rcmclachlan

[rcmclachlan]

[rcmclachlan]

even more sentences sunday monday

I was tagged by @leashybebes and @freneticfloetry. Thanks, y'all!

Life has been insanely busy, so I haven't had a lot of time to write, but I'm still chipping away at my WIP whenever I can. All the other snippets have been such downers, so here's something lighthearted for a change.

+

Tommy orders his socks online from some overseas mom and pop shop. They're disgustingly expensive — Tommy had placed an order when they were dating, and when Buck had clapped eyes on the cart, he almost called Maddie to talk him through the subsequent heart attack — but apparently last forever.

"Okay, in my defense," Tommy had said after Buck finished having his coronary, "the last time I needed to buy socks was almost six years ago. That's the kind of longevity you get with these bad boys."

Meanwhile, Buck felt like a frat boy shithead about the $5.99 20-pairs pack he kept buying on Amazon. They were the only socks whose toe seams didn't dig in, but they pretty much dissolved in the wash by the third week.

"That's so adult of you," Buck had teased, chubbing up a little in his sweatpants because his boyfriend cared enough about something as mundane as socks that he was willing to drop a truly astonishing amount of money on them. It made him wonder what other dumb, useful shit he'd happily spend a small fortune on. Like, good pens — the kind that used smooth, gel ink that dried the second it touched paper. It made him dizzy with lust just thinking about it.

"Despite what Chim keeps telling me, you're also an adult, Evan. I've seen your driver's license and you vaguely remember the nineties."

"Yeah, well, I'm definitely not the kind of adult who drops half a paycheck on socks. Like, I'm so inappropriately turned on right now. And you're paying full price for shipping, too? Not a single promo code in sight? God, that's so hot."

Tommy had laughed, but the sincerity of his reply was somehow more obscene than his subtotal. "Hey, whatever cranks your yank, but you get what you pay for. Socks aren't something I'm willing to cheap out on — it's actually something I learned in the Army. A good pair of socks will get you through pretty much anything."

Maybe that's what Buck's been missing. Maybe an $84 pair of socks will fix his life.

+

No pressure tags: @firehose118, @screamlet, @alchemistc, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @station18908, @trilliath, @politenotice, @adiprose, and @peppermintquartz

[rcmclachlan]

Thinking about a Buck, pre-season 1 or maybe right at the start of season 1. Who finds a new gym via recommendation of a guy at a bar.

And its super friendly and there are so many buff guys who want to help him with his routine.

And then he's in the showers and theyre still communal, which seems odd for a place this fancy, but whatever.

And there is this absolute Adonis showering in the corner. And Buck looks, he's never really been able to stop himself from admiring a well built man, even though its gotten him in plenty of trouble.

And he thinks he's being subtle about it, but that's never been his strong suit so suddenly this guy is making eye contact.

And Buck thinks he's about to get in a fight or get yelled at but the guy just twists a little and shows Buck how he's stroking himself, soapy water, slow and sensual.

And Buck has no idea whats happening but he's rock hard and the guy isnt stopping so he starts jerking off too. Its the most eye contact hes ever had during a sexual act. And then the guy tilts his head, invites him over.

And proceeds to give Buck the best hand job of his life. Maybe its the exhibitionist streak, maybe its the unexpectedness of this all, but Buck comes embarrassingly fast.

And he tries to apologize but the guy just laughs and asks him to return the favor, he's close too. And Buck does and he's not the best but he gets the guy there.

He asks for the guys name but he shrugs him off. Asks if comes here often or if he prefers other spots.

Buck asks, what other gyms?

Sure, the guy says. Or bars or the parks. Wherever.

Bucks confused. For working out?

For cruising, the guy explains.

What's cruising? Buck asks.

The guy looks at him like he's crazy.

What we just did.

Oh there's a name for that? Is it like a California thing? I just moved here, I'm from Pennsylvania. It was fun though!

No. Its not a California exclusive thing, its a gay thing. Did you just come out?

And Buck blinks and goes so earnestly. Im straight. Im an ally though! Like he didnt just come with this guys hand on his dick two minutes ago.

And the guy sighs and mutters I'm definitely going to regret this, and then introduces himself as Tommy, and says he'll show buck around.

And Buck is super proud of himself for making his first friend in LA!

[rcmclachlan]

BuckTommy commission for @apartmentsmoke that got me inspired <3

[rcmclachlan]

New Fic: Triangulating Happiness (9-1-1, buck/tommy, PG, 19k)

@liminalmemories21 and I were finally home at the same time. Within there are a lot of OC's, a riff on Sal, and so much Tommy. So, you know, the usual.

What if Buck came to work at Harbor?

Prologue Tommy has what he would call a tension headache, except that he refuses to be stressed out about creating a two-week schedule, even if July 4th falls in the middle and McDaniels is due to pop any minute and Duong has PTSD and shouldn’t be scheduled for anything remotely resembling fireworks and Gerritson’s is… off doing whatever he’s doing that is not working overtime the week Tommy needs him to. Tommy’s pretty sure he overheard that it was his twins’ birthday, which is absolutely not a good excuse. “You alright over there, Kinard?” Tommy sighs, “You know what you did to me, Cap.” Their offices are across a hall from each other and they never shut the doors; nothing happens at the 217 that everyone can’t hear. He likes it. Or did until he got reamed out after stealing a helicopter (for Evan) (again). He would have preferred if Donato did not have more dirt to lord over him. Tommy stares at the list for outside options until his eyes blur but. Nope, Evan’s name is still there on the transfer list, open for filling the gaping hole in…Tommy’s schedule. Finally fills Evan's name into the empty shift slots, stares at it for a while longer and then bites the bullet. Prints the transfer request and takes it and the schedule over to Melton and slides them in front of him. Melton reads them and then looks up at Tommy, eyebrow raised. "You want to work with your ex?"

[rcmclachlan]

For the cuddling prompts - Buck/Tommy #20 - post-proposal, please. Thanks in advance!

I hope you like disgustingly soft fluff because that's all this is.

--

The irony of it was, Tommy thought hysterically as he and Evan stared at each over the truck bed, that wasn’t even in the top five most insane things to come out of Evan’s mouth.  The I’m the himbo had been objectively worse, and yet here he was, doing his best impression of Alan Grant from Jurassic Park, keeping absolutely still in the hope the t-rex wouldn’t eat him.

Evan cleared his throat and said, “Hey, what if we just pretend I didn’t say that and we go to the movie?  You get the tickets and I’ll get the popcorn and the M&Ms to add to the popcorn.”

“I don’t think I can do that, sweetheart,” he said, apologetic.

Evan’s bottom lip trembled.  “Oh.  Um, okay, I guess we’re doing this here.”

Evan was clearly panicking, and what Tommy should do was round the truck and take Evan into his arms and promise that he wasn’t leaving, not this time, not ever.  But instead Tommy opened his mouth and what fell out was, “You think about marrying me?”

They’d been talking about places they always wanted to go and things they wanted to see.  He mentioned wanting to see the aurora borealis, and Evan had nodded thoughtfully and said, “I saw it a little bit when I was in Niagara Falls, but if we want the full experience we should go to Iceland.  Really make a whole thing out of it.  Take our time.  Maybe after we’re married.”  And then they had frozen on their respective sides, praying the t-rex would look past them.

It would be easy to brush it aside.  All Evan had to do was waggle his eyebrows and say he thought about the wedding night, and then Tommy would get them across the finish line with a joke about carrying Evan over the threshold.  The whole would be so neatly dealt with that they would have plenty of time for Evan’s ritual agonizing over junior mints or twizzlers at the concession stand.

But beautiful and brave Evan lifted his chin in challenge and said, “Yes, I think about marrying you.”

Tommy exhaled on a long, quiet sigh.  “That’s good because I think about marrying you.”

“Wait,” Evan said, brow furrowed, “really?  But you broke up with me last time I, um, brought it up.”

Not for the first time Tommy wished he could reach back in time and punch himself in the face.  All he had to do to avoid blowing up his life was stay and use his words, but in the grand tradition of the Kinard family, he turned tail and tried to outrun any emotion that wasn’t jaw clenched stoicism.

But fuck his family line and fuck stoicism.  All that had gotten him was a small, lonely life in a small, lonely world.  If Evan could be brave even after getting his heart broken then so could Tommy.

