blessedbetherug

[blessedbetherug]

(@AO3) day 7: alt prompt - kinks pairing: bucktommy tags: voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, light BDSM, leather and masks, dom/sub play, safe sane and consensual, rough sex, aftercare, anal fingering, riding, barebacking, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, masturbation

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Tommy parks the truck in the hidden lot behind the building, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel as the engine goes quiet around them.

The club doesn’t look like much— just an unmarked concrete building tucked between two warehouses, the only sign of life the soft red glow from a neon sign above the steel door.

There is no name.

Just a golden mask on the door.

Tommy swallows nervously, eyes flicking over the other cars parked nearby. Sleek, expensive, empty, and so many of them. Most of their owners were probably already inside.

Some of them might even be there for them.

(Separate arrival schedules for guests and performers, meant to avoid overlap. The thought soothes him, just a little.)

Still, Tommy has to force himself to breathe around the knot tightening in his throat. Want prickles under his skin, shame lapping at the edges in equal measure, but before panic can take hold, Evan’s hand lands firm and steady on his thigh, and some of it fades.

They are in this together, after all.

“You good?” Buck asks, concern written all over his face. “We don’t have to do this tonight, or— or ever. We can leave. You say the word, and we’re gone.”

Tommy turns to look at him, heart in his throat. The other’s eyes are soft but so, so serious. There’s no teasing. No pressure. Just care, laid bare. “I’m good,” he lies, then sighs when Buck lifts one eyebrow knowingly. “Okay, I’m terrified.”

Buck’s thumb drags a slow arc across his thigh. “Me too,” he confesses. Then winks. “But it’s the good kind of scary, yeah?”

Tommy lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Yeah,” He admits. “It is the good kind.”

He stares back at the door, mind drifting to the conversation that had brought them here. They’d been in bed, bodies sticky and boneless, still panting through the afterglow when Buck had murmured against his throat, “One day I wanna try breath play with you.”

Tommy, wrecked and hazy, had blinked at the ceiling, lips loose and honest. “Oh, that’s easy. I wanna get fucked in public.”

Evan had gone still. “Like... sneaky handjob under a table kind of public?”

“No,” Tommy had said, eyes dark with want. “Not sneaky. I want people to see. To watch. I want—” He’d broken off, the truth too raw to voice.

And Buck had just kissed his temple and whispered, “Okay.”

And now they were parked outside an invite-only, word-of-mouth, and members-vouched club. A place Buck had spent weeks researching in secret to give him the option; a place where fantasies were lived out under low lights and hungry eyes.

Tommy exhales slowly, skin prickling. “They’re gonna see—” he gestures vaguely between them.

“Yeah,” Buck leans in and kisses his jaw, rough with stubble. “That’s the point, babe. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Tommy shivers.

It was.

So he reaches for the door.

There’s no bouncer when they approach. Just a black panel beside the steel door, and a narrow slot for the card. Buck slides it through, and the lock clicks open with a soft chime, letting them step into a narrow, dimly lit hallway lined with deep burgundy carpet. Inside, the air is warmer, faintly perfumed.

They flip the card, looking for their room number.

Eighteen.

Buck snorts quietly, while Tommy sends up a silent prayer that it isn’t an omen.

They walk side by side down the long corridor, taking in their surroundings. Everything's clean and meticulous, not a speck of dust in sight. Their boots sink silently into plush carpet as they pass a series of closed doors. Faint noises leak through some: a muffled cry, the rhythmic thud of a headboard, the distant slap of skin on skin.

Tommy swallows hard as heat blooms under his collar, while Buck’s hand brushes his lower back, giving it a gentle nudge. Tommy has to hold back a shudder when the touch makes his already semi-hard dick twitch in his jeans.

This was happening. This was really happening.

They were going to have sex in front of strangers.

Specifically, he was going to get railed for an audience.

And god help him, if Evan hadn’t sucked him off in the shower at noon, all slow and knowing with a hand braced on the wall and Tommy falling apart under his mouth, he might’ve lost it already.

One look. One touch. He’d be done before they even started.

And wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

Just before they reach the door, Buck glances over, catching the bewilderment on Tommy’s face. “You okay?” he asks again, always checking.

“Nervous,” Tommy admits, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to shake off the jitter in his limbs. “But I’m not turning around.” He wants this.

Fuck, did he want this.

Buck gives him a look that is half lovestruck, half horny, and keys them into room eighteen.

The door swings open on silent, well-oiled hinges.

Tommy steps inside first.

The room is neat, clean, and surprisingly clinical at first glance. Ceramic floors and walls, for which Tommy is secretly thankful. 

(Had there been carpet, he might have barfed a little.)

There’s no bed, but Tommy had expected that: instead, placed dead center like an exhibit, is a single chaise longue. Its curved frame is upholstered in dark navy pleather, gleaming under the overhead lights. Sturdy-looking. A small remote is attached to its side, meant to operate the curtains.

It’s a stage prop.

And it’s positioned deliberately, facing the far wall, where a wide pane of thick, clear glass dominates the space.

No one-way mirrors. Just glass.

A barrier, yes, but one that offers no illusion of separation. Whoever’s watching will be seen too.

The curtain is still drawn, but Tommy could already feel their presence beyond it, hear the murmurs and the shuffling of chairs. He imagines what it will be like to feel the heat of their eyes on his skin, pictures them pressed close to the glass, flushed and rapt. Fantasizes them touching themselves as they watch him get used.

His hand drifts down, pressing the heel of his palm to his groin, seeking relief from the pressure building low in his belly.

Beside the chaise, a small table holds a few necessities: a sleek bottle of lube, a bowl of condoms, and two black leather masks— soft and supple, with red silk stitching. Tommy eyes them, heart thudding. They look exactly as described: plain, featureless. Designed for anonymity.

Discretion, not secrecy. The difference matters.

The masks aren’t just for hiding. They mark the line between who they are out there and who they’ll become in here.

The idea of taking the masks home, of keeping them, knowing where they came from, shouldn't make his skin flush, but it does.

Buck steps forward after giving him a moment, casually opening the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Got us a few things,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Figured if we’re putting on a show…”

From the bag, Buck pulls a black, sleeveless leather vest: tight, perfectly cut to hug his broad chest and leave his arms bare. It’s elementary, meant only to hide some of his tattoos and enhance the vision of his wide chest and trim waist.

Recording and photography were strictly forbidden, but it was still smart to conceal identifying marks.

Then, more carefully, he lifts a smaller bundle: sleek leather straps with gleaming silver buckles. Tommy blinks, transfixed. “For you,” Buck adds, lashes low. “Thigh harnesses. Thought about garters but figured these were more your style.”

Tommy swallows. His fingers twitch forward, brushing the leather. It was soft, supple, and of high quality. Not cheap costume gear: this was quality. And thoughtful. Intentional. Buck hadn’t just thrown this together; he’d planned, made this night into something more than a kink scratched off a list, just because Tommy wanted it. His fingertips drag slowly along a strap, imagining it snug around his thighs and hips, and his tongue flicks out across his bottom lip. His hands tremble from overwhelming, rising need.

He glances around again— at the chaise, the drawn curtain, the glass beyond.

They were really doing this. They were going to perform. He was going to be watched. Wanted. Split open on Buck’s gorgeous cock, fucked until he couldn’t speak, left ruined and dripping while strangers pressed hands to glass and came apart just from the sight.

Tommy looks up, meeting Buck’s heated eyes, with ice in his veins and his skin on fire. “Ready when you are.”

Buck smiles, slow and wicked, and steps closer, his kiss deep and consuming. “Let’s give them a show.”

They undress together, unhurried and reverent, stripping down under the soft amber glow of the room’s indirect lighting. Tommy folds his clothes neatly, sets them aside in the duffle, and lets his eyes trace over Evan’s chest as he shrugs the vest on, hiding some of the familiar ink. “Hold still,” he murmurs, fingers finding the zipper and pulling it up slowly. The leather is snug, and the last thing they want is for it to snag. It looks gorgeous on Evan, the black standing stark against pale skin, drawing attention to the solid weight of his arms.

For a brief second, jealousy flickers in Tommy’s chest, that others would see Evan like this too, that they would get to scrutinize him at his most beautiful: flushed and overwhelmed, and debauched. But then he remembers that no one gets to touch him but him. They can look, but they’ll never feel the heat of his skin, the tightness of his fingers on his flesh as he holds on to him, the frantic quality of his breaths against his ear as he rushes towards release.

