#ruca

I’ve been tagged in a couple of sentences snippet things in the past few days/week by so many lovely and wonderful people @jamieroyjamieroy @bangpop91 @atevanfool @bidisasterevankinard

Thank you so much for the tags! I always appreciate it, even if I keep falling behind on actually doing them lol 😅 So here are some ruca first date sentences, the most recent wip I’ve worked on.

“I know the guy inspires violence nine times out of ten,” Deacon's voice cut into his spiral, “but why are you glaring at him like he just murdered your entire family?”

Luca startled where he was leaning against the workout bench, dragged out of his thoughts. He shot Deacon a sideways look. “Deac.”

Deacon tilted his head toward the sparring ring. “What did Rocker do this time? We haven’t lost another bet, have we?”

“No, no—just the Halloween one,” Luca reassured him as he followed Deacon’s gaze…and immediately regretted it.

Rocker was up in the ring with Tan, boxing gloves on, sweat-slick and laser-focused. Every movement was sharp, power rolling through each jab and block. When he pivoted, the muscles in his back and thighs flexed, catching Luca’s eye in a trap he couldn’t escape.

Ducking one of Tan’s swings, Rocker laughed as he landed a right hook. “Come on, Tan! You got weights on your feet or something?”

That laugh—it was loud, smug, filled with so much self-satisfaction it practically dripped off his body. And it shot straight through Luca like a lightning strike, stirring something deep inside him he really didn’t want to think about. Not here. Definitely not with half the swat members around.

He shifted his towel from his shoulders to his hands, subtly holding it front of him, and kept watching—almost transfixed—as Rocker feinted, grinned, and tapped Tan’s side in three quick jabs. Luca’s throat went dry. He couldn’t look away. Not from the easy confidence, not from the cocky grin, not from the quick flashes of focus that hardened Rocker's whole expression, making him seem untouchable.

Gorgeous, Luca thought—and froze when the word actually formed in his head.

Beside him, Deacon cleared his throat pointedly. “Not anger, then,” he stated, lips quirking in amusement.

Some more Ruca. Explicit.

+++

"It's. It's just. Rude."

Rocker pressed the words out in between the rolls of his hips, trying to get Luca to fuck him harder. He was riding Luca with less force than he wanted - Luca's hands on his hips, holding on tightly, guiding him with such gentle insistence that Rocker was weak for it. He never gave in to Rocker's less-than-subtle demands - but Luca still laughed at the comment.

"What is? Why?"

His amusement was so sweet - and Rocker had never had that fun during sex, had never liked this particular kind of mood all that much. Except he did now, he lov- liked the way Luca kissed him and touched him and fucked him so, so good.

"You know," Rocker pretended to complain, then moaned. "How do you always know?"

He wasn't making much sense, but how could he when Luca kept manhandling him exactly where he wanted Rocker, exactly where he needed to be to have electricity zip up his spine? Luca knew just how to make it feel like this - and Rocker thought that this was ruining him for anyone else, which was entirely unfair.

Rocker understood that he had more feelings here than Luca did, and that was fine. Really, it was. He yelped when Luca thrust forward hard, chiding him gently to pay attention. As if Rocker could do anything but pay attention.

"What do I know?" Luca asked again, rolling them on the bed so that he could bend Rocker's legs up. Rocker found it so easy to give himself up to Luca's control.

"You know," Luca said, perhaps to give them both a bit of a break. "I didn't expect you to be so flexible."

Rocker laughed, high and pleasure-drunk and stunning - he groaned when Luca shifted a little to get the angle right. How was he so good at this?

"Fuck. So good - you know just where."

Something in Luca's eyes gleamed with delight. He rocked his hips forward. "You make it very easy. You're so beautifully responsive."

It sounded vaguely like admiration. Rocker didn't know what to do with that.

"But I don't, I'm not," Rocker insisted, even as he yelped with each thrust. "It's just. You. Just for you."

And he closed his eyes at that, suddenly aware that he had given away too much. But Luca had seen that expression on his face if the surprised noise he made was any indication.

He paused, and Rocker whined.

"Donovan," Luca said. "Look at me."

Rocker's eyes fluttered open: they were tearing a little, but he could see Luca so clearly now. His eyes were so startlingly blue.