“When you talked about getting married before,” he said, taking great care in choosing his words, “it didn’t have anything to do with us.  You talked about it like you were trying to get a good grade in being queer.  Maybe you did want to get married, but you didn’t want to be married to me.”

Evan opened his mouth in automatic protest only to catch himself.  “You’re not wrong,” he reluctantly said after gnawing thoughtfully on his bottom lip.  “But you’re not right either.”

Tommy inched closer.  “What am I not right about?”

“It was about you,” Evan said, gripping the edge of the truck bed so tightly his knuckles went white.  “Yeah, maybe I got caught up in the idea of it, but no one else has ever really made me think about marriage.  Not even Taylor, and we lived together.”

Carefully, afraid the thin ice was going to crack under his feet, he said, “Not even Abby?”

“Just you,” Evan said.  “Do you believe me?”

They were close enough now to touch.  Like that first night in the loft, they had been slowly gravitating together, two celestial bodies in the same orbit.  He had never been able to stay away from Evan, not even when he ran and certainly not now that they twined their lives together.

“Yes,” he said, taking Evan’s hand in his own.  And then: “I’m saying yes.”

Evan’s eyes went wide and bright.  His mouth dropped open.  Slack jawed, Tommy thought even as he tenderly nudged it closed again.

“Tommy,” Evan croaked, and then had to pause to presumably work up some moisture.  “I wasn’t asking.  I’m not asking.”

“And yet I’m still saying yes,” he said.

“You—we—Tommy.”  Evan flailed out with his free hand and knocked knuckles right into his nipple.  “We are not getting engaged in a parking lot.”

Tommy caught that hand and brought both to his mouth so he could press his mouth to Evan’s palms, right first and then left.  “Why not?  It’s a good as place as any.”

“I don’t have a ring.”  Evan’s lower lip jutted out in a ridiculous pout.

“I don’t need a ring.”  He was so smiling so wide that he had to be giving Evan’s Joker grin a run for its money.  “We can go ring shopping together.  That way we don’t have to guess what the other will like.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t be guessing.  I know what you like.”

“You do,” Tommy agreed just to tease out a smile.

Evan jiggled their joined hands.  “At least let me do this properly.  Get down on one knee, actually say the words.”

Tommy glanced down at the asphalt.  “Maybe hold off on that until we’re somewhere that isn’t covered in stale popcorn and filth.”

“I’m trying to be romantic.”  A whine joined the pout.  “Why won’t you let me romance you?”

He tugged and Evan, ever obliging, stepped forward, head already angled a kiss.  Tommy didn’t let it deepen, keeping it sweet and light even as Evan gave a frustrated whine, tongue swiping at his mouth.

Tommy cradled Evan’s jaw and said, “What part of this isn’t romantic?”

“Every part,” Evan said, but he was smiling now.  “This isn’t how I pictured it going.”

“You want to marry me, sweetheart.  Can’t get more romantic than that.”  Tommy fitted his thumb into Evan’s dimple.  “How did you picture it?”

Evan wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled them flush together.  “Ideally one of us would be hanging out of a helicopter.”

He pressed his laughter into Evan’s neck.  “Let me guess, that would be you, right?  You’re on top of a burning high rise and I’m flying low enough for you to make a jump for it.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Evan said happily, lips pressed to his temple.  “Also in this scenario, I’m carrying like eight babies so you have to marry me.”

“God, I love you,” he said, and this time he let Evan make the kiss as filthy as his heart desired.  Thank god Athena wasn’t around or they would have ended up being booked for public indecency.

They gently eased out of the kiss, and Tommy pressed their foreheads together.  “Hey.”

“Hey,” Evan said, dramatic eyelashes fanned across his cheeks.  “So we’re officially engaged.  What do you want to do?”

“We did come here for a reason.”

Evan leaned back.  “We just got engaged and you want to see a movie?”

“I know for a fact you don’t other plans.”  He brushed his thumb over that pouting mouth.  “It’s Some Like Hot, a seminal part of queer cinema.  And I promise you’ll like it.  And,” he added, pressing a kiss under Evan’s ear, “we can sit in the back row and make out.”

There was that smile, the one that Tommy would crack open his ribs just for a chance to see.  “I guess that is the best offer I’ve gotten so far.”  He jumped when Tommy pinched his side.

“I’ll get the tickets and you get the popcorn,” Tommy said, and began the disentangling process.  He made it all of two steps before Evan was pulling him back in, those long arms wrapped around his neck and one long leg sliding between his.

“We’re going to get married,” Evan whispered shyly, eyes wide and bright.  “Holy shit, you’re going to marry me.”

“I’m going to marry you,” Tommy said, and then suddenly Evan was lifting him off his feet.  He yelped, clutching at Evan’s shoulders even as surprise turned to laughter.

“We need a picture.”  Evan set him back down and frantically searched for his phone.  “Did I leave it in the truck?”

Tommy plucked it from Evan’s back pocket and unlocked it.  “Come here,” he said, pulling Evan in for what was guaranteed to be an off center and poorly lit selfie Evan was sure to bitch about later.  “First pic as an engaged couple.”

Evan laughed, forehead pressed to Tommy’s temple, and said, “No, no, let me take it.  You’re terrible at it.”

“Terribly handsome, you mean,” Tommy said, clicking away as Evan made a face, nose scrunched up and pouting, like that was going to mask the joy bursting from him like a solar  flare.

“We’re going to miss the movie if you keep doing that,” Evan said, finally managing to grab the phone.  “I was promised a make out in the back row.”

“Anything for my fiancé,” Tommy said, and then, hand in hand and laughing, they went inside to get the tickets and the popcorn.

[rcmclachlan]

#14 for the cuddle prompts please?

hello and thank you for the prompt!! hey can i interest you in some bodyguard au? this is another installment of bodyguard buck and senator kinard: cuddling in public (14). word count: about 2k. find all parts of the bodyguard au here (tagged "bodyguard au (screamlet)").

---

Eddie Diaz was a great guy. Eddie would be the first to tell someone that.

Sal had said, hilariously, that Tommy would hate him, but Tommy doesn't hate him.

They butt heads. A lot. It was bound to happen when they both spent so much of their lives deferring to other people. Now they were both in places where they wouldn't have to defer to anyone anymore.

Except Tommy was a US Senator and Eddie worked for him. Tommy thought there might have been a slight misunderstanding there.

"Actually, Senator, that means you let me handle the world outside your little car and your little office," Eddie had said one day, then climbed out of the car so he could do a sweep of the immediate perimeter outside Tommy's usual lunch place.

"My little office," Tommy had told Sal. "The floor of the US Senate. That little office."

"Ah, I love him," Sal had laughed. "Someone to put you in your place, sometimes physically! I feel so alive."

It has been a long three months with Eddie Diaz as his bodyguard.

---

What really ground his gears, though, was Evan around Eddie.

Was Tommy jealous? A little.

Was Eddie a dick? A little.

"Yeah, I know Buck, we've had some workshops together," Eddie said when he picked up Tommy at his house for the first time. Evan was still staying with him since it was early in his recovery, but he was getting ready to head back to his apartment in the next day or two. "Buck, are you here for like, a handing off ceremony or something?"

Eddie jokingly leaned in and stage-whispered, "He's just a senator. I think we'll be fine."

Tommy could have sworn he had thicker skin than this, but this wasn't about thick skin. Sometimes people were just annoying.

"Oh. Uh. I've actually been staying with him, the senator," Evan said, his eyes darting to Tommy. "He offered since my apartment is a loft and had some stairs, so—"

Eddie looked horrified. "Jeez, Buck, you could have asked anyone else if you could crash with them. You've got friends!"

"He's my friend," Evan said, but he already looked a little crushed that the cool guy with the cool hair thought he was an idiot.

Well. Okay. They were both idiots, but Diaz didn't know that.

"Whatever works," Eddie had said, clearly implying this didn't work. "I'll bring him back in one piece, don't you worry."

"Now will you be in one piece?" Tommy wondered. "A great question."

Suddenly there was a tightness around Eddie's eyes that hadn't been there before. Tommy looked as bland as possible in response.

"Shall we?" Tommy asked, motioning to the door. "Want to do a radar scan of my lawn first?"

