StuckInTheMiddle22

They're about evenly paced, with wildly different personalities.

Tommy and Evan are in similar living situations. Evan is at the frat house, Tommy is at a vet house. Not an official one, but one that's known in certain circles. A guy from his unit hooked him up.

They're an odd pair, which is something that's commented on a lot. Evan is drawn to the younger recruits, Tommy is drawn to the older ones. Evan talks constantly, Tommy doesn't talk at all.

Every weekend Tommy has to remind himself it's a weekend and not leave. He needs to be able to function come Monday, but it's harder than it sounds. Hangovers are far from the worst thing to work around. He pukes between drills, but it's fine, his body is a machine. At least there's no sand here. Anakin Skywalker was onto something. Tommy has always hated the beach.

Toward the end of the Academy, when the captains start hanging around, Evan gets a lot of attention. He's been breaking records left and right, and clearly has what it takes. Skill wise, Tommy is about the same, but he doesn't push himself the way Evan does. Tommy is used to the power structure, and doing things he doesn't want to do. He's the kind of obedient that's sought after.

The 118 are still short-staffed after cleaning the house post Captain Gerrard, so both Evan Overachiever Buckley and Thomas Torment Nexus Kinard go to the 118. Evan on A-shift, Tommy on C-shift.

The friendship would have fizzled out, if Evan was capable of taking a hint. Everyone calls him Buck, but Tommy still calls him Buckley. Evan assures him it's OK, he doesn't have to do that anymore, but Tommy just blinks at him. He calls everyone by their last names, it's efficient. Evan thinks Tommy is the funniest person in the world. Tommy doesn't get that either.

Captain Nash manages to take Evan down several notches. Tommy gets a handle on the alcohol consumption. The probationary period changes both of them, in various different ways. They manage to meet up about once a week. Evan has a new existential crisis every week. He tells Tommy he's a great listener. Tommy isn't so sure about that.

They're each other's emergency contact. The first time Evan lands in the hospital, Tommy is in the visitor seat. Same thing happens when it's Tommy's turn. Tommy hates the frat house. Evan hates the vet house. They make a deal to find a place together, if they make it through their probationary period.

They're there for each other, through the losses and the setbacks.

Tommy never tells Evan not to do something, all Tommy does is stick around. When something inevitably goes wrong, Tommy is there. It doesn't feel like anything, doesn't take any effort. To Evan it's everything.

Tommy thought he had a handle on things, but the longer he's been out, the more feelings come to the surface. He lashes out. Evan never tells him not to. Sometimes he just listens, other times he finds something for them to do; something destructive or something that tires them out. Evan reminds Tommy that he's a person. It doesn't feel like anything, it doesn't take effort at all. Tommy is pretty sure he would have done something drastic, if he didn't have Evan.

They pin each other's shields and find a house together. The place barely has running water, but Evan's credit is shit and Tommy has lived in a tent. It's perfect. Evan has the confidence of a man in his twenties, and Tommy is all too happy to sit back and see what happens.

It will take them the better part of a decade to get the house in order, but neither one of them is in a hurry. Neither one of them are in contact with their families. Evan hooks up on the regular, but he never brings them to the house. Tommy doesn't date or hookup, so there is no one to bring around. The state of the house doesn't matter, as long as the two of them are comfortable.

They sleep in the same bed from the moment they move in. At first, the living room is the only room that's suitable to be in, so they get a mattress to share. With their shift work, they get the bed to themselves often enough. When one of the bedrooms is good enough to sleep in, they move the mattress in there. By the time the second bedroom is good to go, it feels weird to get a second mattress. Evan is the one who's most reluctant to get one.

One night in bed, Tommy tells him he's gay. In the privacy of his own head, he can admit he does it to scare Evan off, and make him get that second mattress. It doesn't work. Evan looks at him softly and asks about it. Tommy has never told another living soul about any of it. He can't remember a time where he didn't know he was into men. Evan, curious as ever, ask what it's like, asks what Tommy's attraction looks like. Tommy gives him a rambling reply, that's halfway poetic, halfway nonsensical.

