickered into a frown. Had Baz knocked their head, somehow? That concern was misplaced, turned out. If their eyes were dilated, it wasn’t a sign of a concussion, but of being a bit too pleased with their efforts. Jeez, Baz was lucky that Kelly was fully recovered, that his ribs had finally healed properly. Even if you were used to pain, like Kelly was, it was only natural to try and get away from the source of it. It was why so many idiots pulled knives out of their stab wounds. If they’d jostled him, Baz might’ve ended up on the floor or worse. But the only indication that they’d landed on Kelly was a soft grunt as Kelly took on the weight of another body. Otherwise, he held firm, unmoving—hell, given their position, Kelly made a pretty good chair.

‘Course, that wouldn’t be the end of it. Baz couldn’t be content that Kelly was letting ‘em stay, no. Kelly felt Baz shift, unmistakable as anything but a tease, and— Nope. Baz wasn’t going to do that, not right here in the bunk room. If they wanted to sit on Kelly’s lap, they were going to sit still. Just… needed a little maneuvering. (Helpful, since Kelly wasn’t sure where to put his hands.) The ranger grabbed the other by their waist and hoisted ‘em up, before shifting himself around on the bed, to a position a little less incriminating (and a position a little less likely to induce any kind of reaction in Kelly). When he was satisfied, he sat Baz back down on the meat of his thigh. Baz perched there—they weren’t that much smaller than Kelly, but Kelly had a height advantage and a bulk advantage. Still a bit familiar, if someone managed to walk in without Kelly noticing, but not outright scandalous.

Kelly put a hand square in the middle of Baz’s back, trying to contain ‘em. If they were happy to throw themselves over for “prime seating,” Kelly wouldn’t put it past ‘em to fall back and pout. On the edge of the bed, if Kelly’s reflexes failed ‘em, Baz’s only action today would be a spinal check. And an actual medical emergency was the second-to-last thing Kelly wanted to deal with in the bunk room. (Untimely arousal was beating it off—out. It was beating it out.) “Sleepin’ is the only thing we do in here,” he said, voice low, though he had enough self-awareness to know that might only encourage Baz. Well, when in Rome… “If you don’t like that answer, tough. Be good, alright? Tour ain’t over quite yet. Don’t be a brat.”

(There was, Kelly was surprised to find, a part of him that wanted to throw caution to the wind. Not like anyone could sneak up on ‘em. Kelly’d hear ‘em coming, be able to do up Baz’s tight pants before the lights came on, before someone could see what was happening in the far corner. And, while Kelly liked to stretch things out, he knew how to be efficient. Wouldn’t take much time at all to work Baz up, just a taste. Maybe it’d be enough to calm ‘em down, calm ‘em both down, and take the edge off. If Baz had paid their visit a little sooner, if Kelly was still as pent-up as he’d been the night of Baz’s party… Well, who knows what might’ve happened.)

Kelly placed his other hand on Baz’s knee. What had he been talking about? Oh, right. Bunks and how boring they were. “Hate to burst your bubble, bud.” It was a line in the sand and a line cast into the water. Or, to put it in terms Kelly suspected Baz might find a touch clearer: it was yellow, not red. “If all you know about this job is from television, you’re gonna keep bein’ disappointed. No makin’ out in the showers,” Kelly’s hands moved just a hair—up from Baz’s knee, down the plane of Baz’s back, “no foolin’ around in the bunks, no stealin’ the engine to fuck on a roof. Hell, I even freed a guy in handcuffs, and I didn’t get no reward.” His hands paused. “You can’t just believe everythin’ you hear.”

—

Either firefighting gear included a gun in the pocket, or Kelly was pleased to see them. Baz was inclined to believe the latter, but this was the United States. They couldn’t be certain that shooting the fire wasn’t a method of suppressing it. They’d need to do a bit more digging, wouldn’t they? A little more investigation, just to be completely certain. They started to shift again, preparing to grind themself against the firefighter’s lap just to make sure he wasn’t armed and dangerous, but a hand round the waist stopped them and — oooh, Kelly did have large hands, didn’t he? Baz could feel the calloused skin through the thin fabric of their shirt, could imagine how it would feel if he laid it on them bare. Then Kelly lifted them — just a little — and it was a bit hard to think of anything beyond the subtle strength it took to effortlessly maneuver a person like that. The doppelganger’s head was spinning a bit, mapping out possibilities for this little outing that they hadn’t quite considered before. Kelly had been in a sling the last time they’d seen him, after all! They’d been intent on respecting his healing journey! But if that healing journey was finished, well…

“Seems like a bit of a waste,” they hummed, leaning against Kelly in a way that was lazily disguised as a stretch. “So many beds just for sleeping. I think you could have a lot more fun than that, if you set your mind to it.” When Kelly spoke next, though, his voice was low and close, sending a quiet rumble through Baz’s eardrums that went straight to their… well. No need to be crass, was there? “What do I get if I’m good?” they asked, looking at Kelly through their lashes. “What sort of prize do firefighters hand out for good behavior? Could I sit behind the wheel of the truck? Or…” They trailed off, eyes moving downward in a way that was slow and deliberate. “Would you let me handle the hose?”