"Get in the car, Senator," Eddie replied. Tommy was happy to oblige.

As he left, he looked over his shoulder at Evan, who was smiling too much for all that. Tommy waved anyway and Evan waved back before shutting the door behind them.

---

Eddie was "on loan" to him from Hen Wilson's detail. The junior senator from New York was taking extended stays upstate to be with her mother, who had been ill for a while. She couldn't get back to DC full-time fast enough.

"You could have found a nicer, more personal way of saying that you missed me," Hen says when they have a chance to get lunch together. Eddie didn't think it was appropriate to sit too close to his charges, so he was off somewhere keeping busy.

"You know I always miss you," Tommy replies. "And how was that not nice? I said I can't wait for you to be back."

She raises her eyebrows. "So I can take Eddie away forever. You liked him fine when—"

"When he wasn't up my ass 40 hours a week plus some overtime."

She looks amused, but not impressed. "Does this mean Buck's coming back?"

"I don't know yet," Tommy admits. "He's, you know. Healthy. Healed. Back in shape. But he hasn't told me whether he wants to come back to my detail yet."

Tommy orders another club soda as he pieces his thoughts together. "Sal told me to be prepared he might not, which is fine. Who wants to go back to guarding the guy who got you shot in the first place, you know?"

"You're close, though."

Tommy glances at her.

"I mean you might be too close to guard, now," Hen says. "Happened with one of my first security people, too. I was new to all this and we got to be friends, and they asked for a transfer because it got to be too stressful."

"I didn't think of it that way," Tommy admits.

"You're close," Hen says. "It's something to think about, if he asks you whether he should come back to your detail or asked to be reassigned."

Hen was one of his close friends, but that didn't mean he liked being seen that close. "He's his own person, he can make up his own mind."

"Mmm, that's not what I said, so think about what I actually said," she replies. "It doesn't have to be out loud, Senator."

"Alright, Senator," Tommy replies, just as his club soda arrives and they can move on to a different topic, like government or something.

---

He and Evan have stayed close since… everything, and since Evan had moved back to his apartment.

Evan still texted him every random thought in his head. He dropped by Tommy's office downtown when on his way home from therapy or 118 Security, so Tommy could buy him a coffee or lunch or dinner or anything he wanted. Sometimes they had dinner at Tommy's, or at Maddie's, because it would be stranger to decline than to go have dinner with his (former?) bodyguard and his bodyguard's sister.

(It would, right? Be strange to decline?)

The point was that they were still close, close enough that Hen's words struck in Tommy's mind. It could be that Evan didn't want to come back, and Tommy would have to (metaphorically) break in a new bodyguard.

(Eddie was more than ready to get back to Hen's team; it was very mutual.)

If that happened, then he and Evan wouldn't be anything to each other. Senator Thomas Kinard would have severed all professional relations with Evan Buckley.

It felt dangerous for Tommy to entertain that line of thought.

---

It was around the three-month mark, when Evan was set to return to 118 Security in one capacity or another, that Sal broke their unofficial silence on what had happened.

"You've been too quiet about it, that's why I'm asking," Sal says. "And nothing's leaked anywhere to suggest either of you has been lying to me."

"We're not stupid enough to lie to you," Tommy replies.

"Right, you're stupid, but in special, troublesome ways to my physical and mental health," Sal replies. He softens, though, as much as Sal ever softens. "Why haven't you looked more miserable about all this?"

Tommy hesitates. "Because Evan's not miserable. I did exactly what you said. I was sweet to him, generous, told him I'd support him no matter what he wanted, and he—he felt terrible enough that he didn't want anything." Tommy meets Sal's eyes. "You were right. He just wanted my time and attention. I gave it to him. He's happy. He might even move on to a new detail and that'll be good for him."

"It will," Sal says. "I worry, though."

"Worry about what?"

"About you." Sal looks him right in the eyes. "When are you gonna move on?"

"I don't know." Tommy thought he had; apparently he hadn't.

"Oh, there's the misery," Sal says. "You were hiding it really well. I think we almost believed it was gone."

"At this point, it's a preexisting condition. Lemon from the factory. Don't worry about it." Tommy runs his hand through his hair and tells Sal, "This is enough."

Sal, who knows him, knows the stakes, knows the five- and ten-year plan inside out, doesn't question him. Tommy wishes he would.

---

Evan doesn't bring it up on his own, so the next time he comes to visit downtown, Tommy pulls him aside. "Walk with me. Let's get a coffee." Evan holds up the to-go cup in his hand and Tommy rolls his eyes. "Let's get me a coffee."

"Not that I would say no to another coffee," Evan notes.

"Calm down, Speed Racer, you're not even done with that one." Evan doesn't get that reference, but Tommy doesn't bother explaining. He's already put in his order on an app, so they just have to walk through the building to the in-house coffee shop and pick it up.

It gives Tommy time to ask, "So, have you decided? Next steps, I mean."

Evan takes a long sip from his drink. "I didn't know how to talk to you about it."

"You're leaving, then?"

Evan glances sideways at him and nods. "Yeah. It's nothing—okay, yeah, it's personal, but. It's not—not that I don't—"

"I understand."

Evan deliberately looks away and asks, "Do you?"

"We're still friends, Evan," Tommy finally says. The word guts him again, heart and entrails and everything spilling on the floor as the two of them walk through the mess so easily. "You're not staying with me, you're not working for me, but nothing has to change. We're still friends."

"Oh," Evan says. "Right. Yeah. Yeah, we're still friends."

If there's disappointment in Evan's voice: no there isn't. Not for Tommy.

Before they get to the coffee shop, Tommy tugs Evan aside into an alcove, just out of sight. "Nothing has to change," Tommy says, as crisp and clear as possible. "Call or text anytime, day or night. Keep dropping by the office. Bring your new assignment around, let me make sure they're good enough for you."

That makes Evan laugh a little, but Tommy can see how weak it is when he looks away. "I'm always here for you," Tommy says.

"Yeah," Evan says softly. "And nothing's going to change."

"Exactly," Tommy says, willing himself to believe it, because if he believes it then Evan believes it, and if Evan believes it then Tommy can think about moving on. Someone else will come into Tommy's life, someone who doesn't check every box on the MISTAKES AND SCANDALS sheet in the back of his head.

Someone else will come into Evan's life, someone fresh and new who can grow with him, experience new things with him, make a life with him. Tommy's on the way out; it's not right for Evan to think his place is to follow.

It's not a goodbye, but a goodbye-to-this. The next time they grab coffee together, Evan will be in a new job and on a new path, and Tommy will be so proud of him. He already is. It's why he feels safe enough to pull Evan into his arms and hold him. "Good luck, okay?"

"Yeah, you too," Evan says, his voice thick. When Tommy tries to step back, Evan doesn't let go. "Don't be a stranger, either. I'm not turning on C-SPAN, I still don't really get what that is."

"Yeah, nobody does."

He finally pulls away, his hand on Evan's waist and the other on his shoulder. Since it's goodbye, Tommy feels safe resting his hand on Evan's cheek. Evan stares, then tilts his head, rubbing his cheek against his hand like a cat. "You're gonna do amazing things," Tommy says. "You're gonna be the best Evan Buckley there's ever been."

"Yeah," Evan says.

Tommy leans in one last time and kisses his cheek. One last time. He can be stupid this one time, this last time.

Apparently Evan can be, too, when he turns his head and kisses Tommy back.

[rcmclachlan]

Trying very hard to keep this five times fic under control, but it has other ideas. In the meantime, have exactly seven sentences of the Buck fic a friend unknowingly inspired last night, which is Smutty with a Side of Feels.

Thanks to @heartstringsduet and @carlossreaders for the tags!

Tommy groans, and its echo sounds sweeter than half the terms of endearment he’d heard from any old girlfriends. “You’re gonna kill me, kid,” Tommy says. But his mouth stretches into a slow smile, and he shifts across the sheets until he can press their mouths together. Buck sinks into the hazy warmth of it, the way it makes his brain buzz. I’m gonna love you, he wants to answer. Kisses him back to keep his tongue busy. Maybe you could live for that, instead.

