#pspsps where's the fandom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chicgeekgirl89 · 1 year ago

Text

Fandom: 911 Lone Star Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes Rating: T Summary: In the early days of their budding relationship, Carlos and T.K. discover some of each other's more adorable characteristics. Or, five times Carlos learns adorable things about T.K. and one time T.K. learns something adorable about Carlos. A/N: So what had happened was, I wrote "Glasses and Smut and Your Naked Butt" and then I had too many cute little scenarios to fit into a 5+1 so I wrote a second one. Cheers! Read on AO3

Kitty

Carlos has never met anyone who can go from zero to sixty the way T.K. can. He barely has the Camaro in park before T.K. is leaning across the console, pulling him in for a dirty, dirty kiss full of tongue and teeth and desire. Normally Carlos would protest this kind of activity in the car, but they’re right in front of the condo, it’s late, and therefore unlikely that anyone will see them.

So he lets T.K. go on and doesn’t say a word as he somehow maneuvers himself across the console and into Carlos’ lap, which, quite honestly, is where Carlos wanted him for the entirety of dinner anyway. He’d been so enchanted with the idea of actually dating T.K. instead of just being his fuck buddy that he hadn’t quite thought through how hard it would be to keep his hands off of him in public.

“Put the seat back,” T.K. says breathlessly in between kisses.

Carlos follows his orders, both of them slowly reclining downward toward the backseat, while somehow managing never to fully detach from one another. Carlos’ breath catches as T.K. bites into his earlobe. “Do you want to take this inside?” he finally asks, when it seems like T.K. isn’t going to be content with just a heavy make out session.

T.K. pauses long enough to flash him a smirk. “No. Live a little Reyes.”

If anyone else uttered those words Carlos would push them off and call it a night. But T.K. Strand has cast some kind of spell on him, so Carlos lays back and watches greedily as T.K. sits up and starts to take off his shirt. His eyes follow the motion of T.K.’s hands as they slowly work at his buttons and then suddenly freeze. “Oh my god!” T.K. yells.

“What? What?!” Carlos asks in a panic, sitting up abruptly and almost hitting his head on the car’s roof.

“There’s a cat!”

“There’s—what?” Carlos asks in confusion, his heart still pounding away in his chest having imagined that T.K. was seeing an ax murderer or a bear or Mr. Johnson who sometimes walks around with his bathrobe open.

“There’s a cat out there!”

Before Carlos can formulate a response, T.K. has vaulted off of his lap and out of the car leaving Carlos shocked and alone. He takes a second to adjust his pants before getting up and following his boyfriend.

T.K. is kneeling on the sidewalk, hand outstretched, making little “pspsps” noises.

“T.K. what are you doing?” Carlos asks, shifting back and forth, still trying to alleviate the situation in his pants that his boyfriend started but did not finish.

“There’s a cat. Look! Come here kitty, that’s right, who’s a good kitty?”

A black cat with white markings on its chin and paws wanders over to T.K. and starts to rub up against his hand. “Oh, god, T.K. be careful, it could have fleas,” Carlos says.

“You don’t have fleas, do you? No you don’t,” T.K. says, using a voice that Carlos has never heard before. “It’s too well taken care of to be a stray. No collar though. Do you know whose it is? It must be one of your neighbors.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Carlos says. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“We can’t leave it!” T.K. says. “It must have slipped out. Someone will be looking for it. It can’t stay out here all night alone.”

“T.K.,” Carlos sighs. “What do you want me to do? It’s late. We can’t exactly go knock on doors.”

T.K. fixes him with a look as he scoops the cat up into his arms and cradles it like a baby, the cat perfectly content to let him. “Are you a police officer or not? Start police officering.”

“Pretty sure cats are more of a firefighter thing,” Carlos says wryly.

T.K. squares his shoulders. “Carlos. This baby is out here alone and afraid. We need to find out who it—” T.K. glances down at the cat’s belly and back up, “who he belongs to and get him home.”

Carlos feels a smile twisting at his lips. T.K. looks adorable standing there in the glow of the streetlight, fiercely protecting an animal he met two minutes ago. It’s precious really.

“He might belong to Mrs. O’Grady,” Carlos says. “She has like five cats. Let’s go see if her light is still on.”