Evan’s his, and his only.

Buck kneels before him, already working the straps into place with the same quiet precision he’d use to check gear on a call— calm hands, steady breaths, everything snug and secure. Practical, yes. But intimate too, their nervous energy thrumming under the surface and bouncing off each other. “Feels good,” He hums softly, brushing his fingers under the leather where it hugs Tommy’s legs. He very pointedly avoids Tommy’s half-hard cock, standing just inches from his hand as he stands back up. “Still okay?”

Tommy nods, smoothing his hands down the other’s vest. “Buzzing, but good.”

Buck leans in to kiss him again, slower this time, gentler. Calming. “We don’t have to go out there until you’re ready.”

“I am,” Tommy hums into the kiss. Then, after a beat, adds, “Well. Mostly. In my head, at least.”

“Want a little more prep?” Buck teases, giving his hips a small shimmy. “Before the grand debut?”

Tommy snorts, shoving at him. “Yeah. I did some at home, but—”

“Hey, no buts.” Buck shakes his head, pressing another grounding kiss to Tommy’s cheek. He reaches for his mask, tying it securely in place. Through the eyeholes, his blue eyes gleam with mischief. Tommy hums his appreciation. “Lie back for me, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Tommy nods, his nerves settling just a little. He settles onto the chair, the leather cool against his bare skin, as Buck kneels between his legs, warm hands on the inside of his thighs. He takes a deep breath, probably just as nervous as Tommy but hiding it better.

They haven’t even opened the curtains yet, but they feel laid bare already.

With a sigh, Tommy spreads his legs, head falling back against the curve of the chaise. His eyes slip shut as he listens to the quiet rustle of Buck moving into position. The air in the room feels warmer now, thicker. The glass wall remains shadowed, the curtain still drawn, and above it, a small green light stays dim.

For now, this moment is still just theirs.

Buck’s hands skim over his thighs, tracing the lines of muscle wrapped in leather. He thumbs the buckles, then slides inward, his touch reverent. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze full of awe. All these hard edges and soft skin, laid out just for him.

“You’re biased.” Tommy murmurs, though his face flushes, and he stretches into the touch like he doesn’t mind one bit.

“I am,” Buck agrees, lowering his head to kiss the soft inside of Tommy’s thigh, never once breaking eye contact. “And right.” His fingers trail between Tommy’s cheeks, finding him already slick with lube. Prepped earlier, sure, but they both know it’s not enough. Not for what they’ve planned. Buck grabs the bottle from the nearby table, warming more lube between his fingers before easing two inside. Tommy groans, hips jerking. “Good?”

Tommy nods, eyes flickering towards the curtains. There’s a thud from the other side. Voices. Movement. “Yeah.”

Buck bends low, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s belly. “Focus on me, baby.” His fingers work slowly, gently, easing Tommy open in smooth, practiced motions. He adds a third with a murmur of praise, teases a fourth with the tip of his pinky, and Tommy sighs at the pleasant stretch. “Good boy,” Buck hums, “You’re going to take me so well.” A sharp inhale from Tommy, as his cock twitches against his stomach, already glossy with precome.

And then, Buck pulls his fingers free, only to lean in and lick a broad stripe across Tommy’s hole, slow and wet, moaning against Tommy’s skin. Tommy fists the edge of the chaise,  face flushed scarlet as he ruts back into the other’s mouth. Buck pulls back just enough to pant, “One last taste before the show.” And then he’s back at it, sucking him open, messy and wet and thorough like he can’t get enough.

Tommy’s hips jerk. “Oh, fuck —”

He’s gone.

When Buck finally relents, chin shiny with spit and eyes dark with want, Tommy is breathless, limbs loose, glassy eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling. Buck presses one last kiss to the stretched rim before reaching for the mask on the table and passing it over. Tommy fits it over his face just as the green light above the glass flickers on.

They’re ready.

It’s time.

“How do you want to start?” Buck asks softly, fingers ghosting along Tommy’s hip as he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm.

Tommy’s eyes flick toward the glass, at the drawn curtain, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “On the chaise,” he says after a beat. “Chest down. Back to the window.”

“You sure?”

“Eases me into it,” Tommy explains. Then, tying the mask’s lace with shaking fingers, he adds with a grin, “Plus, it’s my best angle.”

The answer goes straight to Buck’s dick, already heavy between his thighs, but he doesn’t let them rush. He cups Tommy’s face gently, thumb brushing over the edge of the leather. “If at any point you want to stop—”

“I’ll tell you,” Tommy answers, steady. “Ace, and we stop.”

“And if you can’t talk?”

“I’ll snap twice.”

“Thank you,” Buck whispers, kissing his masked forehead.

And together, they move. Tommy turns on the chaise with care, knees spreading, chest and forearms sinking into the cool pleather. The position tilts his ass up beautifully towards the window, thighs spread just enough for modesty to die a quiet death. He exhales as Buck adjusts the straps around his thighs, assuring they frame his cheeks just right. “Comfortable?” Buck asks, crouched beside him, palm tracing over the small of his back. Tommy nods. “Want to begin?”

Tommy swallows hard, and his pulse thunders in his ears, drowning out everything else. “Yeah.”

So Buck rises, steadying himself. He coats his cock with lube in a smooth, practiced motion. And then—

He presses the switch.

The curtain opens with a soft rustle, low amber light washing over them as the viewing gallery is revealed. Buck glances up, scanning the gallery and quickly counting the rows. At least twenty figures, seated in tiered rows, masked just like them. A sea of anonymity, faces hidden, attention razor-sharp on them both.

There’s a hush at first, as they eye each other, then the creak of leather. A quiet hum. The subtle shuffle of someone adjusting in their seat.

Tommy shivers, still facing away.

Buck lays a steady hand on his lower back, grounding him with a slow circle of his thumb, and then lets it trail lower, cupping the swell of Tommy’s ass with a gentle, possessive squeeze. The crowd follows every movement with greedy eyes, inspecting every inch of exposed, wanton skin. He does it again, a silent signal, and Tommy answers with the smallest arch of his hips.

And then Buck climbs onto the chaise.

He kneels behind Tommy, angling his body to the side, careful not to obstruct the view. His hands spread Tommy open, cheeks parted to expose flushed skin and a hole already slick with prep. Cool air rushes in. Buck exhales shakily. “So pretty,” he murmurs, not for the audience, just for Tommy.

Then he leans in.

He spits on Tommy’s hole, the sound echoing in the quiet room. It trails down the cleft of Tommy’s ass, wet and slow, before pooling over his stretched rim. Buck licks it up greedily, tongue dragging filthily over sensitive skin before pushing inside. He starts slowly, tracing lazy circles in and around it before dipping back in. In and out, small teasing pumps that get faster as Tommy groans and shivers beneath him. Buck makes a show of it, deliberate, filthy, tongue fucking Tommy with wet, lewd slurps.

Behind the glass, the crowd begins to stir, with figures shifting and zippers opening.

Buck doesn’t pay them any mind. Buck pulls back only to spit again, then uses two fingers to spread Tommy wider, baring him open to the gallery. His cock pulses, leaking onto the cushion beneath him, before he takes it into his free hand, pumping once, twice, catching the drip at the tip to slick his fingers. He presses three of them into Tommy in one smooth, deep push.

Tommy moans, loud in the otherwise quiet room, pushing back instinctively.

Buck scissors his fingers, slow and deep, curling them just right, and only then does he glance up, over his shoulder. The audience is rapt; one figure palms themselves through their slacks. Another, mask slightly askew, has their hand buried in their pants, moving with what Buck realizes is the rhythm of his pumping fingers. “Look at them,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “They can’t get enough. You're a star, baby.”

Tommy groans, breath hitching with excitement. His thighs shake, his fingers claw at the cushion.

And this is only the beginning.

Pulling back his fingers, Buck’s mouth reverently up the curve of Tommy’s spine, lips and tongue mapping every inch they can of sweat-slick skin. He stays close— close enough for the head of his cock to drag through the slick mess he’s made between Tommy’s cheeks, precome and spit slicking the glide. Buck breathes deep, groaning at the scent of Tommy’s skin, and at the faint panting somewhere beyond the glass.

One hand snakes around Tommy’s torso, fingertips tracing down his sternum until they find a nipple, pinching it lightly— just enough to get Tommy to arch into him. The other hand tugs on one of the thigh straps, pulling it taut.