Tagging in @liminalmemories21 @never-blooms @paperstorm @rcmclachlan @anincompletelist @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @herefortarlos @carlos-in-glasses @ladytessa74 @orchidscript @walkinginland @strandnreyes @bonheur-cafe @alrightbuckaroo @cha-melodius @firenati0n @lemonlyman-dotcom @afiendishthingynisba @firstprince-history-huh @lightningboltreader @chococara25 @carlos-tk @emsprovisions @welcometololaland

[rcmclachlan]

several sentences sunday

new wip, new wip, new wip!!! (i know, i know, leave me alone. the beginnings of a keep fandom weird fill)

been tagged by a bunch of people over the last week-ish including @jamieroyjamie, @rcmclachlan, @frogsinflannel, @liminalmemories21, @setmeatopthepyre, @queerasbuck, @chococara25, @owlgirl495 and @bidisasterevankinard. consider yourselves (and anyone else i missed!) tagged right back.

Tommy doesn't drink alone, as a rule. If his dad wasn't enough of a warning, he's known far too many first responders over the years who've spiralled from a drink to decompress after a bad shift to a drink every day to keep the memories at bay, to a drink before a shift to keep their hands steady. His dad was the first and loudest lesson, though.

When Tommy was very small, he thought he had two dads—the fun one and the mean one. It wasn't until he was older that the realized the fun dad was a few drinks in and the mean dad was a few too many, or hungover, or just being his real self. Once Tommy's mom left them, that was pretty much game over for fun dad. He had friends that he'd go out drinking with, but the worst days were the ones where it was just Tommy's dad, alone at the kitchen table, working his way steadily through a bottle of Jack.

So he doesn't usually drink alone. But he thinks that today's as good an excuse to break that rule as any. Not just the funeral of the first positive male role model Tommy can remember. Not just having to stand next to Gerrard and watch him apparently genuinely experiencing an emotion other than anger or disgust. Not just feeling like a fraud, like an interloper, like an imposter, as he shared the weight of Bobby's coffin with people who knew him better. No, the real reason he lets himself crack open a bottle of vodka - whisky is still a little too much like his old man - is Evan.

He spent the service within touching distance, but their eyes never met once, and Tommy feels like he's only seen him in snapshots, blurry Polaroids where Evan's half turned away. The clench of his jaw. The curve of his cheek. The blank look in his eyes. The sqaureness of his shoulders inside his uniform, the straight line of his back, the careful absence of a tremor in his hands as he smoothed down the lines of Bobby's jacket one last time. The knowledge that if Tommy hadn't spent the last several months lobbing grenades at the possibility of his own happiness, he could have done more than watch from a distance. He could have touched his hand to Evan's elbow to steady him. Could have found a moment to hold him and let him be anything other than steady. Could have prepared for this with him. Could have been within touching distance and actually touched.

Instead it's been like watching him through a screen all over again, and Tommy only has himself to blame. He wishes—god, he wishes he was the kind of person who stays. He wishes the choice to run wasn't even on his radar, never mind being in the top spot of possible responses to anything that too much resembles something real. Anything that looks like knowing and being known.

He really, really wishes he had one excuse to stay, one reason to be brave that drowned out all the dozens and dozens of reasons to run.

[rcmclachlan]

18 or 23, if either ruffles your truffles!

my god I FINALLY I GOT TO YOURS!!!! huge surprise: have some bodyguard au. this is cuddling while somebody's crying (18). this is another installment of bodyguard buck and senator kinard, picking up immediately where we left off. about 1.6k. if you think you hear the theme from jaws at the end: you do. i'm hoping to wrap this up in 2-3 more parts? let's see! find all parts of the bodyguard au here (tagged "bodyguard au (screamlet)").

---

Upstairs, Tommy runs the shower and calls Sal. He doesn't know how to start and Sal doesn't give him any time because he picks up immediately.

"It's technically a weekend, Thomas," Sal drawls. "What happened?"

"I had sex with Evan."

Sal's quiet, but Tommy can imagine the way he's pinching the bridge of his nose. "Where are you? Where's Buckley?"

"My house. I—"

"Yeah, goofball, I know, you offered to let him stay with you even though I told you not to, and he said yes even though I told him not to—"

"You did?"

Sal huffs. "I implied that it would be better that he focus on his family and recovery, and forget about us until he was cleared, and other shit that didn't stick."

Tommy's quiet. "Sal, I always said I'd never be that man. Give me a few months with a pretty face and, what do you know, I'm exactly that man."

Sal doesn't answer.

He can hear Sal moving through the house, though. He wonders if he's going to get in his car and drive over so they can shift into crisis mode.

"Yeah, and I always hoped you wouldn't put me in this position, but here we are." Sal sighs. "Is there any chance we could spin this as a real thing? I mean: is this the real thing?"

The shower has been running long enough that Tommy has to wipe the steam from the mirror to see himself. Age 45, greying, gay, lonely. 30 minutes ago, he was lying in a beautiful man's arms and he could have sworn he was happy. Now it's only made the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper, the blue of his eyes paler like the life's draining from him. This? What's left? This is the real thing.

"No," Tommy says. "He said it was a mistake. It was. I agree."

Sal laughs humorlessly. "You fucking agree. Alright."

"What do I do?" He pauses. "What do we do?"

It's quiet for longer than Tommy would like. Sal finally answers: "Talk to him. Fix this. Get him back on your side. Do not drive him away, right into the newspapers and internet hacks. I know self-sabotage is your favorite cheat day meal, but do not fuck this up with him."

"I… what?"

"If you upset him," Sal begins, "if you drive him away, take away something he wants, he'll go out and get your attention any way he can. You sweet talk that kid within an inch of his life. You play the sad, lonely bastard, make him feel sorry for you, and wait for him to go away."

Tommy's eyes widen. "You think he will?"

Sal sighs. "Tommy: did you really think he'd stay?"

---

Tommy showers and changes, then heads downstairs. Evan's moved from the guest room to the living room, where he's lying on the couch with his bad leg up. He startles when he sees Tommy and tries to sit up, despite Tommy telling him to stay still. Eventually Evan gets himself upright and Tommy takes a seat in the armchair across from him.

"I'm sorry," Evan begins.

"No, don't apologize, you're not the one who was out of line here." They're making what Tommy thinks is a horrifying amount of eye contact; it's pretty clear that both of them want to crawl under their respective rocks for about a century, but they can't do that, can't they?

"No, listen," Evan starts. "It's just—" Evan takes a long, slow breath. "You're—this—I know I'm saying this with three bullet wounds in my body, but this is the best job I've ever had."

Tommy can't help laugh a little. "You need to raise your bar, kid."

Evan only looks more pained. "Yeah. Exactly. I've—"

Evan looks so lost it hurts. A day ago, Tommy would have been the one Evan could talk to about whatever was troubling him, from random trivial things to the late night staring down the barrel of the rest of your life questions. But Evan's a grown man; he can, he has to, find his way through himself.

"You've met my parents," Evan finally says. It comes with a short, sad laugh. "What you saw? That's the most they've ever cared about me. That's the most they've ever cared about what I'm doing with my life. If I'm not disappointing them by dropping out of school or doing stupid stunts as a kid, I just don't exist to them."

Tommy doesn't know if it would help or hurt to tell Evan: Yeah. He gets it. He barely existed to his parents until they found a reason to hate him and cut him off. It was like they were waiting for an excuse to drop him from their lives and, lucky for them, the reason was inside him all along.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tommy finally says. "You deserve better. Everyone deserves to be seen, to be loved."

Evan nods. He's staring at Tommy with wide eyes, like he wants to devour him. It's disarming, but Tommy can (has to) sit here and take it.

"Bobby, um. Bobby's taken a lot of chances on me," Evan says. "Like my parents said: Maddie gave me her Jeep and some cash to leave home, and I'd been living out of it for about four years when I got to DC. It was Athena who found me, actually? This guy pulled out a gun at a bank and I took him down before he could hurt anyone. She made a joke about how I should look into security as a career, and I think I was way too eager about it because I needed the job. So she introduced me to Bobby."

Evan rubs the back of his neck as Tommy watches him blink away tears. "And he introduced me to you. And after Maddie, you two are the best things that have ever happened to me."

Tommy's manfully swallowing his emotions, but it's getting harder and harder. "I won't tell Sal."

Evan laughs, then cracks. "So I got my wires crossed, that's all. That's—that's all it was. I'm sorry I led you on. I didn't mean it."

