…and for you

"Missed you too. You could have said you coming today. I've met you."

"Wanted to surprise you," she goes for another kiss that Tommy gives her.

Evan snaps his jaw not to make the comment and leaves them for it. He gets it. Tommy must have the stamina and the needs to get laid several times during the night. And he might miss the pussy. Evan gets it. Girls are hot and it's incredible to sleep with them.

Can his ass be good of the substitute though? So that Tommy would wanna spend as less time with girls as possible? And give his attention to him?

Like bros before hoes, right?

Anyway, he might as well get lucky too. As they are not keeping sex exclusive to each other.

It must be the rules of friends with benefits between straight dudes, right? Tommy wouldn't have do anything if it wasn't.

Evan should learn from him more.

Oh, Angela! She wanted his head between her thighs last semester. If he plays his card as he should …

His best smile, head tilt and his most charming voice we're working!

"Hey, Angela. Can I offer you something to drink?"

She giggles and agrees and Evan knows he's getting really lucky tonight.

Just as he yarns the beauty of the body he got the chance to picture now — God bless the ones who figured we shall re-learn the beauty of the naked body yet again, not restricted by the laws of church.

He would never get too brave to dare to work in such an obscene style if not the reason to hide it all behind the 'modern interests of youth'.

"If I have not seen your hands and eyes moving, I would say you went away somewhere from me, Mr. painter," Evan, the model boy he found near the sea on his evening stroll, breaths, artfully not even moving an inch. "I would be disappointing if I could not keep your attention on me for so long."

3. When Tommy starts asking if he can go with his dad on the day-long fishing trips he takes on the weekends, if he can help his dad fix the old Cutlass in the driveway, if he can bring his dad another beer, if his dad needs a hand cleaning out the garage.... his dad doesn't seem to find it suspicious. He just says it's about time Tommy stopped being such a pussy and started acting like a man. For the better part of a year, Tommy is his dad's shadow. He follows him around and does everything he's asked and laughs at his dad's mean jokes and tries not to see how sad his mom gets when Tommy chooses to spend time with his dad instead of with her, but he can't help it, because his dad never lets her take the car anywhere by herself or go for walks with her friends without him, and sometimes he holds her too tightly and leaves bruises and never says sorry, and now Tommy is making her feel even lonelier. She'll understand when he surprises her with her beloved coat. Except no matter how much time he spends with his dad, who he hates more and more with every passing hour, he can't find it. He looks in the Cutlass, in the gear box on his dad's little motorboat, in every nook and cranny in the garage, in his dad's closet, in the basement.... it's nowhere to be found. Maybe his dad sold it—maybe that's how he was able to afford the boat—or maybe he burned it. Tommy suddenly understands why his mother had been so hopeless, because it's like it just got up and flew away, leaving his mother behind. But he refuses to give up. He just needs to go straight to the source.

4. Tommy plies his dad with at least four beers a day, because his dad gets talkative after four. When his dad hits that point, he doesn't get mad when Tommy asks about his mom. It takes another few months—almost a year to the day since he found the photo—before four isn't enough and his dad's hands shake if he doesn't have at least five, and he's handing his dad a sixth when he finally works up the nerve to ask how his dad met his mom. Practically puddled on his work bench, his dad rumbles a laugh and says that he saw her in the woods behind their house, bathing in the same creek where Tommy used to catch frogs and fireflies before his dad said only pansies did that, and thought she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. He mumbles a word that Tommy doesn't understand—a hag-something—and snorts another laugh, muttering, "'s right under her nose. She'll n'ver find it." Tommy stares at his dad, who can barely keep his eyes open and keeps bobbing his head like he can't hold it up, and then quietly asks where the coat is.

5. It's nighttime when he shakes his mom's arm to wake her up and presses a finger to his lips, beckoning her to get out of bed and come with him. It takes a few minutes for her to slip out from under his dad's heavy arm without waking him. He takes her hand in his and they sneak downstairs; they don't put their shoes on until they get to the bottom step of the basement stairs, and then they sneak out the door that leads to the backyard. He uses his dad's Rayovac to light their way. She doesn't ask where they're going. Maybe she's just as afraid of making a sound as he is, even though they're far enough away that they could throw a party and his dad wouldn't so much as stir. She lets him pull her through the tree line at the edge of the yard and into the woods; together, they climb over fallen trees and tromp through mud puddles and jump every time a raccoon shrieks. He doesn't know how long they walk in silence, hand in hand, but finally the beam of light hits the creek. He pulls her over to the big tree by the edge, where lightning had cracked a hollow in it long before Tommy was born, and then lets go of her hand so he can crawl inside. The dead wood scratches him and he accidentally gets a spider web in his mouth, but it's all worth it when he squirms back out with his arms full of soft, soft fabric that glows like the moon. She's holding the flashlight, so he gets to see the shock and relief and joy on her face when she sees what he's holding, and it's worth every single horrible second he's spent over the last year with his dad. It was all for this. He did it. Panting, he grins at her, wiggling in pleasure when she wraps him in her arms and holds him and cries.