“Thank you,” T.K. says in relief. “Come on little buddy, let’s go find your home.

Mornings

The first time Carlos wakes up with T.K. next to him, it’s one of the most thrilling moments of his entire life. He feels warm and safe and happy and there’s a sense of victory in it too because T.K. has held him at arm’s length for so long. To finally see his patience rewarded feels like a huge step forward. Staying the night is something couples do. It’s permanent, not just chasing a high.

He watches T.K. for a while, memorizing how he looks in the soft light of the morning, the way his mouth hangs open a little bit, his arms and legs splayed out awkwardly across the mattress, his hair a glorious wreck.

This is a T.K. that few people get to see, and Carlos is elated to finally be one of them.

Eventually nature calls and he slips from his bed to take care of business and then go make them some coffee. He assumes T.K. will wake up and wander out when the smell starts to waft upstairs, but he doesn’t.

Carlos goes to check on him and finds him in exactly the same position as half an hour before. He chalks it up to a very successful night of sex and heads back down to start working on french toast.

He takes his time, enjoying the feeling of cooking for someone other than just himself. Another thirty minutes roll by as he cooks and there’s still no sign of T.K. when he’s done.

He plates up their French toast, bacon, pours them each a cup of coffee, setting it all on the table before making his way upstairs.

T.K. has wrapped himself in the sheet and pulled it up over his head like a cocoon. Carlos smiles and is tempted to snap a picture, but instead he kneels on the mattress and gently pulls the blankets away from T.K.’s face. “Good morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to T.K.’s forehead.

Nothing.

He sits down on the mattress and puts his hand on T.K.’s hip. “It’s time to wake up,” he whispers teasingly, shaking him a little bit.

Still nothing.

What the hell?

Now he’s actually concerned. “T.K., hey,” he says, shaking him a little more harshly.

“Gowayyyy.”

The words are slurred together and punctuated by a swipe of T.K.’s arm that narrowly misses hitting Carlos in the ribs.

Okay, so at least he’s alive. That’s something.

“I made breakfast,” Carlos says softly, brushing his fingers through T.K.’s hair. Surely that will be enough to get him going.

It only gets him another grumble.

Carlos sits back, struggling to decide if he’s amused or disappointed. He’s just about decided to go back downstairs and eat his breakfast alone when T.K.’s arm slaps the empty expanse of mattress between them and then a sort of muffled sound escapes him, that bears a passing resemblance to, “Come here.”

Carlos’ eyebrows rise and he has to stifle a laugh as T.K.’s arm flops around again and then finally connects with Carlos’ thigh. He curls his hand around it and gives a feeble tug, not enough to actually move him, but enough to indicate that he wants Carlos to come closer.

“I’m confused. Do you want me to leave or stay?” Carlos asks in amusement.

T.K. turns his head so that he’s facing Carlos, even though his eyes are still closed, and gives another tug. Carlos chuckles and obliges, sliding down so that he’s parallel to T.K. on his side.

T.K. immediately curls into him, mashing his face into Carlos’ chest and hooking a leg over his hip. Carlos quirks a fond smile and runs a hand through T.K.’s hair.

“D’you mke me brkfst?” T.K.’s voice is scratchy but slightly more intelligible now.

“I did,” Carlos says. “I thought it would be a nice way to start the day.”

T.K. hums into his chest and then, with a valiant effort, opens his eyes and squints up at Carlos. “I hate mornings,” he says.

Carlos bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out,” he says, stroking a hand through T.K.’s hair.

His eyes close again and he snuggles more tightly into Carlos. “What did you make me?”

“French toast and bacon. And coffee.”

T.K. hums against him. “That sounds good.”

“Sooo…are you going to get up and eat it?” Carlos asks.

“I’m trying.”

“This is you trying?”

T.K. cracks one eyelid. “It’s a process.”

“So I see. How do you manage to get up for calls at work?”

“That’s different.”

Carlos fails to see how, but he doesn’t push it. “What if I bring your breakfast up here?”

That gets him two eyeballs. “You don’t like food in bed.”

That’s true. The thought of crumbs between his sheets makes Carlos shudder. But breakfast is ready and T.K. is not, and he looks so damn cute all bed rumpled and sleepy that it’s making Carlos throw some rules out the window. “I’ll make an exception this time.”