Evan has a private moment of his own. He recognises it. What Tommy describes, Evan recognises it in himself. But this is Tommy's moment, so he doesn't share it.

The next day, he buys a second mattress.

Tommy is confused about it. And confused about his own confusion. He wanted Evan to have his own bed and now he does. They get through a week of weird tension, that they can't work on because they're not home at the same time. When they finally have twenty-four hours together, Evan admits he slept in Tommy's bed, because he couldn't fall asleep in his own. Tommy did the same, but he struggles to admit it. Instead, he shrugs and tells Evan to come back, if he sleeps better.

That night, Evan spoons him like he's done a million times before, except this time, he wiggles under Tommy's blankets to do it. Tommy goes rigid, like Evan figured he would. Evan tucks his face between Tommy's shoulderblades and goes to sleep.

In the morning, Tommy extricates himself from the tangle of Evan's limbs, to get ready for work. He freezes in the door of the bedroom, when Evan calls after him. ”Come home to me.” Tommy doesn't turn around, doesn't say anything. He gets ready and heads to the station. In his car, it spins around and around in his head. It was a silly thing to say, because the next time they see each other won't be at home, but when A-shift takes over from C-shift.

It's been an easy shift, so when Evan pulls into the lot, Tommy is ready to leave. Tommy stands around, semi awkwardly, duffel over his shoulder. He's freshly showered and everything. The shift was that boring. Evan walks up to him with his own duffel, smiling and nervous as all hell. He's putting on a cocky face, but Tommy has known that face for years, knows it like the back of his hand.

He's had twenty-four hours to come up with a line, but he's got nothing. They stand around for a second, just looking at each other. ”Stay safe,” is what tumbles out of Tommy's mouth. The brave smile on Evan's face falls away. He swallows audibly. ”I will.” They linger for a moment longer, not touching, not saying anything.

Tommy heads home and deep cleans the house instead of sleeping. Evan walks face first into a streetlight on shift and dreads having to explain why he did that.

They're both wild around the eyes – and bruised, in Evan's case – when Evan comes home. Tommy smells like vinegar. Evan smells like sweat.

”What part of stay safe did you not understand?”

Sheepish, Evan gestures wildly and says, ”Apparently I can't do that and think about you at the same time.”

They're standing infront of each other, in the house they're quite literally building together, both thinking, if this blows up in my face, I have nowhere to go.

Evan moves first, because it has to be Evan. They both know it has to be. It doesn't matter how much Tommy wants something, he won't take it. He touches Tommy's face, with a reverence he's never felt before. When Tommy fucked up his wrist, Evan helped him shave, and he was careful, but not like this. No, this is much more dangerous than razors against arteries, because Tommy looks scared. In all the time they've known each other, Evan has never seen him scared. Tommy's hands hover somewhere in the vicinity of Evan's lower back. He can almost feel the heat transfer, from those big, capable hands.

Tommy closes his eyes before Evan kisses him. Evan looks at him and keeps looking at him, as he presses his lips to Tommy's mouth. Tommy's hands are shaking, when Evan feels them on his body. He closes his eyes and presses forward, fingers cradling Tommy's face. He moans, because it feels good. Tommy is warm and solid and right here; still scared out of his mind, but he's here.

Something shifts and suddenly Evan is being held like he's never been held before. Tommy's arms go tight around his ribs, they're pressed together from their heads to their knees, trying not to step on each other's feet. A breathless ”Evan” is exhaled between them and Evan suddenly feels like he's about to cry. He's scared, too, but underneath it all, Tommy has been the only constant in his life, the only person who sees him as he is and has made no efforts to change him. Hasn't sneered or rolled his eyes or laughed or given him the silent treatment. And OK, Tommy has called him stupid, but only when it was warrented and he didn't leave afterwards.

”I like you so much,” Evan says, because he can't not say it. ”You're so important to me.”

Neither one of them are good at talking, so Tommy nods and says, ”Me, too.”