His hand was on their knee now, and Baz wondered how they could convince Kelly to move it a bit higher. He was certainly interested. If he weren’t, he’d have already shown them the door. Perhaps he was too professional to have a go at things here in the bunk room, but maybe there was someplace else Baz could convince him to let loose. They did like the idea of doing this inside the firehouse — it was all about the experience, wasn’t it? — but that wasn’t necessarily a dealbreaker. They’d be happy to… get a tour from Kelly elsewhere, too. Mostly, they were just looking to be allowed to… come inside, as it was.

“Where do you do your making out, then? Not the showers, not the bunk rooms… I hope you have some sort of outlet, Firefighter Brooks. I’d hate to think of you all pent up like that. Public servants deserve better treatment. I’m happy enough to do my part.” The hand moved up from their knee, though still not quite as high as they might have liked it to be. “Well, if you freed me from handcuffs, I’d certainly reward you,” they hummed, leaning into Kelly’s touch a bit more. “I could give you a belated reward now, come to think of it.” They shifted their position, acting as though they needed to place their hand somewhere for support in doing so and choosing to place it beside their own legs on Kelly’s thigh. They didn’t move it once they were finished repositioning. “What should I believe, then?”

—

What do I get if I’m good? Hm. Well, Kelly supposed Baz’s question was a fair one. Least, he couldn’t blame ‘em for asking. They didn’t know Kelly, hadn’t had experience with Kelly, in bed or otherwise. Come to think of it, Kelly didn’t know much about Baz. See, some folks liked not knowing, the flicker of adrenaline that came from anticipation. Some folks, instead, were so easily motivated by a firm hand ordering their obedience that the reward (or the punishment, for that matter) wasn’t all that important. And some folks liked to push and test, to walk right on up to the edge of the line, stare authority in the face. One, some, all, or none of those possibilities might’ve been true for Baz, but Kelly wasn’t going to guess from one measly (if… compelling) data point.

Still, they’d asked, and, given there’d been no prior discussion, it was only right that Kelly answer. “If you’re good…” The firefighter waited for Baz to finish their inspection, met their eyes before allowing a considering look of his own. It was hard, this close, to disguise intent. A lingering look across the bar, that could be played off—oh, no, sorry, I was looking at someone else. If you got shy, or scared, not that Kelly ever really did, you could walk away. Here, Kelly couldn’t walk away, and not only ‘cause Baz was weighing him down. “If you’re good, really good, you let me finish the tour and at least act like a responsible citizen, I’ll do more than let you handle the hose. I’ll let you slide down the pole.” It was a mighty generous offer. Kelly hoped Baz understood, exactly, how much of a treat it was to slide down the pole. “That sound like a deal?”

Baz could think it over, get their last questions and taunts and teases out. Kelly wasn’t keen to let a perfectly good deal slip by over a technicality, especially before it’d even been agreed to. He thought, again, of Kieran, of the possibility that these deals might be a bit more binding than Kelly had meant ‘em to be. He wasn’t a fool—or, he didn’t try to be one. Never bet or bargain or make deals with what you couldn’t bear to lose. Simple as. Couple of his ironclad brothers had gone and studied words and contracts and “metaphysical linguistics” (whatever the hell that meant), but it didn’t take a fancy degree to speak plain and clear. Way he saw it, deals only got complicated when you started stacking ‘em on top of each other. More cracks there were, the more places for loopholes. His bet with Kieran had the three tiers, ‘course, but it was still simple. Kelly’d set the terms, just like he had with Baz. Kelly’d weighed ‘em out, added a caveat if he thought a reward was too broad, refined ‘em. There was leeway—Baz only had to act like a responsible citizen, Kieran could make Kelly laugh or blush or even smile from surprise more than skill—but not so much that it’d be a weight around Kelly’s neck. Hopefully.

Kelly had gotten distracted, a little in his head. He heard what Baz was saying, definitely felt ‘em trying to move a bit more, place a hand dangerously far up Kelly’s thigh. So close that, if Kelly let himself think about it, he could feel the heat of said hand. But he’d let ‘em talk and babble, focus on centering himself. There was no pressure. If Baz didn’t like the terms of the deal, if they’d only come looking for a repeat striptease in person, Kelly’d let ‘em down gently but firmly. They’d gotten right up to the edge of Kelly’s line (not without some help from Kelly, he was only a man). “Believe me, Baz,” he said, with a chuckle. It wasn’t quite what Baz’d been fishing for, but that, too, was an answer.

“And I believe we best be makin’ our way out of the bunk room. C’mon. Up and at ‘em.” And, since Kelly hadn’t said he’d be good, he punctuated the order with a tap on Baz’s thigh, high enough that Kelly wasn’t confident he hadn’t brushed against more. A taste of their own medicine.