It snaps back with a sharp smack against flushed skin, and Tommy moans. “Oh, you liked that?” Buck teases, voice thick and syrupy with heat. Tommy nods, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed already. Buck grins against the back of the other’s head before he lifts his hand and slaps Tommy’s ass— not hard, but loud. The sound cracks in the quiet and draws a chorus of low groans from the gallery.

Tommy gasps at the sting, cock twitching in Buck’s loose grip, heavy and red. Buck strokes him once, slowly. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Putting on such a good show.” The other squirms and pushes back, aching for more, but Buck doesn’t give in. With a condescending tut, he catches Tommy by the hips and forces him down, his weight a deliberate reminder of control. One hand spreads over Tommy’s upper back, between his shoulder blades, keeping him folded over the chaise— offered up and exposed.

Everything they’re doing, every motion, had been discussed, boundaries negotiated and re-checked, safewords in place, trust in each other absolute, doesn’t fight the hold. Instead, he melts into it, exhales a shaky moan, and tilts his hips in invitation. Buck’s cock presses to his hole, thick and slick, the head just nudging, teasing, but he doesn’t push in.

Not yet.

Instead, he rolls his hips— slow, shallow drags along the other’s crack, the head of his cock catching and gliding over Tommy’s entrance, smearing more precome over his loosened rim. Tommy shivers as the audience hums, so Buck leans down, lips to Tommy’s masked ear. “I think they want to see me fuck you.”

“Please do.” Tommy breathes as he pushes back again. Buck rewards him with just the tip, barely breaching, a teasing stretch that ends all too quickly. Tommy moans in frustrated anticipation, only for Buck to pull back, maddeningly slow. 

Pushes again, a little deeper this time— still not all the way, just the head.

Enough to tease, to keep them both on the edge, as the crowd watches with greedy eyes.

Tommy groans, hips twitching, trying to chase more, to grind back and take what Buck’s holding just out of reach, but the other simply tightens his grip on Tommy’s waist, holding him steady as his cock slides tauntingly against his rim without entering. “Is that how you think you’ll get it?” Buck murmurs, voice all grit and control. “By acting out?” Then he pulls back completely, the loss so sudden it makes Tommy whimper. “You think you’re in charge here?”

Tommy bucks back hard in response, trying to force the connection, to take what Buck’s withholding. The chaise jerks beneath them, pleather squeaking, straps biting into his thighs as he strains.

Buck’s momentarily caught off guard, but he recovers fast. He plants a firm hand between Tommy’s shoulder blades and leverages the other beneath his belly. With effortless strength, Buck lifts him, manhandling him like he weighs nothing, and slams him back into place. The chaise rocks with the force as Tommy’s knees hit the cushion hard and his cheek presses to the vinyl, flushed and stunned, as Buck cages him there, unmoving.

Buck doesn’t look, eyes fixed on Tommy for any discomfort, but he doesn’t need to. He hears them— groaning, panting, touching themselves.

The air’s thick with heat and want.

He expected to feel self-conscious at some point, but no.

Instead, he feels powerful.

Tommy grits out a choked groan against the pleather, head spinning from how easily Buck manhandled him and how hard he’s holding him down. He can’t move. He tries to speak, to let out a sound, any sound, but Buck doesn’t let him.

Instead, he grabs Tommy roughly by the jaw and shoves two fingers deep past his lips, pressing down on his tongue. Tommy chokes, gagging reflexively, and drools around the digits, his surprised moan muffled and vibrating against Buck’s skin. He tries to suck, his tongue eager, but— “Stay still,” Buck warns, voice low and hoarse.

And then, he slams inside.

One brutal thrust, thick and deep, and Tommy breaks with a cry that echoes loud in the gallery.

He jerks forward from the force, knees slipping against the chaise, and gags hard around Buck’s fingers, body seized up and trembling, spit slicking his chin. A muffled cry rips from his throat at the intrusion, equal parts pain and pleasure.

Buck keeps him right where he wants him, plugged full, gagged, pinned, his fingers still in Tommy’s mouth, keeping him quiet and still, smearing drool across his cheek and jaw. He doesn’t quite move. Just stays, buried to the hilt and slowly grinding into the other, savoring Tommy’s heat pulsing around him.

Then, deliberately, Buck looks up.

Beyond the glass, the gallery is losing control. A couple rocks in tandem, hands on each other, lips parted and panting. One figure shudders in the corner, legs spread, visibly undone.

And every gaze is locked on them.

The impatient moan Tommy lets out vibrates around Buck’s fingers, bringing him back to the moment.

His body clenches, hot and hungry around the cock buried inside him, but Buck still doesn’t give in, committed to teasing just a little bit more. He spreads his hand low across Tommy’s back, grounding him again, a claiming touch, before his voice drops, lips brushing the shell of Tommy’s masked ear once more. “Look what you did to them, baby. You see that?” He grins, pride thick in his tone. “You love being split open for them, don’t you?”

Tommy groans around his fingers, frantically nodding. And for the first time, he looks.

He sees what Buck sees— people openly masturbating to them, others open-mouthed and panting, and it fills him with such exhilaration he’s surprised he doesn’t spontaneously combust.

Taking advantage of the lull, Tommy takes stock of his surroundings: the hot seat beneath him, soaked with sweat, lube, and his own mess. The large body behind him, locked in place, cock still buried deep. Buck owns every inch of him, inside and out, his thighs braced wide, one arm coiled tight around Tommy’s waist like a tether. 

And then he moves, as if summoned by thought, left hand fisting the harness at Tommy’s thigh, grip white-knuckled. The thick leather groans under the pressure, the strength of the grip biting into Tommy’s skin. The thick leather groans under the strain, biting into skin. Tommy knows he’ll bruise, with half-moons from Buck’s fingers and dark shadows where the straps dug in.

Marks of ownership. Proof of how much he wanted this.

Buck’s right hand is splayed against the side of Tommy’s hip, palm firm, thumb digging into the meat of his ass to hold him open, to show the audience the raw, wet pink of his stretched hole, glistening around the thick intrusion of Buck’s cock.

It’s lewd. It’s vulgar.

It’s perfect.

And then, the hand on his ass slips away and that’s the only warning Tommy gets before Buck yanks hard on the harness and begins to finally fuck him.

Each thrust is vicious, sharp, and deep, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The chaise rocks beneath them with every unforgiving push, metal legs screeching faintly across the floor.

Tommy gags as the fingers press deeper into his throat, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth and wetting the edge of the mask. His jaw aches, his throat burns, but his eyes glaze over, mind going blank with pleasure. When Buck finally pulls his fingers free, Tommy coughs and sucks in a desperate breath, but there's no reprieve, not when strong hands are already on him again, rearranging him like a doll.

One hand fists the silk ties of Tommy’s mask and yanks back, forcing him upright into a brutal arch, while the other grips the leather harness at his thigh and hauls his leg up, manhandling him into the exposed angle Buck wants. His feet are no longer planted— he can’t push back, can’t find leverage.

Buck cages him in from behind, chest pressed flush to his spine, and then he slams in again, a punishing thrust that makes Tommy’s back bow deeper, muscles straining.

Tommy moans brokenly, high enough to embarrass him a little. 

And then Buck bites him.

Teeth sink into the side of his neck, just above the collarbone, just below the mask— not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to claim, before the numerous greedy eyes watching them.

The sound Tommy makes is guttural and raw, and he struggles, purely on instinct— hips jerking, arms pushing against the chaise and fighting the force of Buck’s grip, but there’s nowhere to go, no give in the other’s hold. He’s stuck, trapped, possessed. Every time he tries to shift, Buck drives back in harder in punishment, rutting in deep and forcing him still again.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s euphoric.

Behind the glass, the gallery is unraveling. Someone at the front fists their cock at a savage pace, palm slapping the glass as they pant and moan. Fog blooms against the panel in hot bursts.

And God, the shame curls hot in his belly—or it should, but doesn’t, cos it’s not. 

It’s ecstasy.

Tommy is being held down, fucked into submission for an audience, and he’s never felt freer.

Honestly, he fears his sex life will be ruined after this experience.

And Buck doesn’t let up, either.

Not even as Tommy trembles under him, not even as a sob breaks free, followed by the sweetest, punched-out little ah-ah-ah's gasped in sync with the relentless snap of his hips: he keeps the same brusque, deliciously fast rhythm.