T.K. rolls onto his back, a smile on his face as he stretches and puts his hands behind his head. “This house comes with five star service.”

“This is a special occasion. Don’t get used to it,” Carlos says, giving him a peck on the nose before rising to go get their food.

But the fact is, T.K. could ask Carlos to bring him breakfast in bed every day for the rest of his life and he’d do it. That’s just how it’s going to be.

Chat

Carlos is pulled from sleep by someone’s voice. At first he thinks he might have fallen asleep in front of the TV or maybe with a podcast going. But the more he rouses, the more he realizes the sound isn’t steady and clear enough to be either one of those.

He blinks a few times, trying to get his bearings. His room is dark, it’s clearly still the middle of the night, and T.K. is pressed up against him, head pillowed against his chest.

The sound stops and Carlos listens intently, his heart now speeding up in his chest as he tries to figure out if it was real or a dream. If it was real…is there someone in the condo?

He’s about ready to slide out of bed and grab his off-duty weapon to go investigate when T.K. lets out a big snuffling sound and then says, “nthebthtb.”

Carlos relaxes at the realization that the sound was just his boyfriend and gently brushes a hand over his arm. “You okay babe?” he whispers into the darkness.

T.K.’s face contracts into a scowl. “‘nthe bathtub.”

“What?”

“Put it in the bathtub.”

The words are clearer now, but Carlos is beyond confused. “Put what in the bathtub?”

T.K.’s head whips up and turns in Carlos’ general direction, his eyes still closed, his neck bent at an awkward angle. “The alligator!”

Carlos shifts so that he’s sitting more upright and looks down at T.K. with raised eyebrows. “T.K. there’s no alligator.”

“No you…you have to put it in the bathtub,” T.K. demands again.

He looks so distressed that Carlos has to bite back a laugh. “Okay, I’ll put the alligator in the bathtub.”

T.K. mumbles something unintelligible and snuggles in against Carlos again before whipping his head up one more time. “And socks!”

“The alligator needs socks?”

“No.” T.K. pauses for so long that Carlos starts to worry that he’s going to get a crick in his neck before finally saying, “Don’t let him eat…the purple ones.”

Then he flops back down and lets out a snort before seeming to go fully back to sleep, leaving Carlos amused and very curious.

Carlos has an early shift and T.K. is still sound asleep when he leaves, so he doesn’t get to mention anything about their bizarre middle-of-the-night conversation until he gets home at the end of the day.

“Hey babe!” T.K. says cheerfully, coming to give him a sweet kiss as he walks through the door. “I made Italian wedding soup and got bread from that new bakery down the street. Should be ready in like fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Carlos says as he finishes removing his shoes. He reaches into his work bag. “I got you a present.��

T.K.’s already halfway back into the kitchen, but he turns back, surprise on his face. “A present? Wait,” he frowns. “Did I forget something? Is today—“

“Relax,” Carlos says with a chuckle. “You didn’t forget anything. This is a just-because gift.”

T.K.’s face brightens again. “Oh well in that case, gimme gimme!”

He holds out his hands and Carlos drops a small plastic bag into them. T.K. reaches inside and pulls out a pair of bright purple socks. “Wow, thanks babe!”

“I promise not to let the alligator eat them,” Carlos says, trying to smother the smile on his face.

T.K.’s brow furrows. “What alligator?”

“The alligator in the bathtub.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Did you hit your head today?” T.K. asks. Then he freezes and addresses himself, a concerned look on his face. “Wait, did I hit my head today?”

Carlos full on laughs and decides to put him out of his misery. “Last night in the middle of the night you woke me up to tell me to put an alligator in the bathtub. And then you were very insistent that he not eat purple socks.”

“Oh my god.” A blush forms on T.K.’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I—sometimes I sleep talk. It used to happen a lot when I was a kid and I mostly grew out of it, but once in a while it still happens. Usually only if I’m really tired. It’s been so long since I’ve spent the night with anybody, I didn’t think to tell you.”

He looks so adorably embarrassed that Carlos reaches for his hips and pulls him in so their bodies are flush against one another, needing to touch him. He quirks a smile. “That,” he says, “is very cute.”