All the walls in their house are different colours, because they can't agree on anything. Neither of the beds have bedframes, which is bad for both them and the mattresses, but they flip them as often as they remember. Evan is getting pretty good at cooking and writes a meal plan every week, and sticks it on the fridge. The backyard looks like a scrap heap and there's a suspiciously fat looking cat living in it, that they've been trying to get inside for weeks. Tommy makes sure Evan's Jeep keeps running, and calls anyone who wrongs Evan an asshole, whether it's warrented or not. Evan has been looking into therapy resources for vets, and Tommy loves him more than he's ever loved anything, even if he can't say it.

”I mean it, Tommy, I do.”

”I know,” Tommy says and kisses him again. ”I know you do,” because being heard, being believed is what matters to Evan. Evan doesn't tell him things he doesn't mean, even when they fight. Sometimes the words come out in the wrong order, but Tommy stays until he gets them right, and no one has ever done that before.

They need to talk, really talk. They both want to – and they will – but Tommy pulls on him, and stumbles backwards, toward the bedroom.

”I haven't–” Evan says, as if Tommy doesn't already know.

3. “Have you considered,” Chimney said, head tipped back and eyes closed as the engine crept through afternoon traffic, “that there is perhaps another weirdo in this vast city we call home who also has an aversion to buying a car made this century?”

“His truck is from 1998,” Buck said, turning his phone around in his hands. The only reason no one had tried to take it from him was because Eddie, a victim of the call involving college students and a comically unwise amount of jello shots, was sitting next to him in a shirt covered in vomit. The smell was keeping everyone at bay.

Chim cracked open an eye. “That's nearly thirty years ago.”

“And not the takeaway,” Hen added.

“He hates new trucks,” Buck said, which was probably also not the takeaway, judging by the side eye Hen shot him. “He thinks they're vanity projects for men insecure in their masculinity.”

“He liked mine. He even did a tune up on it.” Eddie pinched his shirt between finger and thumb and held it away from his body. Two different students had vomited on him in under a minute. “How do we not have a spare shirt in the kit?”

“He didn't like your truck," Buck said, absently. “He almost didn't take you to Vegas when you pulled up in it.”

“I should have taken you instead," Tommy had said as he finished checking the Jeep’s fluids. He closed the hood and gave it an affectionate pat. “You keep her in good shape.”

Buck had no choice but to shove Tommy against the hood and climb him like a tree.

“Well, now I'm glad none of us hang out with him anymore,” Eddie said.

“We're here,” Bobby said loudly before Buck could do more than furrow his brow. “Eddie, go shower and get changed. Everyone else, let's make sure we're ready for another call and then go grab something to eat.”

Buck ran through the equipment checklist with Ravi, who headed upstairs to get lunch. Before he could follow, Bobby waved him over to the front of the bay and said, "How are you doing, kid?"

Buck briefly considered playing dumb and giving a run down on the check he just performed, but he was a long way out from being twenty-six and Bobby wouldn't have let him get away with it back then, either.

“Is this about the truck?" Buck said, fumbling his phone back out of the pocket. “Because I took a picture yesterday, and you can see most of the license plate.”

It had been late afternoon and Buck was on his way back from possibly the most depressing hang he and Eddie ever had: Eddie missing his son and Buck missing his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Then in the late afternoon light, there was the truck,driving slowly past his building. Buck had taken a quick picture and then took off down the sidewalk, trying to wave Tommy down. Tommy must have seen him because he sped up and ran a yellow light and was gone.

Buck had the text thread open all night, but Tommy never bubbled. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong.

“You're having a hard time with this breakup,” Bobby said after a long, thoughtful look. “You weren't like this over Taylor.”

“It was pretty clear by the end that Taylor and I wanted different things. It was different with Tommy.” He sniffed, miserable. “I saw something there. I thought we were making it together.”

“Oh, kid,” Bobby said like Buck was breaking his heart. “Come here.”

It’d been some time since he had a Bobby hug, but it was as warm and loving as always. Maybe he didn’t get to have someone, not like how Bobby had Athena and how Maddie had Chim, how he thought he had Tommy, but he still got this: Bobby, who loved him better than a father could.

“If he’s driving by your place,” Bobby said, “maybe he saw something there, too.”