When he leans down, Buck kisses the back of Tommy’s neck, soft and damp with sweat, the touch feather-light, a contrast so sharp to his hips that it makes Tommy’s knees sway, legs giving just a little beneath him. “Gonna mark you as mine,” Buck pants against his skin, voice ragged and thick with hunger. “Mine.”

Tommy can’t even form words anymore.

He moans instead, wrecked, breathless, completely undone. He’s leaking onto the chaise now, leaking lube and precome down the inside of his thigh, and the head of his cock shines, flushed and aching, trapped between his belly and the cool leather beneath them. The pressure is exquisite, and every jolt of Buck’s hips sends sparks dancing across his nerves.

Then Buck groans— something low, guttural, unintelligible— and drives in deep, grinding hard, cock buried to the hilt. Tommy let’s loose a punched out moan, high and wrecked, arms trembling from how hard he’s having to hold himself up on the chaise. He’s still panting, out of breath, when Buck shifts gears, now slow and deep, dragging out to the tip before rolling back in; shifting his angle, searching.

And Tommy knows that thrust.

Knows this part of their dance, so he tilts his hips into it, offering himself with breathless desperation, wanting it, craving it. He feels the way the cock inside him finally drags across the devastating spot inside, causing his toes to curl and his hands to tighten, nails digging into the chaise. Again and again, the thrusts land just right, stoking a fire so fierce it feels like too much, so he moans, frantic and broken as pleasure builds deep inside of him. “Please—” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. It’s high and strained, throat bared with Buck’s grip still on his mask. He’s right there. Right there. All he needs—

Always in synch, Buck lets up just enough to wrap a hand around Tommy’s cock. It’s tight, familiar. He strokes him once, twice, thumbs the head, firm and just fast enough to promise release.

Tommy groans, hips pushing forward into the grip even as he keeps grinding back onto Buck’s cock. His entire body is taut, need spiraling white-hot through his veins as he climbs.

He’s so close, he’s right there, a ragged sound clawing its way out of his throat as he nearly tips—

And then the hand at his cock stills and squeezes tight around the head, denying him.

“Ngh— fuck!” The word is ripped from his throat, raw and furious and feral. Tommy cries, convulsing, pleasure and pain crashing over him in the same breath, offering no release. His back arches, muscles locking, and for one dizzy second, everything blanks out.

When sensation rushes back in, it’s overwhelming.

His arms collapse, upper body slumping forward onto the seat as Buck releases his grip on his mask, and the world blurs at the edges as he’s left panting, wrecked, drooling into the seat, hole still clenching around Buck’s cock like a vice.

The orgasm denial burns, hurts, and Tommy finds himself whimpering, dazed. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

The crowd loves it.

Buck groans behind him, voice rough and reverent, sounding out of breath. “God, look at them,” he pants, palming Tommy’s thighs— possessive at first glance, but really just steadying, gauging where Tommy’s at. “Look how fucking wild they are for you.”

Tommy blinks back tears, dazed and overstimulated. He whines again, a soft, helpless sound, still so hard it hurts, but so lost in the haze he doesn’t know where to put it. How to ask.

And suddenly, he’s empty.

Buck pulls out in one smooth slide, and Tommy’s left gaping, clenching down around nothing, desperate to keep him in.

The sound that escapes him is raw, inhuman. He reaches behind him blindly, searching, clawing at the chaise, at the air, desperate for contact, for Evan. Still, his fingers find nothing, for the other is already moving, already shifting, and Tommy can’t catch his breath fast enough to ask what’s happening.

Then strong hands are on him again.

One presses gently at his throat, not squeezing, just resting, grounding him. The other drifts down over the curve of his ass, tracing the angry red marks the harness has left behind, fingers ghosting over the bruises already starting to bloom. Tommy melts at the contact, unease vanishing, and Buck leans in, pressing a kiss to the bite mark on his neck. “Easy,” He murmurs, still rough around the edges, but lower, quieter, just for the two of them. Another kiss lands on Tommy’s damp shoulder. “You with me?”

Tommy’s only answer is a shaky breath and a nod so small it’s almost imperceptible.

Still, Buck watches him, unmoving, studying the tremor in his limbs, so Tommy lifts a shaky hand to snap his fingers once. Relief softens the lines around Buck’s lips in an instant, and he rubs a slow, steady circle into Tommy’s thigh. “Okay. Just breathe. You did so fucking good, baby.” His voice steadies further. “They’re losing their minds for you.”

And they are. Beyond the glass, the gallery is carnage— bodies slumped and panting, some trembling from spent orgasms, others still on the edge, still rutting against palms or partners. Still waiting. Still wanting.

Tommy swallows, eyes fluttering as he begins to come down, just a little, enough to register the ache in his untouched cock, the unbearable emptiness where Buck should be. He moans, low and broken. “Want more?” Buck croons,  voice pitched louder now for the crowd, but the thumb rubbing circles into his thigh never stops.

Tommy nods, frantic. “Please— don’t stop, I need —”

Buck cuts him off with another soft kiss to the shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

And in the next moment, he’s gone and manhandling the chaise again, dragging it where he wants it.

It groans across the floor, metal legs scraping loudly as Buck hauls it into a new position. Tommy’s too far gone to process the movement and only realizes that he’s being lifted, guided, when he finds himself straddling Buck’s lap, back pressed to the other’s chest and facing the glass.

Fully on display.

His thighs fall open without resistance, muscles gone slack and trembling. There’s no strength left to hold himself up, but it doesn’t matter: Buck’s there, arms bracketing him in, solid as stone. One broad thigh slides between Tommy’s, spreading him wider, and his knees drop obediently to either side.

He doesn’t move. Can’t.

(Doesn’t want to.)

Then a hand slides around his front, hot and unflinching, and wraps tight around the base of his cock.

Tommy’s whole body jerks as the other squeezes, still high-strung.

Slowly, he grows more aware as Buck strokes him, but just barely. He’s now aware of the glass in front of them, of the gallery’s masked attendants just beyond. He sees their reflection, himself and Evan, sweat-slick and trembling, bodies gleaming in the dim light. Buck’s cock is a thick line between his cheeks, twitching and proud, eagerly waiting, Tommy’s moving slowly within his fist.

Buck’s voice is sweet against his ear when Tommy drops his head back onto his shoulder, arching into his touch. “Let’s give them a front row seat now, shall we?”

He releases Tommy’s dick with one last squeeze before he lines himself back up and sinks back in.

Tommy moans low in his throat as Buck re-enters him, the slow and steady stretch of thick cock spearing him open again lighting him up from the inside. His spine arches, his entire body trembling with the sensory overload, mouth dropped open in a breathless moan as he bottoms out. “Fuck,” he gasps, head lolling on Buck’s shoulder. His breath comes fast and shaky, speech falling apart. He still wants to come, needs to, but his body is still too sensitive, and it’s maddening. “I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can,” Buck pants against his ear, wrecked too, rutting up when Tommy shies away. “And you are, baby. I’ll help.” He pulls Tommy down until they’re flush again, buries himself to the hilt, and starts bouncing him in his lap, holding him tightly by the hips, knees planted wide to keep Tommy on full display. Their audience gets an unimpeded view of their show, the few members still coherent enough crowding the glass to watch as Tommy’s thighs quake at the strain and his hole stretches every time Buck drives back home.

And so Tommy rides, unsteady and desperate, fingers scrabbling for grip on Buck’s legs and the glass, leaving smeared prints across the barrier. At some point, he straightens and his forehead presses to the cool surface, moaning breath fogging the glass as his hips snap down onto Buck’s cock again and again and again.

He’s babbling now, pleas and curses and choked-off whimpers escaping him, as his cock bounces untouched, leaking with every sharp thrust that drives deep into his guts, the blunt head of Buck’s cock dragging against that swollen, overstimulated spot inside him. Tommy’s entire body shudders with every impact— he’s positively dripping, precome stringing down to his navel in sticky pearls.

He’s not gonna last. He can’t.

Thankfully, Buck seems just as done as he is. “Gonna come inside you,” He whines, one hand splaying across Tommy’s chest to pull him upright, the other gripping a thigh wide open. “Fill you up so good they’ll see it dripping out of you.”

“Please— fuck, please, please, I need it—”

“That's what you want, baby? Want me to come in you in front of them? Let them see what’s mine?”