The bits of sky they can see through the canopy is starting to pink up, and finally his mom lets him go so she can take the coat from his arms. It looks like a sky full of stars reflected in the surface of a lake when she slips into it, rippling like water, and she is lit up almost from within, beautiful and terrifying and unfamiliar.

"M-Mom?" He's never been afraid of her, and he isn't now, but when she cups his face in her hand, his heart pounds the way it does when their neighbor's rottweiler barks and growls through the fence when Tommy walks by, or when his dad yells.

Her hair falls out of the scrunchy and falls in waves around her face and down her back, and then floats up. Not just her hair. She's floating up. Away.

She smiles, like in the photo. His eyes fill with tears.

"If you ever choose to give it to someone, please be sure," his mother says, and her voice echoes through the trees and flows in the creek and rides the wind. "Otherwise, you can never come home to me."

He watches her rise up and up, until she slips through the fiery pink lines between the treetops, and disappears.

When his father wakes up and starts tearing apart the house, howling for his wife, Tommy's in bed, hiding under the covers and sobbing into a leather coat that's as soft as clouds and warm as his own blood.

6. Bonus!

By the time Buck walks the four blocks from where he parked to Maccheroni Republic, he's glad he decided to wear a jacket. It's unseasonably cold for November and the jacket had been a gift. It would be more insulting if he didn't wear it. At least that's what he keeps telling himself when the guilt threatens to sweep his legs out from under him.

He swallows the sour taste in his mouth and enters the restaurant where his date is waiting for him. Her name is Melody. According to her Hinge profile, she's a florist who recently moved to Santa Monica and is looking to make a connection. Buck doesn't know shit about flowers, but he knows about wanting to establish something special with someone. The dates he's been on lately have been one disappointment after another, but maybe Melody will break the losing streak. Maybe she'll have all the answers.

Thank god she looks just like her profile picture. He spots her right away: riotous curls, large eyes, and a dazzling smile... that disappears the moment he approaches the table.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Buck says. "I had to park on the other side of the world. Hopefully you haven't been w—uh, is everything—?"

Because Melody is staring balefully at his chest as she gathers her purse and phone.

"Whoa, hey, I-I didn't think I was that late," Buck appeals.

The glare that Melody levels on him would fell a lesser man, but Athena has trained him up well over the years. He's able to withstand it with only a small wince.

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" Melody snaps. She's practically shaking with rage. The people around them are starting to stare. "Going on a date wearing someone else's—god, you asshole."

Blinking, he glances down at himself. "Wait, do you—are you talking about the jacket? I'm not sure what the big deal is, or how you even clocked it, but, uh, my ex gave it to me. I can... take it off? I was gonna take it off."

At that, she pauses, squinting at him with an insulting amount of distrust, even for an internet stranger. "Your ex? Then why do you still have it?"

Buck ducks his head and stares at the zipper pull on his chest, shrugging. "H-He didn't want it back."

After the breakup, the jacket had taken up a permanent spot in his Jeep, then the truck, which had a setting he couldn't turn off that registered any added pressure to the backseat and reminded him to check anytime he turned off the car. It was supposed to keep frazzled parents from forgetting their kids in the car on hot days, but all it did was serve as a painful reminder that he still had a piece of Tommy.

He'd caught up with Tommy after Bobby's memorial service and haltingly offered to give it back. That kind of buttery, almost liquid leather? It had to have cost a fortune. It didn't seem right to keep it.

"It was a gift," Tommy had said softly.

"A-Are you sure?" It took every drop of willpower not to throw himself into Tommy's arms and beg him to hold him for a minute, because the jacket was nice but it didn't smell like Tommy anymore and it was a poor substitute for his hugs.

But Tommy had mustered up a smile that made Buck's stomach hurt to look at, and said, "I'm sure, Evan. It's yours."

Melody stares at him for a long moment, then blows out a breath and takes her seat again. She gestures for Buck to do the same, which he does, although he feels a little bit like he's about to be put through a deposition.

"Let me make something perfectly clear: this isn't a date. I'm not dating someone who has one of those," Melody says, gesturing to his jacket.

"Is it, like, Gucci or something?" Buck runs a nervous hand down the length of one soft, soft sleeve. "There isn't a tag. I think he cut it out."

She shakes her head, then sighs. "Okay, so, I'm not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. I recognize it because... my uncle married a woman who has one. Except hers looks like one of those robe coats from the '20s. You know: big sleeves, fur collar, dragged on the ground. She gave it to him."

Buck waits for her to continue, but that seems to be the end of her thought.

"Oh, uh, that... was, uh, nice of her?"