“Do you think I should call him?” he asked, hopeful.

“Come to dinner,” Bobby said, which was its own answer. “I’m making a braised short rib. The kids will be there. Bring a dessert. With the way Harry puts it away, bring several desserts. We’ll have an old fashioned family dinner.”

“I’ve been experimenting with a fruit tart,” Buck said, surreptitiously swiping at his eyes. “And a chocolate ganache.”

Bobby lovingly shook him by the back of the neck. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Always am,” Buck said, and slipped away to stow his phone in the locker. He was sick of looking at it.

4. His favorite thing about the loft, the main reason he let Ali talk him into taking it besides that it would be a nice place to have sex in, was the balcony. He never lived in a place with a real balcony before. That shoebox apartment in Poughkeepise had a little eve he could climb out on and then the slightly larger shoebox in Virginia Beach had a fire escape he snuck onto with a cold beer at night when the heat downgraded from murderous to merely oppressive.

But this was a whole balcony he outfitted with a table and chairs with deep cushions and even an ottoman he picked up at an estate sale. There was something so adult about spending a morning out on the balcony having a leisurely breakfast of his latest attempt at croissants and the cold brew he made himself, looking out over LA.

Tommy had liked the balcony and the view even if he hated the rest of the loft. He’d been very polite about it, admiring the clean modern lines. “You’re making me feel like a pack rat,” he’d joked. “Maybe I should give minimalism a shot.”

“I like your place,” Buck had protested. Tommy’s house was so perfectly him, filled with books and DVDs and old VHS tapes and weird little figurines lining the shelves. “I used to move around a lot when I was a younger. I got in the habit of not keeping a lot of stuff.” He’d studied the loft with new eyes. It was less clean and modern and more bare. “Where did you get those little wood figures? Maybe I should start a collection.”

“I’ll send you the link,” Tommy had said, but of course he hadn’t. They’d broken up and now the only personal touch was the containers of flours and the brownies cooling on a rack.

Buck finished off his cold brew and moved to the railing, arms propped on it. Down below, as if just waiting for him to notice, was Tommy’s Superman blue truck. Looked like he got the spot out front again.

He pulled out his phone and thumbed over to the text thread. The bubble appeared. The bubble disappeared. The bubble appeared.

What the hell. You only lived once.

You can come up, Buck texted, making sure to use proper punctuation because Tommy was a nerd that way.

The bubble disappeared. Tommy pulled out of spot and took off.

Well, at least he knew now.

5. Eddie dropped him off in front of the building, and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me? We can have an adult sleepover.”

Buck raised his eyebrows.

“Platonic!” Eddie yelped. “Adult platonic sleepover.”

“That’s worse. You sound like a—” The rest of the sentence stuck in his throat. Maddie had nearly been killed by that joke.

“Buck,” Eddie said.

“We’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours,” he said, dredging up a smile. “I’m gonna go get some sleep. You should also do that. You still have to finish packing.”

Eddie sighed, the exhaustion and Buck winning. “All right, but call me if—hell, I don’t know. Just call if you need to.”

“Sure thing,” said Buck, who was absolutely not going to do that. He shut the door and knocked twice against the window, giving the all clear, and Eddie pulled back onto the road.

Parked across the street was a Superman blue truck from 1998.

Buck broke into a run. A giant vanity truck laid on the horn because Tommy was right and every owner was an asshole. He waved a hand in apology, skidded between two terribly parked SUVs and rapped frantically on the passenger side window.

Tommy’s shoulders jerked up around his ears. The keys were in the ignition. Tommy’s grip tightened and then fell away, and he leaned over to open the door.

“You won’t text me but you’ll park outside my apartment?” Buck demanded, clambering inside. The seat was pulled up, and he had to shove it all the way back so his legs would fit.

“Hello, Evan,” Tommy said with an achingly brave little smile. “This seemed the less depressing option.”

“How?”

Tommy sighed. “It made sense in my head.” And then his gaze sharpened, and Buck was uncomfortably aware of his two day old scruff and greasy hair and the old hoodie that was desperately in need of a wash after the long day. Tommy’s voice gentled. “Hey, are you okay?”