Tommy nods, frantic, and clenches hard, chasing that high. Buck lets out a surprise, strangled groan, thrusts once, twice— loses rhythm— then surges forward and stays, buried to the hilt as his cock jerks deep inside. He comes hard, hot spurts flooding Tommy in wave after wave, his breath leaving in ragged bursts.

It’s hot and wet, and Tommy comes with the sensation alone, his cock jerking as he spills across the glass and down his own stomach in messy, pearled streaks. His hole clenches reflexively around Buck, milking the last of his release, and he sobs through it, trembling and overcome.

The crowd groans in unison at the sight, and one masked figure even presses their mouth to the glass, desperate, as if they longed to lick it clean.

Buck’s calloused hand sprawls across Tommy’s stomach as he shakes with the aftermath of his orgasm, fingers trailing through the sticky mess he made on his stomach. Slowly, it drifts lower, curling around his softening cock, giving it a few lazy strokes. “You were so good,” Buck breathes, utterly spent, lips at Tommy’s masked ear. Then he pulls out, groaning at the loss, at the drag of friction and the wet slide between them.

Tommy’s body clenches at the emptiness, a futile ache, and he grinds instinctively, groaning as cum drips from his hole, streaking down his cheeks and pooling warm beneath them.

Someone behind the glass whines, hungry.

Buck dips his fingers between Tommy’s legs, into the mess, breath catching. “So wet,” he whispers, awed, as the other above him writhes. He watches as he pulls his hand back, cum clinging in long strings to his fingers. He presses them back in and then withdraws, dragging the mess up across Tommy’s stomach, up his chest, painting him with evidence.

And then, gently, he brings the coated fingers to Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy sucks them in slowly, eyes fluttering closed, savoring their combined taste.

“C’mere,” Buck breathes when the other’s done, and pulls him into a kiss. It’s salty and sweaty and filled with residual heat, a fitting end to their scene, and when Tommy slumps bonelessly against him, crashing, Buck reaches up, hitting the remote.

The soft rustle of the curtain sliding shut feels like a protective barrier settling around them, sealing them away from the hungry eyes from just moments ago.

They don't speak for a while, simply breathing into each other’s mouths.

A show-stopping finish for a fantasy fully lived.

Then, slowly, as not to overwhelm, Buck’s hands begin to move, gentle but firm, carefully shifting Tommy so he’s sitting in the chaise between his legs. His touch is warm, grounding, and for a long moment, he says nothing. Instead, he wraps his arms tight around Tommy, chest to back, chin tucked against Tommy’s shoulder as his fingers trace slow, soothing patterns along his ribs.

Time stretches as Tommy sinks into the embrace inch by inch, his tension unspooling like thread, shoulders sagging, and, eventually, his eyes meet Buck’s. For a beat, he just stares, and Buck feels something low in his chest ache at how soft Tommy looks, how trusting. 

Buck lifts one hand to thumb gently at the edge of Tommy’s mask. “Can I?”

Tommy nods.

The silk loosens easily beneath Buck’s fingers, and the moment he sees Tommy’s face— flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes lined with exhausted pleasure— he leans forward and kisses him. Then again. His cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the soft curve of his jaw where the mask had bitten in, everywhere he can reach.

Tommy sighs like he’s being unspooled thread by thread, kiss by kiss. Then, with careful fingers, he unties Buck’s mask in return, making sure not to snag the sweaty strands of his hair. When it slips free, he cups Buck’s face between both hands and just looks at him.

“You okay?” Buck asks, whispering the question into the short space between them. His hand rests at the center of Tommy’s chest, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat. Tommy swallows, then nods. “Yeah?” He presses gently, eyes flicking over the other’s face for anything hiding beneath the afterglow. “Snap your fingers once for yes, baby, like we agreed.”

Tommy lets out a shaky laugh, but does it. A single sharp snap in the quiet room. “Yeah,” He croaks out. “I’m okay. Just…” His fingers curl loosely at Buck’s side. “That was a lot. A good lot.”

Relief hits Buck in a wave. He presses a kiss to Tommy’s shoulder, right over a red mark, and murmurs, “You were perfect. So perfect.”

Tommy huffs a breath, still floaty but smiling. “We both were. Credit where it’s due.” He exhales again, loose and spent. “Kind of felt like I was on fire.”

“You were,” Buck says, grinning as he kisses the same spot again, and then another, lower down. He moves slowly, reverently, working his way across Tommy’s shoulder blades and then up his back, kissing the bite on the curve of his shoulder in an apology.

When Tommy trembles beneath him, it’s not from overstimulation now, but from the rush of affection running through his veins. “Evan,” he mumbles, chiding but utterly content.

“Shush. Let me take care of you,” Buck counters, arms tightening around him.

“You’re good at it,” Tommy praises, leaning into him with a tired little sigh, forehead resting on Buck’s shoulder. His eyes flutter shut, adrenaline fading fast.

“Come on. Let’s get us cleaned up, baby.” Buck moves slowly, carefully, standing without jostling Tommy too hard. Then he helps him up, arms snug around his waist as he steadies him. Tommy lets himself lean into the hold, boneless and trusting. “Shower?”

“Only if you carry me,” Tommy replies, voice teasing but worn, but Buck doesn’t hesitate— just lifts him with ease, bridal-style, and plants a dramatic kiss to his forehead when Tommy blinks at him, stunned and helplessly endeared.

“Your wish,” he says, “is already halfway to granted.”

They disappear into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind them.

-

Later, Tommy lies sprawled on their bed, bare legs tangled in rumpled sheets, wearing nothing but one of Buck’s oversized shirts. The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a bedside lamp. Their bags sit untouched by the door, a silent testament to how quickly they’d crashed after getting in, too wrung out to do anything but shower again and collapse into each other.

Now, Buck sits beside him, one knee tucked under his body, the other braced out for balance as he carefully applies ointment to the angry, red indentations left behind by the harness. The marks along Tommy’s hipbone and at the crease of his thigh are particularly vivid, and Tommy flinches when the cool gel meets tender skin. “Sorry,” Buck apologizes, fingers immediately gentling.

Tommy shakes his head, peeking down at him with half-lidded eyes gone soft with affection. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

Silence follows, comfortable and warm. The faint buzz of the city filters in through the cracked window, and somewhere in the house, the dishwasher hums. The mundanity of it makes everything more precious.

Tommy watches Buck for a beat longer, then slowly lifts a hand to brush sweaty curls back from his forehead. “You okay?”

Buck looks up, blinking. “Me?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah. Tonight was intense for both of us. Just wanna check in.”

Buck sets the ointment aside and shifts, resting his cheek lightly against Tommy’s hip. “I’m good,” he says. “A little wrung out, maybe, but… happy. You?”

“Happy,” Tommy echoes. Then, with a quiet laugh, he adds, “And stupidly in love with you. Thank you for doing this with me.”

Buck lets out a breathy little laugh, like the wind’s been knocked out of him. “God, you can’t just say that. And don’t thank me for sex, it was hardly a hardship.” He winks, smug and flirty.

Tommy shrugs. “I can and I did. I love you. See? Did it again. Deal with it.” He watches as the other’s cheeks flush, so open, so Evan, and reaches out, hand curling around the nape of his neck. “C’mere.” Buck groans like a tired old man, dramatic to the end, but lets himself be pulled down, tucking into Tommy’s side without hesitation. They settle together easily, legs tangled with each other’s, before Buck reaches back to turn off the lamp and plunges them into darkness. “You’re my safe place, you know that?” Tommy whispers into the quiet, voice sleep-rough and bare.

Buck kisses the skin over his collarbone, the smile in his voice unmistakable. “And you’re mine too.”

-

They’re lazing in bed two days later, wrapped up in each other, when Buck’s phone buzzes against the nightstand.

As he reaches for it, Tommy groans, lifting his head from between Buck’s thighs, lips shiny. “Seriously? That bad?”

“No,” Buck huffs, flushed and sweaty, chest rising in uneven breaths. His voice is still dazed, but his expression shifts as he reads, brow quirking. “Tom?”

“Hm?”

“They’re inviting us back. If we want it.”

Tommy blinks before his eyes darken, hunger flickering back to life. “Oh,” he murmurs, voice gone low and thick and dangerous. Buck’s dick twitches against Tommy’s chin. “We want it, all right.”

[blessedbetherug]

The Buckley Han family!