“No it’s not, it’s embarrassing,” T.K. says, squirming a little bit. “Sometimes I say really weird stuff.”

“Trust me when I tell you that is not the weirdest middle of the night conversation I’ve had,” Carlos assures him. “You wouldn’t believe how many drunk and stoned people think they’re Jesus when they’re hauled into lock-up at three am. I’ll take your alligators any day.”

T.K. snorts. “I have definitely never claimed to be a deity.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow and bites his lip before saying, “That’s true, although I do seem to remember you saying the Lord’s name an awful lot when we went to bed last night.”

T.K. shoves his bicep good-naturedly. “What I say in the throes of passion is supposed to stay in the throes of passion Carlos.”

“So what you’re telling me is that anything we say in bed is privileged information?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm, good to know.”

Thief

Where the hell is his APD t-shirt?

Carlos stands in front of his closet, hands on his hips as he stares into its depths, completely baffled. He’d worn it to a workout two weeks ago and he’s sure he put it into the laundry. He had to have. He’s checked his gym bag, the trunk of the Camaro, his locker at work, the laundry basket itself, and the washer, just in case it had gotten stuck to the side and he hadn’t noticed. It’s been three full days of searching and now he’s sure. It’s not here.

It’s not anywhere.

Which doesn’t make any sense. Because t-shirts don’t just get up and walk away.

It’s not that big of a deal. It’s only a t-shirt after all. One from his brief stint on the department softball league a few years ago. It’s just that Carlos is a careful, meticulous person. There’s a system to his laundry. And now, after all these years, it’s really eating at him that it might have failed.

He’s about to dive back into round five of removing every single thing from his closet, when he hears the front door open. “Carlos? You home?”

It’s T.K.’s voice and it sounds off, meaning Carlos immediately abandons his search and goes downstairs to soothe whatever has his boyfriend’s spirits down.

T.K.’s doing that thing where he kind of pulls back into himself, and it takes some coaxing for Carlos to tease the full story of his shitty day out of him. Then there’s cuddling, kissing, dinner, and more kissing before Carlos offers to run T.K. a bath and let him relax for a bit.

He’s finishing up the dishes when T.K. comes back downstairs and wraps his arms around Carlos’ waist from behind. He smells like the lavender scented soap that Carlos left out for him and Carlos breathes it in before turning around to give him another kiss. “Better?” he asks, running a hand through T.K.’s hair, down to cup the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” T.K. says. “Thank you.” He looks up and Carlos can still see some vulnerability in his eyes. “Is it okay if I stay here tonight?”

It’s on the tip of Carlos’ tongue to tell him he can stay every night for the rest of his life if he wants, but he’s learned T.K. well enough to know now isn’t the moment. “Of course,” he says instead. “You’re always welcome here.”

He’s about to ask if T.K. needs to borrow something to sleep in, but then he looks down and the words die on his tongue. He takes a step back, brow furrowing.

“What?” T.K. asks. “Is something wrong?”

“Is that my APD shirt?” Carlos asks.

He already knows the answer, but he’s so surprised it’s the only thing that comes out.

“Um…no?” T.K. says, trying for innocent and failing miserably.

“T.K. it has my name on the back,” Carlos says.

“There are lots of people with the last name Reyes in Austin.”

“Right and I’m sure so many of them played on the department softball team in 2018,” Carlos replies. “Where did you find it? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“It was in your drawer,” T.K. says, but he’s no longer meeting Carlos’ eyes.

“It was not in my drawer,” Carlos says. “I looked. Several times.”

T.K. shrugs. “Well you’re welcome that I found it then.”

Carlos narrows his eyes. “You didn’t find it. You stole it.”

T.K.’s jaw drops. “Carlos. You’re accusing me, a brave, loyal member of the AFD, who serves his community on a daily basis, of stealing?”

“It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact,” Carlos says, tapping a finger against T.K.’s chest. “You stole this out of my laundry.”

“Not sure those charges are going to stick in court, officer.”

“T.K.” Carlos growls out his name.