And god help him, he'd believe Evan from this moment until the sun exploded if Evan wasn't looking at him like he was tearing his own heart out of his chest, piece by miserable piece. Maybe it was fear over losing the career he'd found and the life he'd built; Tommy knew what it felt like to be lost and finally find something to hold onto. But Tommy didn't think so.

It didn't matter. This was what Evan needed: to be near him, but not with him; to look, but not touch; to believe that wanting was the same as having, and longing was the same as love. Maybe they couldn't agree on what constituted "good" music, but this was the song-and-dance Tommy had been doing his whole life.

"You did nothing wrong," Tommy says. Evan looks at him and nods, then bursts into tears. "Buck. Evan. Evan. Can I—"

"Could you—"

Then they're standing and holding each other for dear life. Evan clings to him like someone's going to rip him from Tommy; Tommy holds him like he's going to stop them.

"Ball's in your court, kid," Tommy says quietly, because Evan still hasn't let him go. "Because I—I care about you. So much. I want what you want."

"Don't want that," Evan mumbles against his shoulder. For his mental health, Tommy's going to pretend Evan's face isn't buried against his shoulder and breathing him in like that's the only oxygen he needs.

"I want you to be happy," Tommy says. "And have a good job, a good place to live, and whatever you need to be—be you. The best—the Evan Buckley you want to be."

Evan shudders like Tommy's just punched him. That's his cue to squeeze him tight, one last time, and slip out of his arms. He takes a step back to let Evan get his bearings; he already feels so empty without him. Sal's advice sounded so backward at first, but Tommy sees it for what it is: the hardest way through. That's why no one ever does it.

"So sit down," Tommy says. He surreptitiously wipes at his cheeks and grabs Evan's tote bag of home care instructions and medication, and the phone from his coat pocket. "I'll get you some water for this, and I'll get the guest room ready for you again."

Evan looks up. "You're letting me stay?"

Tommy nods. "Of course. If you want to stay, stay. If you want me to get you a—"

"I want to stay," Evan says. "My apartment has stairs and—" Evan looks into his tote bag like it has the cure to his miseries. "And I don't like being alone when I'm sick. Is it okay if I call Maddie?"

"Whatever you need, Buck." Evan shoots him a look. Tommy laughs. "Evan."

"Don't call me that," Evan says, playful and deadly serious. "You're not allowed."

"Alright, Evan," Tommy says. Evan smiles at him, hurting but hopeful, and Tommy leaves him to it.

As Tommy strips the guest room bed and replaces the bathroom towels, his phone vibrates with a text from Sal.

Just talked to your new bodyguard on the phone

You're gonna hate him

He starts in a week

[rcmclachlan]

have you ever cried over a celebrity's death?

[rcmclachlan]

for the cuddling prompts: 19 "While someone’s sick" if it inspires anything!

Buck let himself in with the key that hadn’t yet lost its newly cut shine.  He took off his shoes and placed them in the rack, heels neatly aligned with the baseboard, and transferred his bag from hand to hand as he shrugged out of his jacket, which went on the hook next to Tommy’s old man windbreaker and his house hoodie that was identical to the designated outdoor hoodie.  He followed the low murmur of the tv to the living room and the unmoving mound on the couch.

“Hey, babe,” he said quietly, crouching down and lifting a corner of the blanket Tommy had managed to cocoon himself in.  “You alive in there?”

“Unfortunately,” Tommy croaked from the darkness.  “Please tell me that you’re here to put me out of my misery.”

Buck brushed a careful thumb over the thin and bruised skin under Tommy’s one visible eye.  “Sorry.  I kind of like having you around.  I come bearing soup.”

A second eye appeared.  “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s why I also brought ginger ale and that gross sugar water you like.”

“It’s not sugar water,” Tommy said, inching further out.  “It’s got other stuff in it.”

“Just calling it vitamin water doesn’t mean it has actual vitamins in it.  It’s just sugar and artificial dyes.”

“Don’t forget the artificial flavoring.”  Tommy fully and resentfully emerged from his cocoon, squinting against the late morning light.

“There you are.”  He gently smoothing Tommy’s lank curls back so he could press a kiss his forehead the way Maddie used to do when he got sick as a kid.  “You feel a little warm.  Did you take your temperature?  Where’s the thermometer?”

“Over there,” Tommy said, flicking his fingers towards where the coffee table presumably still existed under the mounds of tissues and throat lozenge wrappers and empty water bottles, all the detritus of illness.

“You could have called me,” he said, excavating the thermometer from under a pyramid of empty water bottles.  He invested in a couple of forehead thermometers during Covid, but Tommy preferred the ones that went under the tongue because he was an old fashioned weirdo who didn’t see the point of replacing anything that still worked even if it was outdated.  At least this one was digital and not mercury based.

“It’s just a head cold,” Tommy said, miserable and exhausted.  “You were on shift, and I only feel like I’m dying.  I had stuff.”  Another tired wave towards the coffe table.  “I’m fine.”

Buck carefully didn’t sigh as he pressed the button to reset the thermometer.  “I could have kept you company.  It sucks being alone when you’re sick.”

“Evan,” Tommy said, glassy gaze going soft and fond, and Buck only felt a little bad about shoving the thermometer into Tommy’s mouth before he could say something truly devastating.

“Keep it under your tongue,” he said, ignoring the glare Tommy aimed his way.  “Just think, if you had one of the forehead ones, you could be arguing with me right now.”

His nostrils flared, but for once Tommy let him have the last word.  Buck scratched his nails along Tommy’s scalp as a reward.  The thermometer beeped, and Tommy didn’t even put up a sham fight to see the temperature.  He definitely was sick.

“You officially have a low grade fever,” Buck said, rocking back on his heels.  “When’s the last time you took anything?”

Tommy squinted in the direction of the wall clock.  “Around six, I think.  I couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re due for another dose.  Lucky for you, I got your own personal pharmacy.  You sure you’re not hungry?  I make a mean chicken soup.”

“And by make you mean…” Tommy prompted.

“I can actually make you soup from scratch.”  He’d hung a left from the drug aisle to grab egg noodles and chicken brother and actual chicken.  “But also I got a couple cans of chicken and stars.”

Tommy managed a smile.  “The classic choice for colds.  Maybe later.”

“Just let me know when you feel up to eating.  Im going to go get you some drugs and something to drink.”  He pressed another kiss to Tommy’s brow before standing with a wince.  He missed when his knees were twenty-two.

The sugar water went into the fridge for later along with the chicken whilethe egg noodles and broth went to the pantry.  Neither of them had gotten around to unloading the dishwasher, and so he opened it to pull out the plastic cup that once boasted that Rooster Dan’s had the best fried chicken in the country before twenty years of washings had worn it away.  Tommy refused to admit it was his favorite, but that cup was one of the few dishes that made it through four different apartments before Tommy got the house.

Buck filled it with a generous scoop of ice before pouring the ginger ale, dropping in one of those crazy curly straws he picked up on a whim.  After a moment of consideration, he filled a spare cup with ice.  Tommy hated the taste of room temperature soda, and if Buck had his way, neither of them was going to be moving from the couch for at least two hours.  He grabbed the cold medicine and brought his bounty back to the living room where Tommy had definitely dozed off.

“I'm awake,” Tommy muttered when Buck gently touched his shoulder.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” Buck said, nearly helpless with tenderness.  “Got you the good stuff.  And this!”  He pulled out a box of cough suppressant capsules like he was pulling a quarter from behind Tommy’s ear.  “I had to fight three other people for it.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Tommy said, struggling upright.  Buck swooped in to help get him more or less upright.  “I can’t keep cough syrup down.  My mom used to yell at me about it.”

Buck very carefully kept moving, settling Tommy back against the cushions before digging the pills out of their little plastic prisons.  “She yelled at you?” he asked lightly.

“Not in a bad way.”  Tommy turned away to cough.  “I’d just throw it up otherwise.”

“I’m pretty sure there are a few other options than yelling at your kid,” Buck said before he could stop himself.  Tommy’s relationship with his father was straightforward: an estrangement that had passed the twenty year mark.  His relationship with his mother was more complicated, not estranged but not exactly loving, and Buck only felt brave enough to probe the edges.

Tommy shrugged.  “This may surprise you to learn, but I was a very stubborn kid.”