Buck opened his mouth, the words ready to pour out in an unstoppable tragic deluge of this fucking awful day, and he knew exactly what would happen: Tommy would listen, eyebrows rising first with incredulity and then with horror, and he would walk Buck up to his apartment and make sure he got some food in him and, if Buck was extra pathetic, would sit with him until he nodded off because Tommy took care of him but never let Buck return the favor. No, that was a lie. Buck never bothered to see past the cool pilot veneer to the sweet man underneath who wanted to be taken care of. It was time for a change.

“It was a scary day,” he said, “but everything is okay now. How are you?”

There was that smile again, only sadder now. “I’m good, Evan.”

It might have worked before, but Buck was paying attention now. Tommy was tired and lonely and a little scared.

“I don’t think you are,” Buck said, being so, so careful. “Do you want to come up and tell me about it?”

Tommy’s hand was on the key. Buck waited. Please, god, please.

Tommy pulled it from the ignition and said, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They got out of the truck and went inside, together.

+1. Parking on Tommy’s street was a nightmare. Between the student house on the corner and the Thompsons’ endless dinner parties, there was never an open spot he could squeeze the Jeep into. He begun his fourth circuit when Tommy called.

“You circle the block one more time and Helen from next door is going to call the cops,” Tommy said, amused.

“Tell her it’s the Thompsons’ fault,” Buck said. “What’s the normal number of dinner parties to have a week? It can’t be five. That’s way too many.”

“I think it’s called having friends.”

“We have friends, but we don’t invite them over every night.” He paused in front of the fire hydrant. “I’m a firefighter. I’ve got special dispensation to park in front of a hydrant, right?”

“Or,” Tommy said slowly, “you can park in my driveway like a normal, not insane person.”

Buck’s throat went die and his palms began to sweat. Please don’t let him fuck this up.

“I didn’t want to trap you if you needed to get out.” He winced. “Or, uh, assume.”

“Honey,” Tommy said, slow and sweet and only mild condescending. “Park in the driveway.”

“Okay,” Buck said. “See you soon.”

He pulled in and to the side, just in case Tommy needed to make a quick escape from his own house. Tommy was waiting on the front porch, bare foot and handsome and his eyebrows raised in a bitchy little arc. Buck loved him so much.

“Don’t start,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Which of us spent months driving past where the other lived instead of just texting like a normal, not insane person?”

“And which of us almost brought back Covid flour shortages instead of texting?” Tommy shot back.

“Me,” Buck said happily.

“And me.” Tommy slid a hand along the back of his neck and reeled him into a kiss. “Come on. Dinner is almost ready.”

1) Buck sent his first dick pic in college via Snapchat. It was unsolicited, as was the style at the time. We do not talk about the dark ages.

2) Buck meets Rachel in Peru. They hook up a few times while she's there on spring break. She regretfully has to go back to the states, but hey, Buck has Snapchat, right? They exchange nudes fairly frequently. Rachel loves watching Buck come all over his chest and stomach, loves watching him play with his precome, and asked him once to send a picture holding a coke can next to his cock because "my friends didn't believe me when I described it." Buck comes so hard at the thought of a bunch of girls looking at how big his cock is that he sees white. But then Rachel gets a boyfriend, and the sexting stops.

3) When Abby leaves for Europe, they go back to having phone sex. Buck's happy with it! It's kinda sweet, really, going back to the beginnings of their relationship. Okay, yeah, it's kinda disheartening when Abby sounds a little distracted and cuts the call off before Buck can get off, and, yeah, she didn't respond to the last dick pic he sent, but they're doing fine, right?

4) After Abby breaks up with him, Buck feels lonelier than ever. Is he the problem? Maybe he's the problem. Maybe his dick is the problem? It's always after he has sex with someone that things go wrong. Flirting is great, and when he and Abby hadn't met in person, they were doing great. If only there was a place to find out if his dick is normal.

Oh, of course, there's a subreddit for that. Score!