"I like it too. This. You. A lot."

"Oh, you do?" Rocker asked, and Luca laughed so sweetly.

I NEED THIS.

Please 💜

Day 22 of answering asks daily! Here’s a snippet from my Ruca/BuckTommy twins fic where Rocker stumbles across Buck while getting coffee. 351 new words just for you!!

-

“Everyone’s got their fears.” Rocker shrugs lightly, leaning back in his chair and trying to portray the epitome of calm. “Tommy was afraid of the dark when we were kids. I’ve got a thing about clowns.”

“Clowns are creepy,” Buck agrees with a serious nod. There’s the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I…I don’t know how much you keep up with LAFD news, but I was, uh, struck by lightning last year.” Lightning flashes once more and Rocker silently begins to count. “Three minutes…three minutes and seventeen seconds…that’s how long I was down.” He exhales shakily, running a hand back through his hair. It’s a move straight out of Tommy’s book and Rocker can’t help his own smile. They’re already in deep if they’re taking on each other’s mannerisms.

“I heard about that.” Rocker tells him, shifting in his chair. “I was working across town at a jewelry store robbery, but we heard a call over the radio. They were getting the roads cleared so you could make it safely.”

“Really?” Buck’s head lifts, eyes startled wide. “I-I never heard that part of the story.”

“Probably didn’t seem that important in the grand scheme of things. Someone else answered the call.” Rocker murmurs, a thought striking him. Goddammit, he’s going to have to talk to Hicks and do some kind of paperwork, he just knows it. “You got any tricks for getting through them?”

“N-not really.” Buck flinches at the next sharp crack of thunder and Rocker can see the way his nails are biting into his palms, the tips of his fingers turning white. “At home, I can usually just wait it out in the bathroom. But, uh, I can’t really do that in public.”

It's been a minute since I've written any Ruca so here you go @lightfiretomypaperwings! Enjoy 1000+ words of tender first-aid with Ruca! Prompts can be found here. ⛑️- Tender First Aid ⛑️⛑️⛑️⛑️⛑️ Luca felt Rocker's hands glide across his skin, warm oil creating a slick path that seemed to chase away the dull ache that had plagued him all day. The sensation was unexpected—gentle yet firm, careful yet confident.

"You don't have to do this," Luca murmured into the pillow, though he made no move to stop him.

"Shut up and let me help you," Rocker replied, his voice softer than Luca had ever heard it. "I watched you take that fall today. You hit concrete from fifteen feet up."

Luca winced at the memory. The extraction had gone sideways, as they sometimes did. He'd misjudged his landing point and came down hard on the one part of his body that never quite healed right. The old injury from three years ago—the one that almost ended his career—flaring up like an unwelcome ghost.

Rocker's thumbs pressed into the muscle surrounding Luca's hip, finding knots of tension with uncanny accuracy. The oil warmed at first contact before gradually cooling, creating waves of alternating sensation that made Luca's breath catch.

"Where'd you learn this?" Luca asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"Had a girlfriend who was a massage therapist." Rocker's hands moved in slow, methodical circles. "Picked up a few things."

Luca closed his eyes, surrendering to the touch. Rocker's hands were calloused from years of weapons training, yet somehow they moved with surprising tenderness. His fingers traced the ragged scar that ran along Luca's hip, a souvenir from the surgery that had put him back together.

"You should have said something," Rocker said quietly, working his way down to Luca's thigh where the tension radiated. "We're a team. You don't have to pretend."

The room was dim, just the soft glow from the hallway light spilling in. Outside, they could hear the distant sounds of the game still playing on the television, forgotten. Luca felt exposed in more ways than one, but strangely, he didn't mind.

"Force of habit," Luca whispered. "Can't show weakness."

Rocker's hands paused for just a moment. "Not weakness. Just human."

The massage continued, Rocker's strong hands working magic on Luca's battered body. The pain began to recede like a tide pulling away from shore, replaced by a pleasant warmth that spread through his muscles. Luca couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him with such care, such attention to his comfort.

"Better?" Rocker asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

Luca nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Something had shifted between them—something neither man was ready to name but both could feel, hanging in the air like the scent of the massage oil, subtle yet unmistakably present.