“I am very shocked to learn that,” he said dryly as he passed the pills over followed by the cup.  “Take these and then you can go back to sleep.”

Tommy stared at the curly straw in mild bafflement before visibly just giving up and accepting it as one of Buck’s whims.  He swallowed the capsules and began to list sideways.

Buck caught him by the shoulders.  “Just stay there for me.  Two more minutes and then you can lay down.  Promise.”  Moving quickly, he set up a mini triage center by the end of the couch: the cups of ginger ale and ice, a box of tissues, lozenges, and made sure both their phones were plugged in.  “Okay,” he said, satisfied with the placement, “let’s get you horizontal again.”

“You sweet talker,” Tommy said, stuffed nose ruining his normal dry tone, frowning as Buck set a spare pillow against the couch arm.  “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable.  Come here.”  It took some maneuvering—his legs were more of a hindrance than a help and Tommy was too tired to move his limbs in a way that was helpful—but eventually Buck got Tommy right where he wanted him, tucked into the cradle of his body with the blanket spread over both of them.

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” Tommy said, face turned into the curve of Buck’s neck.

“I’m a big strong firefighter,” he said, scratching gently at Tommy’s scalp until he sighed and went boneless.  “I’ve carried heavier men than you.”

Tommy’s snort was half-hearted and slightly more phlegm filled than usual.  “Just don’t let me crush you.”

“You won’t.”  He finger combed a few tangles free.  “After Maddie moved to Boston, I was old enough that my parents would let me stay home alone when I was sick.  They were teachers so it was hard for them to take a day off.  They used to rent a couple of movies for me.”

“And here I thought you were too young to remember Blockbuster,” Tommy said.

“Smartass.”  Buck dug his nails as a reprimand, but it just made Tommy give a dreamy sigh.  “Anyway, one time my dad got his TA to cover one of his lectures, and he picked up some sandwiches and puzzles.  We spent the whole day together.  He made me soup for dinner.”

The Buck from their first six months together would have been embarrassed at how wistful he sounded over his dad doing the bare minimum of parenting, but that Buck had fumbled Tommy because he was afraid of being honest.  This Buck, seven months into trying again, was trying to be braver.  This Buck trusted Tommy to understand what it meant to be a lonely kid who wanted his parents to just love him anyway.

 “Chicken and stars?” Tommy asked.

“It’s a classic.”  Buck cupped the back of Tommy’s neck, right over his nape, where he was soft and vulnerable.  “Call me next time.  I might not be able to leave early, but I want to know if you’re sick, even if all I can do is Doordash some soup.”

“Don’t use Doordash.  They exploit their employees.”  Tommy turned his head just enough to press a kiss to the hollow of Buck’s throat.  “I will.  And you’ll call me when you’re sick.”

“I will,” he said, blinking the sting out of his eyes.  “Go to sleep.  I’ll make some soup later.”

“Just shove me off if you need to get up,” Tommy said, words slurring with encroaching sleep.

“I'm good,” he said, pressing his lips to Tommy’s crown.  “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

[rcmclachlan]

Hi! I just re-read A Tunnel To Walk Through and, once again, I feel like an old coat that's been flipped inside-out; the way you write both Buck and Tommy is so lovely, I love Tommy's cousins and aunt; and also (at the risk of oversharing, sorry) as someone who's struggled with depression my entire life, Tommy's internality hits really really true for me, and, like, thank you? ig? for writing smth that so closely mirrors my experience, and still giving him a quote unquote happy ending - it kinda makes me believe that I won't die at my own hand even tho I've always been kinda convinced that's what would happen? anyway. I hope this makes sense, sorry for rambling, hope the tmi didn't make you too uncomfortable 😅 if you feel like it, I'd love to read some more from the This Be The Verse xx

hi my very sweet anon. ily. I wrote this fic for everyone but also for myself but also crucially for you. big hug if you want it and also give yourself a hefty pat on the back from me for making it this far… one step at a time!!! we’re Sisyphus on the mountain of life! and there’s no such thing as tmi in my inbox I work with body fluids for a living lol.

for your rambles you get a snippet:

Seth's wife Carina finds them again as they're waiting in a doorway for some uncle or another to clear out of the way. "I wanted to apologize," she says quietly, looking around like someone's going to call her out. "I don't think he ever realized that the way he saw your dad might not have been the same way you saw him."

"You don't have to apologize for him," Tommy says, in that endearing baffled tone that Buck loves so much. The one he breaks out when he's saying things like, "you're inviting me to your sister's wedding?" or "you really believe in ghost curses?" 

"Well, maybe someone should," she says. "Your dad was really nice to us, but—I get that things can be complicated. I'm from Ohio."

Seth calls her name and waves her over, and she smiles sadly as she leaves.

"She's… from Ohio? Is that supposed to mean something?" Buck asks. "Is that, like, a pop culture reference that went over my head?"

Tommy looks equally confused. "Is she trying to say she's, like… with it?"

"Being from Ohio is the new enlightenment?"

"Ohio. Where family relationships go to die?"

"Welcome to Ohio," Buck says. "The understanding state."

"God, she and Seth are perfect for each other," Tommy says. "I don't fucking get a single thing either of them say."

[rcmclachlan]

Canon Queer of the Day:

Tommy Kinard

Thomas “Tommy” Kinard is a character from 9-1-1! He is canonically gay and has an ex-boyfriend named Evan Buckley, as well as an ex-fiancée named Abigail Clark.

Submitted by Anonymous

[rcmclachlan]

for the wip/word meme or whatever and this be the verse - the word "funny"? or a color? please and thank you

anything for you!

It's a long, sweaty walk back to where the truck is parked. They take it slow, one step at a time; Buck pulls off his suit jacket first, slings it over his shoulder, rolls his sleeves up one by one, and Tommy does the same half a block later. He looks radiant in the dark green and Buck has a wild thought that maybe eventually they'll dress back up in these same suits and shirts for their own wedding. Someday. He smiles and swallows that thought back down, but he can't help beaming when Tommy reaches out and tangles their fingers together, here on the sidewalk where he grew up.

[rcmclachlan]

what about your hopes for bucktommy next season? 🫵🏽 👁️👄👁️

ideally? tommy would show up near the tail-end of the opening emergency but that's too sexy for tim 💔

ok so this isn't necessarily what i'd do if had The Pen and unlimited budget, but what i can picture happening on the show following the three tenets of 911 conflict resolution (low-effort, contained to one single episode and awfully convenient): 904 is the reconciliation episode. there's no tommy sighting beforehand. the opening emergency is used to establish buck's new normal. the season picks up after a time jump — grief is lingering but not as omnipresent. buck is still terrorizing Judy the Realtor in his quest for a "place with character" but he's found a month-to-month lease so he's not functionally homeless. he begins the season in a transitional place, both literally and metaphorically, trying to find his footing in this bobby-less world. the early stages of grief were both a lonely, isolating experience and an eye-opening one: learning to be alone might've been necessary in march but singlehood certainly sucks when everyone around you has the support of a spouse or the company of children and you realize that you may be loved but never prioritized. and so he's been tentatively dating again, something that's referenced in 901-903 but not really explored until next episode.

its theme is "dates": on-the-nose emergencies happening in the middle of romantic outings, madney trying to reignite the flame after baby #2 and The Terrible Teething Period, maybe even denny going on his first date featuring some antics from henren. aaaand (this one is of capital importance) the episode opens with a comedic montage of buck going on a bunch of awkward dates à la veronica from s4. with a variety of different people. which would do a much better job at communicating buck's bisexuality to the audience than whatever 806 tried to accomplish with that dinner scene.

anyway buck's tiny kitchen sucks and he spends a good chunk of his free time at madney's place. they're new parents juggling work, a preschooler and a teething baby so they appreciate the homecooked meals and the free babysitting that comes with buck. now as much as i want buck to stop looking for outside validation and show some conviction in his own wants/desires, atp buck-maddie-kitchen talks about his love life are tradition. and i'm curious to see how maddie's tune about the breakup/tommy might change after the lab, since her kids likely wouldn't have a father if tommy hadn't answered buck's call. also i have a specific scene in mind that relies on maddie's input.

