just a bunch of honkus ponkus

2. Sal started buzzing his hair a couple years before, both to make maintaining it easier and to hide some of the gray. He doesn't look distinguished with it like Tommy does. His chin is all gray, but he keeps his stubble regulation length. He used to grow it longer during time off when he was younger, because Tommy likes scratching his nails through the beard hair and even biting at it. Now his chin is mostly gray, the stubborn pad of fat underneath is never going away, but he's not as bulky as he used to be. The stress and more sedentary life of a captain took some of his muscle, so he worries he looks sick. Especially with the shaved head. Should he grow his hair out and just dye it? At least Pop went bald and had the choice taken from him, but Ma's side is all thick, dark Sicilian hair. Few people go gray as early as him, but he's the first firefighter in the family. How it's more stressful than living through a fucking World War is beyond him, but all those guys made it to their sixties before they started going gray.

3. There's a fundraiser he's gotta show face for, and he puts his dress uniform on and is trying to figure out if he should just shave his face or if it'll make his cheeks look too hollow. Tommy comes in wearing briefs and his shirt, and he's holding a wrist out pathetically for his cufflinks to be fastened. Sal smiles and turns to help. "You know, you should figure this out before you're fifty," he teases. "Why, you going somewhere?" Tommy asks. "Not willingly, but if you trade me in for a younger model, they won't be doing this for you," he says before grabbing Tommy's other wrist. "Why would I do something stupid like that?" Tommy asks, pressing close and kissing him. Sal puts the other cufflink in blind, and he drags a hand down to the back of Tommy's thigh to feel the spot where the elastic of the briefs is flush with his skin. They make out longer than they should, and they're late. Simpson glares but doesn't say anything.

4. Sal is about to tear something in his fucking chest at this rate, and Tommy frowns above him and grabs the bar, setting it back on the rack. "Yeah, no, we're taking this down," he says, and Sal groans, digging his palms into his eyes. "What's got you so worked up?" "Nothing," Sal mutters, sitting up and stretching his arms back. "Just wish I wasn't getting so fucking frail." And Tommy swaps the plates out and crosses his arms over his chest. "Yeah, that's absolutely the first word I think when I see you lift fifty pounds of equipment onto your body and then carry a human being out of a building," he says flatly. "What is up with you?" And Sal shakes his head, but Tommy straddles the bench, facing him. "No, seriously," he says, resting his hands on Sal's quads. "You keep making all these digs, and it's starting to piss me off." Sal chews on his tongue for a moment and looks at the gently lined face of the love of his life and shakes his head again. "I got old," he says. "And I hate it." Tommy's hands clench against his thighs, and he hooks a leg over Sal's so he can scoot closer. "I don't," Tommy says, bringing a hand up to rub Sal's side. "You're aging because you're still alive. And you're still a fucking dreamboat." Sal snorts softly, and Tommy grabs his chin and kisses him. It's not reassuring and gentle, it's spine tingling and dick hardening. "You're hotter than you've ever been," Tommy murmurs, hiking up Sal's shirt to get at his belly and side. "And I fucked up if you think otherwise."

5. Sal braces himself on the bar while Tommy sucks him off, and Sal shudders and swears and praises him. No one sucks cock like his Tommy. No one fucking loves it like he does, and Sal and watches him hump against the vinyl of their weight bench while he swallows Sal's dick. He kisses Sal with a mouthful of cum and humps his thigh, scratching his nails through the mostly gray chest hair Sal's sporting these days, and Sal says, "Cum for me, sweet thing." right up against his ear. Tommy chokes out his name a couple syllable noises and marks up his hip and thigh. When Sal's scratching through the gray on his stubble like he can rub it away when he's looking in the mirror a few days later, Tommy presses against his back and rubs against his towel until he gets on his knees and licks Sal's hole until he's slamming his hand against the bathroom counter. Tommy stands up and fingers him open before fucking into him, pulling Sal's forehead back while Tommy pants against his ear and watches them in the mirror. "Fucking look at you, fuck," Tommy groans, grabbing his chest and stomach and hip as he fucks into Sal. When he finishes inside him, he fingers him and jerks him off until Sal's legs shake through his orgasm. After, Tommy reaches around him to wash his hands and then slaps his ass before he turns on the shower. Sal's pretty sure he's half deaf after Tommy rides him later that week when Tommy catches him dragging his fingers over his face to try to stretch the wrinkles smooth.

Evan pushed past him into the house. ”I got so flustered, I didn't catch his name.”

”Richard.”

Evan caught his eye over his shoulder. ”You're kidding.”

”I wish I was. Also,” he said, hot on Evan's heels, ”knowing he does that doesn't actually help.”

Evan laughed and put his overnight bag on Tommy's bed. ”If it makes him happy. Oh, Christ.”

”What?”

He turned, ears red. ”I do that to you. I'm no better than Richard.”

Tommy cackled. ”If it makes you happy.” Evan fell on the bed dramatically, Tommy climbed on top of him. ”It feels better when you do it.”

”Oh, thank you so much,” Evan snarked. ”I'm so happy to hear that. A step above bestiality.”

Tommy scritched him behind the ears and leaned down to kiss him. As much as he protested, Evan melted the moment their tongues touched.

”Speak,” Tommy muttered. Evan moaned in return. ”Good boy.”

Before Evan could slobber too much, Tommy kissed his way down his neck, and shimmied down his body. At first, Evan's sounds were interested, but the second he stuck his face between Evan's legs, he yelped, ”Tommy.” It wasn't very effective through Evan's jeans, but he was distressed anyway. ”Tommy, what're you doing?”

”What?” he grinned up at him. ”You do it to me all the time.”

Evan got up on his elbows. ”You're not–” His brows pinched.

”I'm not what, sweetheart?”

”I'm the puppy,” he said, as if Tommy was somehow debasing himself.

Tommy crawled back up and attempted to kiss the pout off Evan's mouth. When it didn't work, he stuck his hand between Evan's legs and squeezed. Evan's thighs clamped tightly around his hand. ”Say thank you.”