[blessedbetherug]

i hate summer weather so much so i’ve decided to work thru the pain by writing these lil bucktommy summer ficlets.

have a prompt for a sexy/sweet/tender/whatever summer scenario you want me to write? go ahead and tell me about it 🌞 🌊

I can't sleep. Wanna meet me at the beach?

Of course Tommy does. Evan asks, Tommy comes. Always. 

The smooth fabric of Tommy’s Speedos rubs against his jeans with every step from the parking lot to the sand. It's dark, and he can’t help but feel like he’s sneaking out into the night like a teenager who’s down bad. It’s exciting; he never climbed out his window when he was in high school. Never stayed out past curfew parked up somewhere quiet with his crush. 

Tommy never was much of a ruler breaker until he stopped taking direction and started embracing the chaos of a life well lived.

And Evan is the most perfect chaos he’s ever been swept up in.

The waves lap at the shoreline; Evan’s reclined on a towel, staring out at inky water, bare feet sunk into the sand. He’s already wet. His hair is messy and curling around his ears and temples, his swim shorts wrinkled and clinging to his pink skin. 

The night is hot and clear; the stars could rival the lights of the city in the distance, but they’re nothing in comparison to the brightness of Evan’s smile when Tommy says hey and Evan turns his head to greet him. 

Tommy settles beside him, towel sinking into the sand under his hands. The sand is cool; he takes his shoes and socks off and leans back, too. Evan says thanks for coming and Tommy says of course, then wanna go back in?

Tommy stands and the glint in Evan’s eyes makes Tommy’s fingers falter on the buttons of his jeans. Evan stands up to help him, cold fingers unhooking the last one and then he’s waiting for Tommy to strip off. 

He lets Evan, who’s already familiar with the coolness of the water on his skin, guide him in. The current is strong, it pulls them and pushes them, and they stay close to the shore and to each other, floating and riding the waves.

Tommy dips his head, takes a few seconds to let the heaviness of the ocean, so powerful and loud, push against him. The whooshing in his ears reminds him of the roaring of an engine and it makes sense, he thinks, that he’s always felt as at home in the water as he has in the sky. 

Evan pulls him up, kisses him like he’s reminding him to breathe now he’s broken the surface. His mouth is hot and wetter than his skin. Evan’s almost weightless here, and his legs wrap around Tommy’s middle more effortlessly than usual. He still tastes like toothpaste. 

They drift for a while, dip their heads, gaze up at the stars and planes ferrying people across the sky. They kiss some more until the current gives them a break and washes them up. Tommy feels the cold, compacted sand under knees before he can get to his feet, but Evan’s hand is there to pull him up. 

Two fingers in the waistband of Tommy’s swimwear pulls him to where Evan wants him, which is laid on a beach towel, waiting. Tommy looks around — the beach is deserted, not that he cares when Evan straddles him and grinds down on him. Evan kisses him and moves down his body, scanning the beach before he pulls Tommy’s Speedos down and sucks the salt from the inside of Tommy’s thighs, the soft skin of his balls, and the tip of his cock. 

Tommy’s going to lose his mind on this beach, watching Evan’s head bob up and down on his thick cock, the glow of the moon reflected in his eyes when he looks to Tommy for a little more – like a thumb hooked in the corner of his mouth, or fingers knotted in his hair. Evan’s hand is still cold when he pulls off with a pop and wraps it around the base of Tommy’s cock. Evan’s a sure-shot with his spit, and his smile is filthy as he works the slickness around in the tight grip of his fist. 

Tommy wants more of him. He grabs Evan’s wrist and pulls him up, opens his legs to slot Evan in between them. Evan’s swim shorts are soaked and cold against Tommy’s heated skin; Tommy jolts when the fabric covering Evan’s cock rubs against his own. They push Evan’s shorts down together, and Evan’s still trying to shimmy them off when Tommy wraps his hand around the both of them. He tells Evan to shh and puts his teeth to Evan’s earlobe so remembers to keep it down, too. He’s going to come, and the whooshing of the ocean isn’t going to be enough to drown out the sound of how much Evan makes him feel. 

Tommy shifts his head quickly and bites Evan’s shoulder to stifle his moans and anything else that might slip out. His toes curl in the sand. He’s sinking deeper. He keeps his grip tight for Evan, who’s raised up on his arms now and using Tommy’s wet fist until his mouth drops open and he comes hard and long, drawing it out until he starts to shiver. 

There’s a weightless moment where they both stare at each other. Life starts to creep back as they breathe hard and half out of sync. Evan braces his weight with a hand on Tommy’s chest and Tommy holds it there. He tunes into the gentle crashing of the waves. Distant voices of others coming back from their own perfect night. 

Two heartbeats. 

Evan drops his head to Tommy’s chest, starts to laugh and curse, and Tommy holds him.

‘We should rinse off,’ Tommy says and Evan agrees with a rumbling mmm. Evan’s knees are rough with sand when he stands on wobbly legs. He hasn’t bothered to put his swim shorts back on. 

‘Race ya?’ Evan’s eyebrow quirks, and he takes off before Tommy’s caught his breath.

[blessedbetherug]

You have just been magically transported into a random ao3 fic!

Spin the wheel of ao3 tags three times to find out what your fic is about. Put in the tags what your fic tags are!

[blessedbetherug]

fic: allying too close to the sun - final chapter!!

in which oh my god it's over

more seriously, in which so many things happen because i couldn't bring myself to raise the chapter count yet again - featuring the world's most awkward dinner, henrietta wilson vs. the bisexual induced migraine agenda, the queer deep dive canon refused to give us, and an actual conversation! with words!

i am so overwhelmed with the response this thing has had, and so, so grateful to everyone who's engaged with it at all. you're all the absolute best and i need to go lie down before i start to cry tears of "fandom i love you!!!" joy

[blessedbetherug]

tommy kinard who is so so so gay

[blessedbetherug]

i need there to be more (smutty) henren head canons. hen in a loose tank top and shorts, no bra on. guns (arms) out. and the kids are pawned off to buck and tommy. so hen is just in shorts and that slutty top and she's handling the screen door to their backyard bc it came loose. got a screwdriver in one hand, dad cap sat backwards on her head, unhinging the door so she can set it back in.

And Karen's wearing a new dress she got, little flowery thing, cutting off just above her knees and she never wears shit like that anymore, and she comes into the kitchen bc Hen let her sleep in and there's fresh coffee and bagels and fruit on the counter and Hen is fixing shit, looking like THAT. "hey," Hen grins over her shoulder and Karen's mouth goes dry. That backwards cap really shouldn't work on her anymore but it really really does. and it's been weeks. weeks! karen clears her throat and burns her tongue on the coffee, leans against the counter.

"hey babe?" she aims for casual. "I think maybe the door is fine." Hen frowns at her as she lifts the door, arms bulging. "What? I'm not even half done!" And Karen thinks she shouldn't even have bothered with knickers bc they're gonna be soaked in a minute. They've both got one track minds and sometimes they get so caught up in work and life and parenting that everything else comes second but once her mind is actually clear, god Karen is a mess for Hen. "I'm saying." Karen sets the coffee down. "I think the door is fine." Something in her tone must alert Hen bc she looks up, actually looks at her. Her flushed cheeks. Her lips. "Oh." Hen sets the stupid door down again. Slow smile on her face. "Yeah you might be right." She tossed the screwdriver. Takes two steps towards Karen. "Pretty dress," she tells her. Karen hums. "Hot cap." Hen dips her head down, just slightly. Crowds Karen against the counter, one hand gripping the edge of it next to Karen. Karen's nipples are hard. Pulse races. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of Hen's shorts, pulls her in closer. "You gonna kiss me, Wilson?"

And Hen does. Agonisingly slow. Licks into Karen's mouth, tongue hot against hers. Karen gives a moan. "Fuck," she whispers and loops her arms around Hen's neck. Hen kisses her deeper, presses one leg between Karen's thighs and fuck. Fuck. Karen's hips snap forward, chasing the friction. "Eager," Hen breathes and Karen shoves her hand under her stupid tank top and under her sports bra, hands finally on her tits. Fuck she loves those tits. Hen gasps into her mouth. Karen whimpers back, flicks over Hen's nipple. "Shit.