broad strokes of the conversation:

maddie: speaking of dates, will you be seeing sheri again? buck: i'm not sure... i don't think it's going anywhere. maddie: i thought you liked her. you said she was "witty" and "charming". you like witty. buck: i do — i like her just fine. she's fun to be around. but i don't know, something's missing. maddie: mmmmh. you said the same thing about sonya, and tamara, and what's-his-name? buck: mark. maddie: mark. and megan. and julian. that's quite the list. do you even know what you're looking for? buck: i do! spark! y'know, that instant connection. an 'aha' moment. haven't really felt that since... maddie: tommy? buck, (with that one dejected sniff. you know the one): yeah maddie: well... you have his number, don't you? buck: it's not that easy.

that's when we get some exposition about the post-816 bucktommy situation: check-ins over texts quickly fizzled out after a couple weeks. buck was too preoccupied with the 118, his family fracturing before his eyes in the wake of bobby's death to spare time or emotional labor on relationship drama. that moment full of hope in the helicopter got swallowed by the sea of grief, put on the back burner to be revisited later, but by the time buck was in the headspace to entertain romance again, months of no contact had passed. their last text exchange consisted of distant platitudes and a thumb-up emoji dating back june. tommy isn't the type to linger where he doesn't feel wanted or needed so he didn't insist, and enough time went by that reopening the line of dialogue felt like an herculean task for buck. maybe their time together had come and gone with a silent whimper and not a bang. tommy might have become his new benchmark for comparison but if buck can make peace with losing the man he considered a father, then he can find enough strength in him to bid goodbye to a 6-months relationship and all its unrealized potential.

buck: we haven't really spoken since the funeral. i can't just text him out of the blue and ask what he's doing next saturday. maddie: why not? what's the worst that could happen? buck: uh, he could tell me to stop jerking him around and to lose his number forever? he probably moved on anyway. hell, he probably has a new boyfriend by now. maddie: i have it on good authority that he doesn't. at least not 2 weeks ago. buck: you're keeping tabs on him now? maddie: chim is keeping tabs on him, i'm just relaying relevant information. buck: whatever happened to moving on, and jumping back into the pond, and trusting that "the universe will bring me the right person"? maddie: maybe the universe already has. you get attached so easily, i figured you'd mope for a few weeks and then get back on the saddle the way you usually do. but it's been, what, nearly a year? if you're still not over the guy, then maybe it's worth another shot. buck: you think? maddie: i don't know. but neither will you until you try. worst case scenario, you can stop wondering about what-ifs and give sheri a fair shot. buck: i guess... [conversation cut short by jee and chimney's arrival]

next day between emergencies, we see buck drafting a couple of texts before ultimately deleting them. a couple more days pass by, and before buck can muster enough courage to press send, lady luck plays her part and they run into each other. at a grocery store, a coffee shop, whatever, location doesn't matter as long as it's public and the first thing out of buck's mouth once he comes face to face with tommy is a shouted "the universe!"

cue in tommy's perplexed face "... flattered, but the name's tommy."

it's followed by surface-level plaisanteries and polite inquiries, and just when tommy is about to excuse himself because the conversation is getting palpably awkward, buck ask if he has a minute to talk. in this fantasy scenario, they end up at tommy's place (bc if they build him a set, then it's in the bag and i'm nothing if not a dreamer <3) where buck notices a few changes.

again, broke strokes:

buck: backsplash's new. did you change the flooring too? tommy: oh, that. yeah. remodeling was my suspension project. what do you think? buck: suspension? what? when? tommy: june. buck: wait— the lab? tommy: repeated misappropriation of municipal property is frowned upon these days, apparently. i think i could get away with another theft count, but after that, i'm afraid you guys at the 118 will have to find another helicopter guy. buck: why didn't you say anything? tommy: opportunity didn't really come up. buck: i owe you an apology. several apologies. tommy: you don't owe me anything, evan. i helped because i wanted to. got a life debt with interest to pay off, remember? buck: i do. i lashed out like a jerk, and you still picked up the phone when i called. tommy: well... i didn't really help my case, did i? buck: it shouldn't have taken a disaster for me to reach out and clear the air. you don't even know about the loaves and the cakes and the frøsnappers and the macarons! tommy: okay, now you've officially lost me. what was that about a snapper— buck: i wanna try again. tommy: what? buck: i want us to try again. tommy: evan. buck: i'm serious.

insert reconciliation dialog of choice. i'm too uninspired to come up with my own. but it needs to include the following interaction:

tommy: one thing, though... i'm never moving in with you, evan. buck: okay, now you're sending me mixed signals. are you a separate household kind of guy? very modern and non-traditional, not sure how sustainable it is longterm. tommy: no, but i've grown quite attached to my new backsplash and i'd hate to part with it. also i own my house. when the times come, you’re moving in with me evan: okay ❤️ yay ❤️

tadaaaaa. tim minear you wanna plagiarize this so bad. there's still time <3333

[rcmclachlan]

Oooohh for the cuddling prompts for BuckTommy - if you like - for warmth! 🥰

hahaha oh god i'm sorry for what this installment of the bodyguard au will do to that emoji. there... there's cuddling. for sure. of a kind.

this is bodyguard buck and senator kinard, set after the buckley parents and The Kiss. this one's rated explicit/nsfw. wordcount about 2.2k. (anyone wondering: this is coming quick after the part i posted last night, but i had about 95% of this section already written and decided to post today.)

find all parts of the bodyguard au here (tagged "bodyguard au (screamlet)").

---

"Are we really going to your place?"

They're in the parking garage of Maddie's building and Tommy hasn't even started the car yet. He turns his head and gives Buck a complicated look. "If you still want to. I—" Tommy's throat draws Buck's attention as he waits. "I—what just happened—"

"I want to go to your place," Buck says.

Tommy stares for a moment, then starts the car. "Then we're going to my place."

It's quiet for most of the drive, but Buck doesn't think it's—bad. He's not sure why he associates quiet with wrong, but even before today Tommy's made him reconsider. Quiet means listening, quiet means thinking, quiet—sometimes quiet is just quiet.

"What did your parents mean?" Tommy asks. "One living son?"

"I have no idea," Buck says.

"Got it."

At a red light near Tommy's house, he offers Buck his hand; Buck takes it and links their fingers together until the light turns green. Tommy needs both hands to steer.

---

It feels like Buck's always at Tommy's house in a Professional Capacity. Now, Tommy parks the sedan in the garage and goes around to help Buck out of the car and gather his things. Tommy holds open the door that leads into the house, all of his attention on Buck to make sure he's okay.

And then they're inside. Shoes off, Buck carefully leaning with his back against the wall as he kicks the shoe off his bad foot and Tommy catches it, places it on the rack with his own. Jackets off, heat on, bags set to the side, and Buck's still leaning against the wall as Tommy comes back to him.

"Can I—"

"You better," Buck answers, and tips his chin up. Tommy takes a sharp, quiet breath, then cups Buck's jaw in one big hand. They're kissing again, slow and gentle like the elevator, but Buck opens his mouth wider and offers his tongue, searching for Tommy's.

Tommy's hand tightens on his jaw and then the side of his neck. His other hand has found Buck's hip and his hand has already slipped under his shirt to stroke him, tighten his grip on him there, too. When Buck goes for Tommy's waist, rucks up his shirt, too, Tommy pulls away.

"What—"

Tommy motions with his thumb down the hall. Guest room. "I'd carry you, but—"

"I want a little dignity," Buck laughs. Parts of him sweat at the thought of being swept up by Tommy in his thick arms, cradled against his chest, held tight like he'll never let go. For now, though, he takes a crutch and follows Tommy down the hall to the guest room. It's so quiet in here, Buck thinks, except for the padding of their feet on the floor. Quick footsteps, he notices, which makes him smile; he's not the only one feeling the urgency tug at his clothes and good sense.

"What do you want?" Tommy asks as he carefully urges Buck to the bed. He helps Buck lower himself to the bed and stands over him, hand cupping his jaw again.

"Everything," Buck says, wondering what everything even means when he's never—yeah, he's never done this with a guy. A man. Tommy. "Everything you—anything you want to give me."

A soft look crosses Tommy's face; sorry, maybe. He's not sure why. Does Tommy feel sorry he can't give Buck the whole entire world? What would Buck even do with it? What Buck wants is here, now, and cradling his face like he's precious.