—

I’ll let you slide down the pole. As soon as the words passed through Kelly’s lips, Baz was assigning innuendo to them. It didn’t take too much creativity to understand what sliding down the pole might mean, and their expression was one of immediate… interest at the idea. Yes, they’d very much like to slide down Kelly’s pole. Better yet, Kelly said the magic word in setting up the agreement: deal.

To a fae, the word was its own sort of euphoric temptation. Sometimes, Baz swore they could see the syllables of it hanging in the air, a piece of ribbon to twist and tie as they saw fit. There was no hesitation in their decision to pick it up now, no pause between the word leaving Kelly’s mouth and Baz nodding their head with an eager grin. They were not one to deny themself any sort of temptation; if Baz wanted something and it was within arm’s length, there was little that would prevent them from reaching out to take it. Long-term consequences were not something that factored into their decisions, and they certainly weren’t self aware enough to change that now.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Firefighter Brooks,” Baz purred, making the bind with silent glee. There was no guilt in making it; there never was, for Baz. Even if the deal had been one with potential harm, they’d have felt no shame in snatching it up. The way they saw things, if someone made a promise and wasn’t willing to keep it, whatever became of them was their own fault. Baz was not the perpetrator; they weren’t even the weapon. They were little more than a bystander watching things unfold with a shake of their head and a quiet sigh. But in this case, they doubted anything bad would come of things. This deal was beneficial to them and Kelly, in the end. He’d enjoy himself just as thoroughly as Baz would. They’d see to that.

Kelly’s hand tapped their thigh, brushing against other parts in the process, and the doppelganger danced to their feet with a grin. “Yes sir, Firefighter Brooks,” they said dutifully, clearly taking the deal to be good seriously as they moved towards the door. “Please show me the rest of your lovely firehouse. I’d love to hear more about your… tools. I’ll bet you’re very skilled at using them, hm? Had to get used to doing it one-handed, and all…”

One thing was for certain: Baz would be making the most of this tour.

—

True to their word, Baz was being a good, responsible citizen. A great one, if Kelly was being honest. A part of Kelly wanted to be suspicious, look for an ulterior motive or follow his earlier train of thought to see where it led. The competitive side of Kelly decided, instead, that he wasn’t about to make this deal easy on ‘em. See, while injured, Kelly’d given the tour more times than he could count. He’d perfected the delivery. The majority of the tours they gave were for kids. Kids, who would get distracted or bored, even in a fire station. So, Kelly had needed to build in ways to keep ‘em occupied. (Better than he would’ve done before Flip, anyway.) ‘Course, he’d had to improvise a little in the bunk room. Last thing that a gaggle of high energy kids wanted to see was a bunch of beds. But he’d done pretty well, if he said so himself. He gave an entertaining, efficient, and evergreen tour.

But Baz wasn’t getting that tour. No, Baz was getting the full tour, the full spiel, the extended cut. Longer and— Damn it. Point was, Kelly could, and would, drag out Baz’s tour (well, so long as the alarm didn’t go off). He knew the station down pat, and had done research to supplement the blurbs in the script. He hadn’t been able to rewrite the PSAs, but he’d been able to mess with the tours as much as he wanted. (Kept him off the crew’s asses, Figueroa’d said. Kelly’d… been going a little stir crazy.) If they wanted to slide down the pole, Kelly wanted ‘em to earn it. Always made him feel good to earn it. Baz might learn something new about themself.

Still, the station wasn’t endless. Kelly could only list off facts, answer the occasional question from Baz, for so long before it had to come to a close. Baz hadn’t broken, even once. No yawns, no wandering eyes, nothing. “Good job,” Kelly said, accepting his loss with more grace than he usually would. “Gold star for you. Actually…” The station kept around some plastic hats for the kids. Wouldn’t quite fit an adult, but Baz might be able to pull it off anyway. (Matched their shirt, at least.) Kelly fished around for one in a nearby closet, found it, and placed it on top of Baz’s head with a grin. “Wasn’t part of the deal, but you did so well that I figure I can give you a parting gift. I’ll, uh, send you my number, too. Sometimes, texts’ll come in faster than tryin’ to get at me online, if you have any other questions. You know, when I’m not on the clock.” (Subtle as a brick wall.)

With that taken care of, all that was left was for Baz to claim their prize. Kelly led the other up the stairs to the loft, ignoring the curious looks (and a knowing snicker or two) from the crew. They could laugh all they liked. Kelly felt good today. Shift hadn’t been going long, but he was allowed out. When he reached their destination, he gestured with a flourish. There were a couple of poles, but this was the nicest. “Not original to the station, ‘course, but it’s what we got. Go and slide on down, Baz. You earned it.”

#wickedswriting #thread #Baz #Baz: Show Pole #wrspice

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