Rocker let out a slow breath, his hands coming to rest lightly on Luca’s lower back, palms warm against the cooled oil-slick skin. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. Neither moved for a moment, caught in the weight of the quiet, of the intimacy that had crept in unnoticed.

Luca finally turned his head to the side, cheek resting against the pillow, gaze flicking toward Rocker. His voice, when he spoke, was rough-edged but quieter than before. “You… didn’t have to do all that.”

Rocker smiled faintly, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Didn’t want to stop.”

The admission hung there, soft and dangerous.

For a beat, neither of them moved, save for the rise and fall of Luca’s breath. Then, slowly, Rocker shifted, drawing his hands away, careful and deliberate, as if reluctant to break the contact entirely. His fingers skimmed up Luca’s spine one last time—a featherlight caress that sent a shiver through him.

“Turn over,” Rocker murmured.

Luca hesitated. His heart beat too fast, sudden and uncertain. But he obeyed, rolling gingerly onto his back, muscles languid from the massage. The sheet slipped low on his hips, leaving the planes of his torso bare to the cool air—and to Rocker’s gaze.

Rocker’s eyes flicked over him, steady and dark, and this time the touch wasn’t with hands but with the weight of that look—one that seemed to see more than skin and scar. His voice was low, almost reverent. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Luca swallowed. His throat felt dry. “So I’ve been told.”

The corner of Rocker’s mouth twitched again—half a smile, half something else entirely. He leaned in, moving slowly, giving Luca every chance to pull away. But Luca didn’t. Couldn’t.

The scent of the oil mixed with the faint musk of their bodies and the worn cotton of the sheets. Rocker was close enough now that Luca could feel the warmth of his breath against his lips—just barely there, a ghost of contact.

Luca’s breath hitched, instinct warring with need. His fingers curled into the fabric beneath him.

Rocker’s voice was a whisper now, meant only for him. “If you don’t want this… tell me.”

For a long, charged second, Luca said nothing. His eyes searched Rocker’s, finding no mockery there—only patience, and something deeper, softer.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Luca finally breathed.

That was all it took.

Rocker closed the space between them with aching slowness, his lips brushing Luca’s like a question—tentative, seeking. Luca tilted his chin, answering with a gentle press, their mouths meeting in a kiss that was far softer than either would’ve expected—no battle for dominance, no sharp edge. Just the careful exploration of something new, something fragile.

Rocker’s hand came to rest at Luca’s jaw, thumb brushing along the rough stubble, grounding them both in the moment. Luca’s fingers, uncertain at first, found Rocker’s wrist, holding him there.

The kiss deepened slightly, breath mingling, the warmth of it sinking into Luca’s bones. He felt the tension that had ruled him for so long begin to melt—an unfamiliar vulnerability he didn’t hate.

When they finally parted, barely an inch between them, neither spoke at first. Just breathing, just looking.

The space between them remained charged, but neither man moved to break the fragile closeness. Whatever this was—whatever it might become—it had been set in motion now, impossible to deny.

Ruca please 🙃

Rocker flitted around the kitchen, turning off lights and gathering items as he went as he moved into the dark living room. This was the first night that both he and Luca had off together in a month, and they were bound and determined to have their Netflix and chill night upon pain of death.

Preferably someone else's.

“Popcorn?” He questioned, putting the large pack of twizzlers and pretzels on the coffee table in front of them.

“Popcorn!” Luca cried, meaty fist flashing into the air, making Rocker grin.

“Drinks?”

“Beer and root beer!” Left fist, then right fist. God he was adorable.

“Donuts?”

“Check!” Luca grinned, “maybe minus one or two.”

“Phones off or silent?” That was the important one. Their phones were almost never off, but so few people could get through the do not disturb function that it was as good as anyway. And the ones that could had been warned.

“Check here.” Luca threw his phone onto the overstuffed armchair, well away from their movie seating.

“…and here.” Rocker followed suit and sat down next to his bouncy boyfriend, whole being relaxing as he sunk into the cushions.

“And if anyone comes to the door?” Luca asked, sly smile still on his handsome face.

“You shoot them, and i'll bury the body.”