Tommy undresses Buck carefully and methodically, mesmerizing Buck. He takes such incredible care to take off Buck's shirt and hang it over a chair nearby, then his sweats and briefs, laughs when Buck wants to keep his socks on because it's cold.

"Weekend Henley, off," Buck manages with a smile. Tommy laughs and obliges, pulling it off easily and tossing it on the chair with Buck's, but none of the care. Buck reaches for his belt buckle and looks up at Tommy looming over him.

Buck knows Tommy works out and now he can see that maybe he had abs once, but now his body's all thickness and strength. His chest hair's all grey, way more than his head, and Buck slowly undoes the belt, the buttons and fly, the briefs bulging with an attention-seeking cock.

His stomach twists a little, terrified he'll do the wrong thing and show Tommy he doesn't actually know what he's doing—but then he tugs his briefs down and sees more grey hair and a thick cock, Tommy's cock, and whatever he thinks he's supposed to know flies out the fucking window. "Shit," Buck whispers, tugging the briefs further down as he looks up at Tommy. "Can I—"

"You've never done this before?" Tommy's hand cards through Buck's hair, curious and soothing, no trace of that teasing in his expression. Buck shakes his head. "Mind if I take the lead?"

"Yeah," Buck exhales. "Yeah, take—take it all, that's—yeah."

There's Tommy's teasing smile; his fondness transforms it in a way Buck didn't appreciate before. It heats him up because he thinks Tommy doesn't smile at anyone like this—or, if he does, they're not here right now. There's only Buck.

---

Buck's laid out on the guest bed, his naked body pressed to Tommy's, and he's dying from the slowest, most thorough handjob of his life. Tommy's draped alongside him, half on top of him, and Buck thinks he's melting away into nothing. He would be, maybe, if it wasn't for how hard his cock was in Tommy's hand, and Tommy's weight on him, his tongue languorously exploring Buck's mouth.

Tommy stops again and Buck whines, arches his hips into Tommy's hand. That gets a tight grip on his hip, pushing Buck down with a strength that only makes him want to push and struggle more and see what it gets him.

Except then Tommy kisses him deeper, weighs heavier on him, and Buck doesn't fight it anymore. He moans as Tommy's hand leaves his cock to explore Buck's body, learn every inch—touch the bandage on his back and the back of his thigh. But he doesn't linger there; it's like he really does want to know Buck, explore him, and listen to him struggle not to come.

"I haven't jerked off in a week," Buck finally whispers. He tilts into Tommy's space and surprises him by pulling their hips together, their cocks thrusting together and making Tommy gasp, lose some of his composure. "The hospital and—and it's the unhorniest place, Tommy. Please, please."

"So does that mean," Tommy asks, humoring him a little, "that you jerk off every morning before you come to work?"

Buck feels caught, like he did something wrong. Did he? He didn't. Did he, though? "I—I do, sometimes," Buck finally says. That gets Tommy's hand on his cock again. "A lot of the time. I—I just want my head clear, you know?"

Buck's going to listen Tommy's voice giving interviews and speeches on the Senate floor, and he's going to have to reconcile those words with teasing Buck like this. "Before you spend the day with me, you mean?"

Before Buck can answer, Tommy's hand wraps around both of them and starts stroking again. Buck shuts his eyes and keens into Tommy's mouth, then his neck. He wants to bite so bad and he manages to curb the stupidest impulse he's ever had. (Stupider than this.) He feels so fucking bad for every other person he's ever fooled around with or fucked; he's never felt so hungry for someone's tongue, lips, hand, touch. He's fucked hard in his 29 years on earth, but he's never had his nerves lit up like this, every needy cell in his body begging for attention and—and more.

More he can't think about. More that lurks in the pit of his stomach but he can't—not right now. But even hiding inside him, it wants and it takes.

"Nah. Unrelated." Buck opens his eyes again to meet Tommy's and give him his best shit-eating grin, hiding his desperation to come as he bites his lower lip, then lets his tongue peek out. Tommy kisses him harder and strokes them faster, so Buck's gonna file that away: cheeky, shameless, horny little shit? Turns Tommy on. He can do that. More like, he can stop hiding that.

"Are you gonna let me come?" Buck breathes hard as he looks down between them and tests the waters, letting his own hand join Tommy's. They slick each other up, lube and precome coating and spreading everything. His bad leg is killing him but not thrusting into Tommy's hand and his hips, not thumbing at the heads of their cocks, not watching a dick that's not his own start to spurt come—that would kill him first.

"Shit," Buck hisses, then watches himself come, spurting thick over their hands, onto Tommy's chest, sticking and dripping as Buck keeps thrusting, wanting more. Tommy does it, catches his breath and keeps pumping his fist until Buck shudders and moans.

Tommy breathes heavily, laid out on his non-injured half, and kisses him again. Buck lazily writhes underneath him, spreading their mess between them, and Tommy grins against his mouth. A messy, slippery hand grips Buck's hip and stops him. "I'm gonna—"

"Finger me, please," Buck pleads into his mouth. "I—I want more. I'm close again, promise, I—I just want more." He's never begged for sex like this, but he's never had this. He's never had sure hands on him like this, hands strong enough to hold him down and still and close. He can't help wanting more, god, he can't help it.

"Wait here," Tommy says, and Buck lies back, dick half-hard and too sensitive and begging begging begging for all it can have from someone who wants to give and give and give. He almost makes himself come again from the thought of more, but he waits for Tommy to come back. Tommy's going to come back.

Buck's breath catches in his chest when Tommy comes back and wipes his chest clean, Buck's too, and gets on the bed with him again. But something about that moment, Tommy standing over him and cleaning himself off, makes Buck shudder again, this time with a different feeling.

My boss. The senator. My boss. The guy I'd die for. Almost DID die for. The guy who gives speeches about stuff I believe in. The guy who looks at me like I'm the funniest, most interesting person in the room. My boss. The guy I think about when my direct deposit comes through. The guy who could tell me I'm not worth coming back, it's too dangerous. My boss who knows what he's doing or, worse, doesn't. The Honorable Thomas Kinard of California. My BOSS.

"What's wrong?" Tommy asks.

"I… I don't…" Buck's dick is flagging, and there's a chill sweeping his body as he stares at Tommy, leaning over him. It's cold in here, suddenly, his sweat turning clammy. "I don't want to do this," Buck says quietly. "I do, I mean I did, but…"

"Yeah," Tommy says. His eyes are so cool and calm, his face fixed in that problem solving We Can Do Something / Fix This mode. It's comforting to Buck that Tommy can do something, and it's terrifying that Tommy will do something and Buck doesn't know what.

"I'm sorry," Tommy says.

"I'm not," Buck says. "But I don't know if I—I mean, not again. Or—or right now. Or—"

"It's okay." He hesitates before he asks, "Would it help? If I held you?" He shakes his head almost immediately. "There's a bathroom and shower right here, I'll get it warm for you. Mine's upstairs but I'll wait for you in case you need help."

Buck wants to say something, take it back, go back to that soft quiet, but he can't, he just can't. Tommy leaves him on the bed and Buck grabs the washcloth, rubbing harder and more thoroughly to feel cleaner. Fuck. Fuck, what did he do?

Tommy helps him off the bed and into the shower, then brings in his weekender bag with his clothes. "I'll be outside to help you out, get you anything. That doesn't change, okay? I'm here for you."

"I'm sorry," Buck says.

"Don't apologize," Tommy replies.

That doesn't sit right with Buck; it's too authoritative, kind of. Like a command. Like he can't apologize. Like maybe Buck didn't do anything wrong, but he's not allowed to feel sorry—for himself, for Tommy, for fucking up this good thing.

When Buck's done, has the hospital smell off him, the stickiness and sweat and bad decisions scrubbed away, Tommy comes back to help him out and help him dress. Tommy has his own briefs on and doesn't meet Buck's eyes until Buck is dressed.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower upstairs," Tommy says. "We can talk when I'm back. Whatever you want or need, I'll do my best to do it for you. Okay?"

Buck sits on the edge of the bed and nods. Tommy turns to leave, but Buck calls out for him. "I wanted to, okay?" Buck says. "But maybe I shouldn't have wanted it."

"I don't have an answer for that," Tommy says after a long pause. "But I know I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, Buck. It won't happen again."