Buck sets up the bedside lamp for some soft lighting, trying not to think about how he'll have to furnish his own apartment soon. He's already a little hard, and it's gotta be Pavlovian, just at the thought of taking a nude, right? He pulls his shirt up to show his stomach but hide his tattoos, strokes himself, thinking of how a bunch of strangers will be looking at his dick soon, how this isn't a private text or Snapchat, this is public, and on the internet, and that kinda stuff is forever. Weeks, months, years from now, someone can be looking at Buck's cock — and he has to stop before he comes all over himself.

He takes a few pictures from a few angles and posts what he thinks is the best one. Shame he's straight, and he doesn't really know what people want in a dick pic, right? He must pick right, though, because people are losing it over his dick. Asking to ride him, or suck him off, or have him rail them into the mattress. Buck gets more comments and DMs than he knows what to do with.

He does absolutely jerk off to the comment that does in depth about how they'd like to leave Buck's cock alone and fuck him, watching it bounce against his stomach while leaving streaks of precome, watching it twitch and jerk while he comes untouched, watching it get hard again because the commenter's not done with Buck yet. It's just that the commenter sounds so confident, is all. Buck's always loved when someone's a little domineering in bed.

Buck's post is one of the top 5 when he sorts by top → all time a few weeks later. The comment that got him off is the highest-rated one, which makes it a lot easier to find when he wants to jerk off to it again. And again. And again.

5) Speaking of being domineering in bed, Taylor fucking Kelly. She's not insane; she has never sent a nude in her life. That could kill her career. She will absolutely tell Buck to drop everything and send her a dick pic, though. It's part control, part Buck's dick is genuinely nice to look at. Throughout their relationship, he sends a lot of dick pics. Sleepy, blurry pictures of his morning wood, more than is safe from the bathroom at the firehouse, and at least one from the changing room at a clothing store. Buck has no idea what she did with all of them when they broke up. Hopefully, she deleted them.

+1 Buck mashes the call button, fumbling to turn on speakerphone and pull down his sweats at the same time. He eagerly flips back to the photo Tommy sent while his phone rings. Sweaty, bare stomach, tiny Muay Thai shorts, wrapped fingers pushing the waistband down, Buck has to swallow down his drool. Tommy's trimmed pubes frame his cock: hard, thick, with a dark-pink head that Buck wants in his mouth more than anything.

Would it be insane to drive to Tommy's place in his current state? Probably. And anyway, Tommy's voice comes from the phone in Buck's hand, a bemused, "Hello, Evan. Anything you need?"

"Please tell me you haven't showered yet," Buck begs, moaning when his hand finally wraps around his cock.

Tommy tsks. "Evan. Why shower when I'm about to get messy all over again?"

"Yeah? You touching yourself? Please tell me." Buck's breath shudders as he plays with the head of his dick, taking one last look at the photo before dropping his phone on his chest and fondling his balls.

Tommy hums an affirmative. "Was thinking about the time you came by for a lesson. How long did it take before you were getting fucked into the mats?"

"Tommy," Buck whines. He can hear Tommy's hand running over his cock, the way Tommy's breath hitches. "Not — Not long. You look so good in the shorts, your thighs —" Buck groans, fucking up into his fist.

"Yeah, not long until you were begging for my cock, huh?"

The slick slide of Buck's hand over his cock, already dripping precome, is loud in the quiet of his loft. "Uh-huh. I need it, it — Need your cock, all the time. Need it now, why aren't you here?"

Tommy tsks. "Greedy boy."

Moaning, Buck nods before he remembers Tommy can't see him. "I can't get enough of you."

There's a hum, then the ding of another text from Buck's phone. He fumbles for it, groaning when he sees the new photo from Tommy, his waistband tucked beneath his balls and his fingers wrapped around his cock, slightly blurry from motion. "Holy fuck."

"Such a dirty mouth on you," Tommy teases, "Are those the lips I want wrapped around my cock?"

"Y-yeah, fuck yes, please, want to suck you off, want your dick against my tongue, want you to come down my throat." Buck can practically feel the weight of Tommy's cock in his mouth, can taste the salty post-workout sweat.