“Okay, fine, I stole it!” T.K. says. “I was getting ready for work here last week after you left and I realized I’d forgotten a shirt to wear to the station. It was in your clean laundry basket so I grabbed it and wore it. I was going to wash it and bring it back but then…”

He looks embarrassed so Carlos softens his gaze and drops the teasing facade. “Then what?” he asks gently.

“It was just so soft and comfortable and…it kind of felt like being with you. Even when I wasn’t. So I kept it.” He looks up and scrunches his nose a little. “Sorry?”

Carlos is speechless. His heart feels so soft that it’s making his knees go a little weak. He cups T.K.’s face in both of his hands. “You don’t need to be sorry. You can keep it.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asks.

“Yeah,” Carlos assures him. “But we can also find a drawer for you, if you want. So you can keep some of your own stuff here.”

“You’re just saying that so I don’t steal more of your clothes.”

Carlos scrunches his nose, making a silly face so T.K. knows he’s teasing. “Maybe. A little.” He presses a kiss to T.K.’s lips. “But it’s also because I want you here.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says softly, that warm, reassured glow back in his eyes. “So…is this when I tell you that I also have a pair of your shorts? And some socks?”

Filibuster

T.K. is sitting on the couch when Carlos comes down from his shower. This is a little surprising only because Carlos thought T.K. might join him in the shower. It doesn’t usually take much more than a light hint. Often the phrase, “I’m going to take a shower” is enough to get T.K. on his feet and stripping off his clothes, but today he’s right where Carlos left him, staring at his phone.

“I’m making stuffed peppers for dinner. Does that sound good?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah, sure,” T.K. says quickly, like he’s very distracted. “Did you know there’s a type of tarantula that keeps frogs as pets?”

Carlos blinks a few times, as he takes this information in. “No, I did not know that,” he says, heading for the kitchen to find the peppers.

T.K. gets up and follows him. “There’s this type of frog in South America that evolved to taste bad. So tarantulas won’t eat them and instead they keep them to eat all the bugs and stuff around their homes and keep their spider babies safe. They’re like a tiny little tarantula pet cat.”

Carlos turns around and nearly knocks T.K. over, not having realized that his boyfriend was standing so close behind him. He reaches out and gently moves him out of the way as he heads for the stove and begins to prep the filling for the peppers.

“I just think it’s so cool, two completely different species living together like that,” T.K. continues, hopping up onto the counter, that hyper-focused look in his eye. “Nature is amazing. Forming symbiotic relationships all the time.”

“That is cool,” Carlos says. He chops the peppers in half and rinses them out to remove the seeds.

“Sharks have that too,” T.K. continues. “Those little fish that attach themselves on and eat all the scraps from the shark’s meals. What are they called?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll look it up.”

For a moment there’s only the sound of ground turkey sizzling on the stove as T.K. busies himself in his phone. “Oh right. Remora fish.”

“Of course,” Carlos says in amusement. “How could I have forgotten that?”

“And rhinos! With the birds that are always hanging around!” T.K. sighs. “They’re so cute.”

Carlos walks over and pats the side of T.K.’s thigh. “Move please,” he says mildly, waiting until T.K. shifts over enough that he can get into the drawer that’s hidden behind his legs. He extracts the spoon he needs and then taps the space again indicating that T.K. can move back, which he does, still talking. “We had a pet frog in my class when I was in third grade. His name was Sir Henry. He died on the hundredth day of school.” At this T.K. looks a little glum. Then he perks up. “But my teacher got a hamster after that and we got to vote on a name. We picked Pikachu.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I wonder if hamsters have a symbiotic relationship with another animal,” T.K. says, picking his phone back up again. “Hm. Nope,” he says after a minute. “But, hamsters will eat their babies if you don’t separate them. Oh! Did you know that it’s illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland? You have to have two because they’re social animals and they’ll get lonely. But then in Peru people eat them for special occasions. Isn’t that crazy how different those two countries are?”

“Almost as crazy as spiders keeping frogs as pets.”

“I wish I had a pet frog,” T.K. says. “Do you think Buttercup would eat it?”

“I’ve seen Buttercup eat his own poop. Yes. I think he would eat a frog if he could catch it. Do you want your filling spicy or not spicy?”

