Much to Buck's devastation, he cannot take Tommy home and rail him immediately.
Now, don't get him wrong—he does take Tommy to his loft, when the hospital staff eventually disperse the celebration. Tommy's car's still at Harbor, after all, and the man's in no state to drive.
He even leaves his hand on the gearshift, because Tommy rests his own on top and laces their fingers, and Buck—well, who is Buck to complain if his hot firefighter boyfriend promotes terrible road safety practices? They make it without any close calls, regardless.
But the immediate railing, that won’t happen. Tommy strips as soon as the door closes, claiming the downstairs bathroom in boxer briefs and an undershirt. Buck goes up to grab a pair of sweats that'll hopefully fit him—he considers boxers, too, but that might be a little weird considering they haven't had sex. As much as he hopes that'll be happening today.
Devastatingly, Tommy emerges from the tower clean of smoke and sweat. Buck’s pants, a little too short on him, fit Tommy’s legs well, though they’re too tight around up top and—Buck discovers, mouth watering—are frankly indecent at the crotch. And then Tommy leads the way upstairs, and they’re indecent at the back too.
Buck tells him so, when they're settled face to face in his bed. Approximately.
"You'll just have to make me sweaty again later, hm?" Tommy says, and closes his eyes. Buck’s breath catches in his throat.
Well, if Buck isn't gonna beat one out next to him, sleeping off the remainder of his hangover sounds pretty good. He drifts off, eventually, when his eyes grow too tired to gaze at the shadows and planes of his boyfriend's face.
·
"That's impractical," Buck says, awed.
"You don't like it?"
"No, I do," Buck corrects. He's still staring. "You know, there was someone who ruptured his throat sucking co*ck a while back. It was on Twitter."
"Not gonna rupture your throat, Evan. You can still back out, if you’ve changed your mind."
"No way. No way. It’s not my first time sucking co*ck, just my first with a man. And—that much of it.”
“Oh yeah?” Tommy says. He sounds breathless, but he’s sounded breathless since Buck first pulled the waistband below his balls.
“Mm, lady in Peru. f*cked my face while her girlfriend rode me.”
“f*ck, Evan,” Tommy says, and his hips jerk. His co*ck bumps into Buck’s lips, swipes a trail of pre to his cheek, and Buck can’t help but dart his tongue out for a taste. Yeah, tastes like pre. Mild, salty, not dissimilar to his own.
“Anyway,” Buck says, wrapping a hand around the base and taking a deep, bracing breath. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the glans.
Tommy moans like it was punched out of him, says between gasping breaths, “Yeah, baby, you like kissing my co*ck? Gonna get it nice and wet for me? God, Evan, that’s good.”
Buck moans. He can’t help it, okay, he loves dirty talk. He loves being praised. His tongue’s out, he’s sucking on the head like he’s starving for it and maybe it should be kind of embarrassing but Tommy’s cradling the back of his head and looking at him with eyes almost entirely black. He looks away, moves on from the head, savors the spongy texture as he sucks kisses down the ventral side of the shaft.
When he reaches the division between the shaft and scrotum—he presses his nose there, for just a moment, to enjoy the weight of Tommy’s co*ck on his face, and the scent of the sweat that gathered in his sleep, undercut with Buck’s own body wash. It’s a heady combination, and the moment stretches on as he breathes and presses chaste kisses to the portion of the sack his mouth can reach. There’s pubic hair to contend with, now, not that Buck’s ever been bothered by that.
“You like that, yeah?” says Tommy. The hand cradling Buck’s head is stroking his hair gently, tugging the short strands every which way. Buck sucks a ball into his mouth, and hums around it in agreement. co*ck is great. Tommy’s co*ck is great. Buck can’t think of any part of Tommy that isn’t great. Tommy moans in response, and that’s great too. Man, Tommy, is he right?
He can’t leave the other ball left out, though—he’s been fondling it while he sucked, but it must be so cold now. So he switches over, rolls it in his tongue and enjoys it pressing against the roof of his mouth. He’s more conscious of his lips than he’s ever been, keeps them pressed over his teeth with all his concentration—which is waning, now, slipping away into the euphoria of Tommy surrounding him, but the muscle memory’s kicked in. Buck’s known Tommy less than two months, but here and now he’s everything.
Buck pulls off, so aroused he can barely breathe, and he slips off to say into that nook something that’s probably slurred, but at least approximating: “Can I touch myself, please?”
The hand on his head tightens briefly, a tiny spike of pain. “sh*t, sorry. Of course, baby,” Buck hears Tommy say through the ocean of blood rushing past his ears, “whatever you want.”
“Please,” Buck says again, and time seems to pause until he gathers his thoughts sufficiently to continue, “pull it. My hair. S’ good.” There’s an answering tug, and it forces Buck’s head back, forces him to look up and meet Tommy’s eyes.
“f*ck,” Tommy says, and he sounds as wrecked as Buck feels, through that pleasant floaty haze. “Come up, here, wanna kiss you.”
What can Buck do but obey, here and now in this world where nothing but this exists? He lets Tommy guide him up, limbs weak and shaky like a colt, lets Tommy lick into his mouth like he’s chasing the taste Buck’s been basking in for who knows how long.
Buck only realizes they’re crotch to crotch when Tommy’s hands leave him for a moment, and he whines, bereft, before he realizes they’ve only gone to push his soaked pants down. Buck’s dick, newly unrestricted, bounces up vehemently, and Tommy huffs a chuckle.
“You’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs into his lips, and Buck hums. It’s true, but he’s a little too distracted to address that right now, what with Tommy’s co*ck next to his own and Tommy’s hands on his hips.
And then Tommy’s hands are no longer on his hips. One’s trailing up his back, pressing him closer, and Buck goes willingly. The other comes between them—wraps a hand around both their co*cks, and every muscle in Buck’s body contracts.
“Easy, baby,” says Tommy, and Buck bites his lower lip in retaliation. Tommy’s amusem*nt is obvious, but Buck’s amused too, under a few layers of just being. He knows he won’t last long, like this. Even when they’re not kissing, Tommy’s so close he’s out of focus, but they’re staring into each others’ eyes like they’re magnetized. Buck can’t help but surge forward, close that gap and reunite their tongues. Every second they’re not kissing, he misses it. Has missed it, every since that first one three Thursdays ago.
He moves his own hand to meet Tommy’s, laces their fingers in a reverse of the drive home earlier, and swallows the smile emerging on Tommy’s face. He’ll follow Tommy’s lead, trust him to drag it out in the best way possible.
And Tommy does. He eases them in; strokes with a light grip, and it’s not nearly enough to bring them over the edge, but neither can help but roll their hips to meet it. With Buck’s saliva on Tommy’s co*ck, and pre seeping from his own, it’s smooth going excepting the slight drag of calluses. Buck’s pretty sure Tommy stops stroking as soon as they reach a rhythm, just tightens his grasp in increments until they break the kiss again and gasp into each others’ mouths, and it’s just them, frotting, flinging Buck to the edge.
It’s abruptly too much, and Buck might be babbling as he plummets over—but Tommy comes too, a moment before or after, and their spend mingles on their joined hands. They share breaths a while longer, coming down, and Buck’s still kind of floaty but he’s aware enough to complain.
“You distracted me, damn it. Wanted to try ‘n’ deepthroat you. And you to come on my face.”
Tommy’s chest shakes, and Buck can feel it because they’re still pressed together from legs to face. “Plenty of time, Evan. Can live out your co*ckslu*t dreams, hm?”
“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “Plenty of time.”