Karen is grinding against Hen's thigh now, hot shivers running down her spine, needing more. She's still pressed against the counter, doesn't have much room to move but god she loves it. Hen's lips attach to her neck and Karen's eyes flutter close and then, finally. Hen's fingers rucking up the skirt of her dress. Skimming along the seam of her satin panties. "You're so wet," Hen whispers, hot breath ghosting over Karen's skin. Karen's fingernails dig into the back of Hen's neck and she gasps and then. God. Hen's fingers on her. Finally. Inside her panties, hand curled just right.

Karen's legs are gonna give out at some point.

Pad of Hen's middle finger slicked up by how fucking wet she is, pressing slowly against her clit. Lightly. Karen stifles a groan against Hen's shoulder. God. Slow circles, brushing gently until Karen is only want and need. Her groin is heat, liquid, white heat. "Faster," she whines and then finally. Hen pins her firmer against the counter and starts working her like she needs it. Fast, firm strokes, almost too hard but hard enough that Karen's brain shuts off entirely. She can hear the slick sounds, feels Hen's fingers, Hen's lips and teeth against her neck. Heat builds up everywhere. Karen gasps and moans, pushes against Hen's hand, needs it faster, harder, needs it to be the only thing she feels.

Her orgasm crashes into her a few seconds later, and she shivers in Hen's arms, comes riding her fingers, clutching her shoulders. Chases it until she's sure she's not coming again. "Fuck," she laughs, and kisses Hen deeply, chest heaving, eyes bright. "God. Thank you. Thank you."

Hen laughs with her, cheeks hot, lips slick with spit. She brings up her fingers for Karen to suck on and watches, eyes darkening. "You wanna finish that door now, or what?" Karen grins, fingers popping out of her mouth. "I can show you my handiwork skills, if you're interested."

Hen's bruising kiss is answer enough.

[blessedbetherug]

Red String🚁

（this is a commissioned art piece）

[blessedbetherug]

Pre-orders are Open!!

Physical copy purchase link: https://www.paypal.com/instantcommerce/checkout/MHDQGNVUQGBJU

Digital copy purchase link: https://www.paypal.com/instantcommerce/checkout/F4DPCNACEUBHW

[blessedbetherug]

WIP - BuckTommy 5+1

Under promise and over deliver - Part 5 of 5 times the 118 worried about telling Buck that Tommy got married and one time they realized they didn't have to.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

5. Eddie

Eddie is quiet on the ride back to the station.  The call was routine, or as routine as a three alarm fire can be.  The building was empty when the fire started, and they get it under control.  The work is exhausting, but it isn’t hard.  Ravi is a good partner, and good at the job.  He’s been trained well, but they don’t have the years of experience working together on calls.  Buck always seemed to know what he needed before he needed it.

Seeing Tommy on the call has given him a lot to think about though.

He was wrong to cut off Tommy when he and Buck broke up.  Buck had never asked that of him, and he’d been friends with Tommy before the two of them had started dating.  Not for long, obviously, but long enough. 

His therapist has helped him realize that he lashes out and cuts people off when they don’t behave the way he expects they should.  It’s his salt and burn strategy to avoid dealing with any emotion other than anger or the uncomfortable conversations that need to happen. 

Learning that Ravi is still tight with Buck gives him even more to think about.

A two years ago, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to imagine a world where he and Buck weren’t best friends – brothers even.  Now he doesn’t know how to reach out to Buck now to apologize. 

It’s actually part of his therapy homework.  Identify the people he needs to make amends to so that they can figure out why he acted the way he did and develop better coping strategies.

Chris was the first person he held himself accountable for.  Therapy had been one of Chris’ conditions for moving back to LA with him.  They still go monthly, slowly working through the trauma of Shannon’s death, and their tumultuous relationship before that.

It’s helping. He feels lighter at home, and he’s doing well at work.  They’re settling into a new routine with Chimney as Captain at the station.  The only thing that’s missing is Buck.

At first he’d wanted to give Buck space to calm down. Eddie had made the grand gesture of bringing Chris back to LA, so they should be back to normal.  His therapist had pointed it he had the tendency to make grand gestures rather than apologizing or admitting what was wrong.

But then Buck had moved out, and then transferred stations, and then it was hard not to get his back up because it felt like Buck was punishing with his choices.  His therapist reminds him that he is not responsible for other peoples’ choices, and that their actions are not a reflection on him.

Now the space between them feels insurmountable, and Eddie knows that if he wants to repair it he has to make a meaningful apology and do the work. 

He just doesn’t know how to make the first step.

If they’d still been talking, he would have shown up at Buck’s place with a six pack of beers and just flat out told him Tommy had gotten married. Now he doesn’t even know where Buck lives, and that’s on him.

***9-1-1***

Eddie is sitting at the table, staring at his phone screen, when Chris gets home from school.  His little boy is already in high school.

“Hi Dad,” Chris greets him as he lets himself into the house.  Chris hangs up his bag, and makes his way past Eddie to the kitchen.  When Eddie doesn’t answer him, he turns back around and comes into the living room.  “Are you okay Dad?”

Eddie shakes his head, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry Chris. Hi. How was your day?”

Chris just tilts his head to one side. “Reallly Dad?”

“Sorry buddy,” Eddie replies. “Just a lot on my mind right now. I’m seeing Dr. Medina again tomorrow.”

Nodding with understanding, Chris comes to sit next to his dad on the couch.  “Therapy homework?”

“Therapy homework,” Eddie acknowledges.  He sets his phone, face down on the table, and angles his body towards Chris.  “Say, you’ve been talking to Buck, right?”

“Yeah,” Chris answers hesitantly, like he’s worried he’s going to get in trouble for it.

“No, that’s good,” Eddie is quick to explain. “Does he seem happy right now? He’s not regretting the transfer?”

“I’m not your spy, Dad,” Chris huffs, rolling his eyes. 

Eddie thinks how he would have been reprimanded for talking back to his parents like that. Eddie doesn’t comment on it, because Chris has a point, and he wants his son to be comfortable enough to speak up.  “Sorry, Chris. You’re right. I just found out something at work today that made me think of him.”

“If you want to find out how he’s doing, maybe you should call him and ask him,” Chris explained to him with all of the wisdom of a 14 year old boy.

“No, you’re right kid,” Eddie agreed.  “I should call him.”

“Good talk dad,” Chris replied, before pushing himself to a stand.  “I’m going to do my homework, then log on with Katie and Alex to play Fortnight.”

Chris doesn’t wait for a response before going to his room and shutting the door.

Eddie picks up his phone and unlocks the messenger app.  He has to scroll down to find his last conversation with Buck.  He’s ashamed to see it’s his offer to pick up groceries.  Has he really not reached out to Buck since that awful night?

He’s too much of a coward to call Buck, but he does type out a message, putting the ball in Buck’s court.

Eddie: You have every right to not want to talk to me, or to be angry with me, but I owe you an apology, and I’d like to give it to you face to face.   You pick the time and place.

Eddie puts the phone face down on the coffee table again and goes to the kitchen to start dinner.  They don’t eat as well as when Buck was in the kitchen, but his regular Facetime cooking lessons in El Paso have helped and he’s able to feed his son without burning something nine times out of ten.

He doesn’t check his phone again until after they’ve eaten.  Buck hasn’t even read the message, but there’s a new unread message in the team’s group chat.  The same one they haven’t kicked Buck out of.

Buck: I know it’s short notice, but I’m having a house warming party on Saturday.

Buck: I checked with Maddie that you weren’t on shift.

Buck: Be there or be square 🤓

Buck: P.S. The only presents needed is your presence.  Seriously, I have too much stuff already.

Tag List: @fenrirscarsback, @gayjaytodd, @wiay04, @daughterofscotland, @thuperrah (I'm sorry if I missed anyone. I'm new to tag lists).

I'm brainstorming a follow up to this - 5 times Buck and Tommy almost spill the beans about their marriage + how they got back together.

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who was everyone’s first anime crush?

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one hen wilson in a limited color palette

+no glasses

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Happy Pride Month to Hen and Karen Wilson.

❤️🧡🤍💗

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IF you would be interested I would love your take on 107. “Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.” and Bucktommy!

107. “Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.”

Tommy still isn’t used to this. He’s at a bar with the 118, drinking and laughing with his arm slung over the top of the booth behind Evan’s shoulders. Warmth bursts through him every time Evan leans back against him, every time someone laughs at his jokes or asks him a question. 