Melody rolls her eyes, then leans forward like she's thinking about reaching across the table and shoving whatever she's trying to say down his throat. "The coat's—special. I don't know how to explain it. My uncle says it's... it could give my uncle, like, an insane amount of power over her, but he's a pretty good guy so he doesn't ever use it. It's the ultimate gesture of trust. It's like my aunt gave her soul to him."

His eyes are as wide as the bread plates on the table. He can feel his brows kiss the edge of his hairline. His fingers are buried in the jacket's cuffs.

"I-I don't... what is it? You recognized it, like, right away."

She shrugs. "I've read some—I guess, myths? In the stories, they're made of feathers, sometimes silk. My aunt and uncle ended up having my cousin Katie, and she has one, too. Hers is wool, though. Pink houndstooth, with a skirt that kinda flares out. I think it's different every time? Like, it adapts to the owner and their circumstances, that sort of thing."

Buck looks down at the camel-colored leather and thinks of how easily Tommy took it off his own body and draped it over Buck's one chilly night. How Tommy smiled and murmured, "it suits you."

"So, the fact that he gave this to me—" He can't get the rest of the words out. They're blocked by a lump in his throat that feels like it's growing by the second. His eyes burn.

For the first time that night, Melody smiles. "He must've really loved you."

+

When Buck pulls into the driveway, he's shaking so hard he can barely get his hand around the shift lever to throw the truck into park. There are no lights on in the house.

Exhaling, he opens the door and spills out into the night, which feels even colder than it did earlier. The jacket isn't doing anything to block the chill. Or maybe he's just sweating and his body can't compensate.

He starts heading up the walkway toward the porch, then stops. Something in him pulses hard, and he turns his head in the direction of where the path splits to head to the backyard. There's no cogent reason to check there first, but his heart starts pounding like he's just ran a marathon.

Buck approaches the gate and peers over the top of the door. The yard is wide open and dark; the flood light is off and all he has to help him is starlight. But there, in the grass, is a swathe of even darker darkness. A silhouette.

Swallowing hard, he gently unlatches the door and walks through, shutting it behind him. His hand trembles on the metal lock.

It's the ultimate gesture of trust.

Closing his stinging eyes, Buck takes a moment to breathe. Another pulse, deep in his chest, spurs his feet into motion. He walks slowly over the grass to the shadow lying in the middle of the yard. It isn't until he's less than a foot away that he can actually make out more than a fuzzy outline.

Even in faint starlight, Tommy looks incredible. Almost otherworldly. He's staring up at the sky like he's trying to work out a puzzle, but after a moment, he turns his head and looks at Buck. He smiles the way he always does and Buck's belly cramps.

Wordlessly, Tommy lifts an arm, his wrist thick and strong, inviting him down.

Choking on a sob, Buck clambers down onto the grass and tucks himself against Tommy's side. Tommy's arm wraps around him, warmer than anything else in the whole world.

Buck settles his cheek on Tommy's shoulder and whispers, "Did you know what it meant? When you gave it to me?"

"Yes."

"Then why give it to me?"

"Because I was sure," Tommy murmurs. "I still am."

Dragging in another shaky breath, Buck closes his eyes. "I'm sure too."

The arm around him tightens and there's a brief, warm pressure against his hair. After a moment, he hears the grass shift under Tommy's head as he turns to gaze back up at the sky. Buck doesn't know what he's looking for, but he hopes he finds it, whatever it is. Maybe he's not looking for anything in particular.

Tommy regarded the loft. ”Alright, I'm starting to see the advantages of not having walls.”

Buck looked up as well, then back to Tommy. ”It's not about the walls, it's about the windows.”

”Having a lot of windows doesn't matter, if you have a lot of walls.”

”What are you talking about–”

They both jumped at the sound of the timer. Buck rushed to get the oven. He was extra careful, pulling the dish out of the oven. It would be just his luck to drop the thing, after spending all afternoon making it. He heard the timer magnetise onto the fridge, before he felt Tommy at his shoulder.

Tommy whistled. ”Looks delicious.”

”Yeah?”

”Very.” He patted Buck on the hip. ”Need help with anything?”

”If you could,” he gestured to the sides still sitting on the island. ”I'll get the drinks.”

As they sat down, Buck took in the spread before them. He was pretty happy with his efforts, even though he could think of a few things he could've done better. He hadn't asked about Tommy's preferences ahead of time. He waited to dig in, until Tommy did.

Tommy pointed to his plate with his fork. ”This is incredible.”

”Thank you,” Buck preened, relieved.

”I remember Bobby's lasagna. This is not that.”

”He's probably improved it, since you had it last.”

”Oh, no, baby, this is all you, I'm sure of it.”

Baby. The spine tingles persisted.

”I try,” he blushed. ”Bobby is a great teacher.”

”And you're a great student.”