“Spicy,” T.K. says immediately. “I have an old aquarium tank, it could live in there and I wouldn’t take it out if Buttercup was around—wait, do frogs get lonely? Would I need to get two? What if they had babies? Then I’d have hundreds of frogs and I don’t think the tank would hold more than a couple.”

“An overcrowded frog tank does seem uncomfortable. Do you want dressing on your salad?”

“Do you have that organic balsamic still?”

“I think there’s some left.”

“That then please.” He steals a piece of carrot and pops it into his mouth, talking around it. “Maybe I’ll get a tarantula instead. I think a tarantula would be okay by itself.”

“Please do not get a tarantula,” Carlos says with a soft chuckle.

This catches T.K.’s attention and he smiles. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

Carlos wipes his hands on a towel and goes to him, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of T.K.’s legs. “I’m not afraid. I just have a healthy respect for them.”

T.K. eyes him, his mouth twisting into a smile. “You’ve been letting me talk about spiders and frogs for like half an hour.”

“I have.”

“You don’t think that’s annoying?”

Carlos kisses the tip of his nose. “Not in the slightest. You’re cute when you chat at me.”

The fact is he loves it. His home has been so devoid of this wild energy and now that it’s here he doesn’t know how he ever lived without it.

T.K. drops his eyes, a slight flush creeping over his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I did miss you in my shower though,” Carlos tells him. “So next time you decide to go down an internet rabbit hole, maybe you could do it when I’m not all naked and wet.”

T.K. bites his lip, his eyes lighting up. “I will work on my timing.”

+1: Hangry

T.K. is delighted to be picking Carlos up for a change. He’s borrowed his dad’s truck for the night (he’s going to get his own car soon…ish…) to surprise Carlos with a fun evening out.

“Hey,” he says excitedly as Carlos slides into the passenger seat, leaning in for a kiss. “You look great.”

Carlos is in jeans and a black polo that is juuuuuust a tad bit too tight in the best kind of way. It nearly distracts T.K. enough to cancel the date and drag Carlos back upstairs to his bed instead, but he forces himself to focus. He knows Carlos has had kind of a rough week at work and he’s determined to make tonight extra fun to make up for it.

“Hey,” Carlos says, his smile genuine, although there’s a little tightness around his eyes that T.K. wants to soothe away with his thumb and butterfly kisses. “Thanks for picking me up. It’s good to see you.”

The way those words melt him inside. Carlos is so good at saying little things that to anyone else would mean almost nothing; but to T.K. they mean the world. He still hasn’t quite gotten used to how much Carlos likes having him around.

“How was your day?” T.K. asks as he pulls out into traffic, carefully navigating between cars that are driving way too slowly for his taste.

“It was um,” Carlos stumbles over his words as T.K. hits the brakes and then accelerates around a Ford Fiesta that he deems far too slow. “It was fine. Just one of those weeks, you know?”

“Yeah,” T.K. says sympathetically. “Well don’t worry. Tonight we’re going to forget all about work. I promise.”

Minutes later T.K. neatly swings them into a parking spot. “Oh,” Carlos says in confusion as he takes in where they are. “I thought we were going to dinner.”

“We are,” T.K. says. “But, I thought we’d do something fun first. I haven’t played mini golf in forever!”

The 126 had driven by the course on a call the other day, the brightly colored animals and windmills catching his eye out the engine’s window. It seemed like the perfect way to spend an evening. Just relaxing and being silly with each other.

“Right,” Carlos says, something strange flickering in his eyes.

“You hate mini golf,” T.K. says, feeling crestfallen. “Damn it I should have asked. I’m sorry. It just looked so fun and you’ve had a hard week and I—“

“T.K., T.K., take a breath,” Carlos says, reaching over and taking his hand. “I don’t hate mini golf.”

“We don’t have to stay,” T.K. says, still sensing some odd hesitancy in his boyfriend.

“No let’s do it,” Carlos says. “I haven’t played in forever either. It’ll be fun.”

He’s already sliding out of the car, so T.K. follows him, pushing aside the doubt he’s feeling. Hopefully Carlos’ reticence is just work related.

Hopefully.

They grab some clubs and balls (T.K. chooses green, Carlos picks blue) and then head out to the first hole.