He knows that the 118 fractured after Bobby’s death, but they seem to have rallied under the leadership of Captain Han. They’re closer than ever, and that’s saying something. Even Ravi is here. He’s opening up and telling more personal stories than Tommy—and, from the looks of it, the entire 118—has ever heard from him. The night is warm and loose and happy in a way that has Tommy feeling drunker than the two empty beer bottles in front of him normally would. 

Tommy isn’t the only one. Hen’s laughs devolve into snorts, Eddie’s shoulders are lighter than they have been for over a year, and pride shines in Chim’s eyes. Evan had one drink before switching to club soda—something he does a lot now, Tommy has noticed; Tommy thinks it makes him feel closer to Bobby—but you wouldn’t know that from the way he’s crying laughing and melting against Tommy’s side like it’s been a long night of hard drinking. It makes Tommy feel floaty and free to see them all like this; to be allowed to take part in it. Everything is giddy and relaxed. 

The night goes on, and after a while there’s a lull in the conversation. A few people get up to use the bathroom, a few go to get more drinks, and the few left at the table are engaged in a heated debate about something so inconsequential that Tommy tuned them out minutes ago. He’s focused on the press of Evan against him, the heat of his body, and the soft, casual way their legs brush together. It’s far from the most intimate they’ve been since getting back together, but it is the most public. There’s a deep, rolling contentment in Tommy’s stomach at the knowledge that Evan chose him and wants everyone to know it. 

The debate heats up across the table and Evan taps out; losing either interest or track of the conversation. He leans back and smiles soft and sweet when he sees that Tommy is already looking at him. 

“Hey,” Evan says. He leans closer, warmer; fits himself more snugly into Tommy’s side. “Do you wanna play pool?” 

“Do you want to lose at pool?” Tommy teases. 

“Oh, I see how it is.” The flirtatious spark in Evan’s eye settles low in Tommy’s gut. “You, uh, you know the firehouse has a pool table, right? I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

“I do know the firehouse has a pool table.” Tommy smirks. “Who do you think carried it up the stairs?” 

Evan’s eyes go dark and his breath visibly hitches in his chest. Tommy decides not to clarify that it wasn’t just him, and that he and Sal had sweated and sworn at each other the entire time. He lets Evan have his fantasy of Tommy—current Tommy, with his thicker muscles, not the leaner frame he had in 2008—single-handedly carrying a heavy pool table up a long flight of stairs. No one has ever looked at Tommy the way that Evan does. He doesn’t want to say anything that would put a stop to it. 

Instead of forming a response, Evan hip-checks Tommy as well as he can while they’re both sitting down. Tommy takes the hint and scoots out of the booth, Evan following right behind him. Evan takes his hand and leads the way through the bar. 

They find an empty pool table and set it up. Tommy watches Evan’s thick fingers chalk up the cue. He tries to keep his thoughts appropriate for a bar, for an outing with people they know, but it’s hard to do that when Evan’s big hands run up and down the smooth length of the cue. Tommy is already feeling loose from the beers and the good atmosphere. Looking at Evan, it’s easy to feel just a little looser. 

Evan is better at pool than Tommy thought he would be. He’s slow and methodical, taking his time to really line up each shot, and he sinks the ball more often than not. It takes Tommy longer than it should to notice that Evan is moving so slowly on purpose; intentionally wiggling his hips as he bends over the table. Brat. It draws Tommy’s attention to his ass, and suddenly hitting the ball isn’t the main thing that Tommy is thinking about as he lines up his next shot. Tommy doesn’t want to be playing pool anymore. He wants to get his hands on Evan. 

Not now. Not yet. Calming, relaxing breath in, then out. This game will pass, this outing will be over, and then he’ll take Evan home. He’ll have Evan all to himself soon enough. He’ll have Evan naked. He’ll have Evan spread out on the bed under him, moaning and begging on his fingers. 

Tommy takes his shot and misses. It’s not a surprise. His head isn’t in the game anymore and his fingers had fumbled over the cue with the trembling desire to touch Evan. It would have been more of a surprise if he had made the shot. He tries not to let his lust show on his face as he nods across the table for Evan to take his turn. 

Tommy assumes that Evan will take the perfect setup right in front of him, so Tommy doesn’t back away from his side of the table. Evan doesn’t take it. He looks at Tommy, looks at the table, then back at Tommy, and smirks. Slowly, without taking his eyes off of Tommy, Evan slinks around from the other side. He’s surprisingly graceful in his movements for someone so large, for someone who Tommy has seen trip over his own feet more than once. Evan stalks closer and, like a hypnotized prey animal, Tommy doesn’t move a muscle. 

When Evan is almost within kissing distance, he smirks and turns his back to Tommy, sliding in between him and the pool table. Evan bends over, cue in hand, and pushes his ass back against Tommy’s crotch. Just like all of the shots that Evan has taken tonight, he wiggles his hips. 

“Evan,” Tommy hisses, but his cock twitches and he can’t get himself to back away. Evan feels electric against him. 

“I’m taking my shot,” Evan says casually. “You’re in my way.” 

They’re in public. They’re in a bar, in public, with the rest of the 118 somewhere nearby. He knows that Evan has an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, but this is bold even for him. His family is here—his family who Tommy still feels like he needs to be on his best behavior for. This isn’t their best behavior. They’re never going to hear the end of this. 

Still, Tommy doesn’t back away. The rest of the bar starts to fade from his attention the longer Evan is pressed against him, the more his cock fills out from the friction of Evan’s hips. Tommy isn’t going to rub himself against Evan’s ass in a crowded bar, but it’s a close thing. 

“You could’ve asked me to move,” Tommy says dryly. 

Evan shoots a flirty glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t want you to move.” 

Evan takes his shot. It’s awful; easily his worst of the night, sending balls flying in all directions. Tommy thinks he sees one of his own balls go in, but he can’t be sure because Evan is straightening back up and pressing the long line of his back against Tommy’s front. 

“Oops,” Evan says, and wiggles his hips again. 

Tommy is sweating. He grabs Evan’s hips to still him, but he doesn’t make any move to put space between them like he should. He’s beyond that. He wants Evan so badly. 

“When we get home,” he whispers, low and growly in Evan’s ear. “Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.” 

Evan leans to the side and looks at Tommy playfully. “Only seven?” 

“Brat.” Tommy’s hands tighten on Evan’s hips. “You’re not gonna win with dirty tricks.” 

Evan hums and rubs his ass against Tommy’s growing erection. “I think I already did.” 

Against his better judgment, Tommy gives into the urge to touch. He slides one hand up Evan’s hip and slips his fingers just under Evan’s shirt. Evan’s skin is warm and soft. The muscles jump under Tommy’s touch. Evan lets out a shuddering breath and Tommy gives up the last bit of pretense that they’re going to finish this game. Tommy wants Evan, and Evan wants Tommy enough to make such a display of himself. Tommy has no problem letting Evan say he won. They’re both going to get what they want. 

“Congratulations,” Tommy rumbles into Evan’s ear. “Do you think you can wait until we’re home to get your prize?” He dips a finger under Evan’s waistband and traces a small pattern into the skin. 

Evan shakes his head. “Bathroom,” he says. 

“Truck,” Tommy counters. It’s arguably more public, but there’s less of a risk of someone they know seeing him on his knees. There’s less of a risk of anyone hearing Evan’s sweet noises: the moans and whines and high-pitched please please pleases Tommy plans on wringing out of him before letting him come. Those sounds are for Tommy’s ears only. 

“Yeah, deal, deal.” Evan leans his weight against Tommy’s body; heavy and trusting. 

Tommy bites a kiss against Evan’s jaw and feels him shudder. “Lead the way.” 

Evan grabs Tommy’s hand where it rests over his stomach. He drags Tommy out the back door and into the parking lot. They barely remember to drop their pool cues onto the table in their rush. 

For about thirty seconds, Tommy feels bad about leaving without saying goodbye to the 118. Then Evan backs Tommy against the truck and kisses him—presses his plush lips against Tommy’s and shoves his tongue into his mouth, moans so beautifully and rubs the line of his hard cock against Tommy’s—and all thoughts about anyone else fall away. 

They scramble into the backseat of the truck. Tommy gets Evan’s clothes off, gets his hands and his mouth and his body all over Evan, and he has never been happier to lose a game of pool.

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this is how the article starts btw. like…. 🙃

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ROMEO + JULIET (1996) + IMDb Trivia