His fork halted halfway to his mouth. ”Oh.”

”Doesn't matter how great he is. This,” Tommy gestured to the food, ”takes skill.”

He almost felt a lump in his throat. ”Th-thank you.”

Tommy smiled and kept eating. He loved everything and wasn't too shy to say so. It was the restaurant all over again. They kept talking.

They took a break between dinner and dessert, to go watch the sunset from the balcony, only to come back inside, and keep talking. Buck was running out of snacks and drinks to offer, but he didn't want Tommy to go. Buck had had his fair share of intense friendships over the years, but this was something else. The conversation was still flowing easily, and Tommy had made no indications about heading home, yet all Buck could think was don't leave.

Tommy was beautiful. When he laughed, it beamed out of his whole body. Even at rest, it was so clear on his face how much he'd smiled in his life. He followed everything Buck said so closely, taking all of it in and responding.

His chest felt tight, when he thought about how he wanted to do this every night. He wanted to listen to and know all of Tommy's stories. He wanted to call him when work was slow. He wanted him to breathe down his neck, while he read every plaque, at every museum in all of LA. He wanted to know every offensive hat Tommy owned.

They were already sitting at the corner of the table, right next to each other, but Buck scooted his chair back, to get the table out of the way. ”Come here for a sec?”

Tommy scooted back, too, then angled himself toward him. ”What's up?”

”I just need to–” His fingers clutched uselessly at the air, before he committed. His hands found the sides of Tommy's face and pulled him close. Tommy kept his eyes open, until the last second – maybe longer. Buck closed his eyes. Tommy's lips were warm and a little wet.

The kiss wasn't deep enough to taste him, but deep enough to make a small sound when they parted.

”Oh.”

”Oh?”

”Oh,” Buck said and dove back in. This was the part that was missing. He would've fallen off the chair, in his quest to get closer, if Tommy hadn't grabbed the legs and hitched it forward. Buck's weight made the chair screech across the floor. He wound his arms around Tommy's shoulders, holding on tightly, as if Tommy was going somewhere.

The position was awkward, their knees kept them apart. The only place Tommy's hands could comfortably go, was on Buck's thighs.

Buck broke the kiss, to take a breath, but didn't move away. His fingers found Tommy's bottom lip, needing to touch. ”Sorry, was that– was that OK?”

A smile bloomed across Tommy's face. ”Yeah, baby, that was OK.”

”I love when you call me that,” Buck said, more than a little dazed.

”I can tell.” Tommy nuzzled the side of his face. Buck was helpless not to chase it.

”Is that– is that why you do it?” His fingers trailed up the side of Tommy's face, to touch the smile lines around his eyes.

He could feel Tommy grin against his cheek. ”Well, we can't both be Boyfriend. That would be confusing.”

”You're not funny.”

”I'm hilarious.”

Buck giggled, and squirmed at the feeling of Tommy's scruff. ”You're not, I just smile a lot.”

”Get over here and smile some more.”

Buck abandoned his chair, and sat across Tommy's lap instead – this was not a straddling situation. The chair creaked and they both sat carefully still for a second. As solid as Tommy's lap felt, the chair didn't seem to be.

”I think we're good.”

”You sure?” Buck asked, hand reaching behind him for the kitchen island, just in case. Tommy wiggled, but there were no additional ominous sounds. ”This is not a problem I've ever had before,” he muttered.

Tommy laughed and buried his face in the crook of Buck's neck. Buck dug him out so they could kiss again.

Kissing Tommy was … well, it wasn't the kiss itself, it was his arms. They were so strong around him, it didn't feel like he could move, unless Tommy allowed him to.

This was what was missing. This was how all of their dates should have ended. He should have kissed Tommy after they got coffee, after they closed out the restaurant. He should have kissed him infront of the dire wolves, and after the aloe in the parking lot. He should have kissed him when Tommy held his hand at the Pollinator Meadow. He should have shoved Tommy into one of the helicopters at Harbor.

The only time he was happy about them not kissing, was at the club. If they'd kissed at the club, Buck wouldn't have remembered it, and not remembering his first kiss with Tommy would have broken his heart.

Their first kiss, was right here, in his kitchen, and he was going to remember that for the rest of his life.

”You OK?” Tommy asked softly.

”Yeah,” he smiled. ”Yeah, I think I just needed to catch up.”

”Catch up?”

”To you.” It was a little nonsensical, but Tommy seemed to understand.

”I'm glad you did.” Tommy nuzzled him.

They fell quiet again, for a moment. Buck tried to take it all in. What it felt like to be kissed by Tommy, how the breadth of his shoulders felt under his hands, how safe he felt. He touched his fingertips to Tommy's facial hair, and wondered at the fact that it didn't matter. Tommy being a man wasn't a factor at all.

”Hey, Boyfriend?” he whispered.

”Yes, baby?”