Humming, Tommy asks, "What about what I want? What if I want to come all over that pretty face? Get you all messy, mark you as mine before I clean you up with my tongue?"

Buck moans brokenly, the sense memory of Tommy's come sliding down his face, and Tommy's tongue sliding up to catch it, overwhelming. Buck's cock in his hand twitches, and he gets through a few final strokes before come is spilling over his fist.

Tommy's breathless when he says, "So fucking hot, I'm gonna —" before he moans.

Picking his phone up and snapping a quick picture of the come that landed on his shirt, Buck complains, "Unlike some people, I did just shower, and now I need to again," before sending Tommy the photo.

Tommy laughs a breathless laugh and offers, "Want to come over? We can shower together. Save water that way."

2. What also happens by accident is that Tommy's always bottoming. He usually tops, because he's big and guys want him to. So it's a nice break, because he likes both. He'd had to resort to toys or try his luck with bear daddy tops and see if they wanted someone muscular and not all that hairy. Which is more than fine, Tommy likes hairy men, likes them a little softer. Sal rubs his belly one day and says, "Being a captain's gonna give me a gut, I should go on a fucking diet." And Tommy gets on his knees and presses his face into the little bit of padding that's built up and bites and grabs until Sal pants out, "Never mind, fuck." He pushes Tommy's knees to his ears and eats him out and fucks him, and he's beautiful like this. So Tommy really doesn't think anything of it.

3. Tommy's unbelievably horny one night. He's ready to start humping furniture, he's stalking Sal around the house and trying to distract him from important shit he has to do. He realizes he hasn't fucked anyone in almost six months, and he's not even sure if Sal wants that. There was the month self imposed dry spell before they got together and then the now nearly five months they've been together, and Tommy's ready to break out his all but abandoned fleshlight. "Goddamn, baby, you need it that bad right now?" Sal asks as Tommy grinds against him in the kitchen. "Uh-huh," Tommy grunts. "Fuck, you can have whatever you fucking want," Sal groans. "Yeah?" Tommy asks, dragging his lips to Sal's ear. "What if I wanna fuck you?" "Fuck yeah, think I need that," Sal says. "Really?" Tommy asks, sucking on the lobe and rubbing Sal's cock through his sweats. "Want me to take care of you?" Sal swears and grinds against his hand and his dick, and he nods and chokes out a quiet, "Please."

4. It turns out Sal wasn't opposed to it, he just hasn't done it a lot. He's mostly been with women, most men want him to top, and then he's used to guys who mostly want just one thing. So he tells Tommy to meet him in the bedroom, and Tommy's naked and stretched out and hard when Sal comes in also naked and hard and a little damp still. "How do you want me, baby?" Sal asks, crawling onto the bed and over Tommy. "Right now?" Tommy asks, bringing a hand around to grip his ass. "Just like this." He kisses Sal and rubs slow, deep strokes over his hole until Sal is pushing back against his fingers, and Tommy gets out from under him so he can move behind him. They've done this part before, mostly while Tommy was blowing him, but never more than a couple fingers, never with the intention of Tommy pushing inside and fucking him full of cock. He's careful, because he's not small, but Sal is moving back on his fingers and moaning and panting.

5. When Tommy fucks into him, he quietly talks Sal through it, telling him to breathe and relax and that's it, he's doing so good, he's taking Tommy's cock like he was made to do it. And then Tommy fucks him until Sal's gripping the sheets and letting out high whimpering noises, and goddamn, Tommy wasn't expecting this. Based on the wrecked, dazed expression on Sal's face when he looks over his shoulder, he wasn't either. "You just needed someone to treat you right, baby," Tommy coos against his ear, and Sal shudders and tightens around him. When Tommy rubs his fingertips over the head of Sal's cock, he feels that he's not completely hard, but he's leaking like crazy. He squeezes Sal's pec with his other hand, bearing his weight down on Sal and feeling him go almost boneless and pliant while Tommy uses him. When Tommy cums, he jerks Sal off until Sal's hand is covering his to help, getting him off without Tommy pulling out.