It goes well enough for a bit, they’re both moderately terrible. Carlos keeps hitting his ball too gently so that it comes rolling back toward him instead of up and over all the little hills, while T.K. takes to swinging with all his strength, his ball ping-ponging around into other greens so he has to go chasing after it.

“That’s a mulligan!” he declares for the third time when his ball hops an embankment and goes splashing down into a little pond.

“You can’t call them all mulligans T.K.,” Carlos says with a sigh that sounds a tad impatient.

“Why not?” T.K. says. “Who are you going to report me to? The police? Oh wait. It’s a little late for that.”

He means it to be flirty but Carlos just gives him sort of a strained smile and a half hearted “haha.”

When they get to the next hole Carlos’ ball does the same thing it’s done every other time and comes rolling straight back out again. “Are you kidding me?!” he cries, a little too loudly and angrily.

T.K. frowns at him, trying to get a read on what’s happening here. Carlos seems off. Like super off.

T.K. walks up and places his own ball down, but before he can swing Carlos says, “Can you please take a step back?”

T.K. lowers his club. “What?”

“You’re too far into the green. It’s cheating.”

He blinks a few times. “Cheating? First I can’t call a mulligan now I’m cheating? It’s just a game Carlos.”

“Yeah, a game that has rules that you’re not following,” Carlos insists. “You’re not supposed to be that far into the green. And don’t think I didn’t see you basically slide your ball into the last hole instead of putting. That one shouldn’t even count.”

“Okay, what is going on here?” T.K. says, feeling annoyance snap sharply at his good mood. “You’re kind of being a dick. If you didn’t want to play mini golf you could have just said so.”

“I told you I like playing mini golf!”

“Well you’re definitely not acting like it!” T.K. fires back. “You’re acting like you’d rather be anywhere else!”

“Why are you putting words into my mouth? Just take your turn and play fair T.K.!”

“Uh, excuse me?”

The pimply faced teenager who gave them their clubs and balls earlier waves at both of them. “Can we help you?” T.K. asks.

“Hi, yeah, I’m sorry, we’ve had some complaints that you two are fighting. Can you try to keep it down? This is a family establishment.”

T.K. looks at Carlos whose face is going red with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Won’t happen again.”

The kid leaves and T.K. frowns, putting his hands on his hips. “What is going on with you?” he asks. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos says sullenly, refusing to meet T.K.’s eyes.

His stomach suddenly gives a loud rumble and all the pieces click into place in T.K.’s brain. “Oh,” he says, annoyance and anger settling back down where they belong. “Okay. I get it.”

He turns and heads for the car.

“What? Get what?” Carlos asks as he follows along, confusion evident on his face.

T.K. stops next to his dad’s truck. “You’re hangry.”

Carlos sputters in indignation. “Hangry?”

“You know. When you get so hungry that the entire world feels like it’s shitting on you and you get all cranky until you eat something. Did you eat lunch today?

“I—“ Carlos considers this. “No. We had to skip it because a call came in.”

T.K. nods in satisfaction. “See? Hangry. Don’t worry. We’ll get you all fixed up in no time.”

He drives to their favorite taco truck. His dinner plans had been bigger and fancier, but this is an emergency. He plops Carlos down at a picnic table (still protesting and whining away, only furthering T.K.’s satisfaction that he’s right) and then marches over to the truck to order two of everything.

He waits until Carlos has wolfed down one birria taco and one fish taco before speaking. “Better?” he asks.

Carlos wipes his mouth on a napkin and reaches for a third taco, chicken this time. “These are so good,” he replies, shoving half of it into his mouth like a man who hasn’t been fed in months. “Thanks.”

“Mhm. So next time, maybe just tell me you’re hangry instead of acting like you put your cranky pants on to see me,” T.K. says.

The sigh that leaves Carlos is long suffering. “I already said I was sorry in the car.”

“Buuuut you didn’t tell me I was right.”

This gets him a withering look. “Do you really need to hear me say it?”

“I mean…I wouldn’t hate it.” God he loves teasing this man. It’s so easy to get a rise out of him.

Carlos huffs. “Fine. You were right. Thank you for feeding me because I was hangry.”

“Aw, you’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #Cats and Chats and Did You Steal That?!#Cute Boys #Domestic Fluff #Boyfriend Era #911 Lone Star Fic

57 notes · View notes