previous here.
The bar was close enough to walk to. Buck had never been this aware of his body before. They were about the same height and width, so he didn't know why Tommy felt so massive next to him. Their shoulders brushed a few times. Buck's neck was burning at the contact.
Tommy held the door for him and Buck could barely look at him.
”Bar or table?”
”Oh, uh. Do you have a preference?” Buck asked.
”Bar is usually better when you're alone,” Tommy smiled.
”Bar it is!”
At least he wasn't completely clueless when it came to alcohol. When he stopped bartending, he stopped keeping up with the trends, but the classics never really changed. Tommy was a beer guy, which Buck very much was not. He swirled the ice cubes in his drink until they melted, while listening to Tommy talk about beer. Buck was great at taking in information, so he felt like he was back on even keel.
Then Tommy decided to touch Buck's knee, and Buck stopped listening. It was hardly a come on, Tommy was just an enthusiastic storyteller, but Buck looked down and discovered just how close their legs were. He moved his foot a little bit and suddenly his knee was touching Tommy's thigh.
”Am I boring you?”
Buck's head snapped up. ”Not at all!”
Tommy laughed – and touched his knee again. ”Sorry, when I get going, it's–”
”I like it. You're–” Buck gulped his drink. And coughed. ”You're passionate! It's great.”
”Thank you,” Tommy said, more than a little amused. ”What about you? What're you passionate about?”
”Learning,” he grinned. ”I love learning. I had no idea you could age beer like that. With the barrels. Very cool.”
”I feel like you're making fun of me, but I'll take it,” Tommy winked. ”You're not a big drinker?”
”Used to be. Drank a lot in my twenties – too much. I was a bartender for a while and it all just,” he made a pointless gesture, ”lost its appeal. These days, I just want it to taste good.”
”Wise decision.” Tommy emptied his beer and looked at Buck for a second. Before he got the chance to squirm, Tommy asked, ”Your twenties. How long ago was that?”
”Oh, my god,” Buck sputtered. ”How young do I look? I thought the lighting in here was atrocious.”
Tommy giggled and grabbed Buck's thigh for stabilisation. ”Oh, trust me, it's bad, but your face,” he smiled, ”I can't tell.”
”I'm thirty-two,” he almost felt shy saying it.
”Oh,” Tommy's eyebrows went up. ”Straight out of high school, then?”
Buck dissolved into giggles. It wasn't even that funny, but Tommy looked very proud of himself. Buck wiped his eyes. ”Does that ever work?”
”You tell me.”
”Oh, you're horrible.”
Tommy slapped the bartop. ”Alright, Mr Thirty-Two, do you have a better one?”
”No, but that doesn't make yours good!”
”Made you laugh, didn't it?”
”Alright, alright, fair point.” Christ, what did he usually do? He didn't have a go to anymore. He couldn't exactly flex, when Tommy was bigger than him. That wouldn't impress him. Looking at Tommy's shoulders, he might not even be impressed by Buck being a firefighter. ”Hey, what do you do for a living?”
”I'm a pilot.”
Buck threw up his hands. How was he supposed to impress a pilot? That was so hot, what the hell. ”You don't even need lines! Not with all that.”
Tommy smirked. ”All what?”
”You don't get to fish for compliments, looking like that.” Buck downed the last of his drink. ”Pilot? Really?”
”Air Ops with the LAFD. I don't have a cap, if that's what your imagining.”
”Wait, firefighter pilot? That makes us colleagues. I'm with the 118.”
Tommy's face went slack and oddly blank. ”Oh.”
”That's the most ominous sounding oh I've ever heard.”
”Sorry.” Tommy shook his head. ”I've worked at the 118.”
”You have? When?”
”Got out about … eight? Years ago.”
That was an odd way to put it. ”You got out?”
”That house is cursed.”
”Oh, definitely.”
Tommy gave him an up and down look. ”Should've known you were a firefighter with those arms.”
Part of Buck was always going to be sixteen, so he put his glass down and flexed. ”Heavy rescue.”
Tommy was torn between looking and laughing. ”Does that ever work?”
”Every time,” Buck grinned. It did not. ”If you were there before me, do you remember Hen?”
”Henrietta? Yeah, I was there when she was a probie.”
Hen never let Buck full name her. Although, Tommy could call him whatever he wanted and Buck would say thank you.
Buck took a breath.
Did he want to fuck a man?
He looked at Tommy.
He did. Buck very much would like to fuck a man. No, he wanted to fuck Tommy. It had to be Tommy. He glanced at the bartender. Definitely Tommy. Although those slacks looked great on the bartender. Really highlighted how narrow his hips were.
”Evan?”
”Sorry, I was– Sorry. Hi,” he smiled.
”Hi,” Tommy smiled back.
Buck blurted, ”How old are you?”
”Forty-five.”
”Oh, fuck.” Buck covered his mouth, said a muffled, ”Sorry. I don't know why I said that.”
”Sure, kid,” Tommy said and patted him on the leg.
Buck let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan. If he wasn't already covering his mouth, it would have been really embarrassing.
”You good?”
I can be so good, Tommy, please, please, please. Buck cleared his throat. ”I'm great.”
Tommy looked between him and the glasses on the bartop. ”Maybe we should find an activity that doesn't involve alcohol.”
It had less to do with the alcohol, and more to do with the fact that Tommy (presumably) had a dick between his legs and Buck didn't know what it looked like. ”A third location? Sounds exciting.”
Tommy shifted on his stool, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. ”You'd be really easy to kidnap,” he said offhanded, as he waved down the bartender.
”Wanna try?”
