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eyewall—A towering ring of thunderstorms surrounding the eye of a hurricane.
It's last-minute when Rodriguez asks him to swap shifts, something about her daughter's school play getting moved, but Tommy is happy enough to get an unexpected night off and even happier when he realizes it syncs up with Evan being off-shift too. He texts Evan to ask what he’s doing and his phone lights up almost immediately: im just hanging out w eds, u want to come over?
Tommy does, and in even less time than he'd told Evan to expect, traffic working in his favor for once. door's unlocked, Evan had texted, and Tommy strides in to find the delightful treat of Evan shirtless on the sofa with his jeans unbuttoned, Eddie nowhere in sight.
"Hey," Evan says, with a big, easy smile, and Tommy is still not over—will maybe never be over—how happy Evan always seems whenever Tommy walks into a room.
"Mm, starting without me?" Tommy asks, leaning down to kiss Evan. Evan smells like sweat and, honestly, a little like come, which—he knows Evan is quick the first time, so he's not going to complain if Evan got himself off already, knowing Tommy was on his way over and wanting to make things last longer between them. Maybe he sent Eddie home when Tommy texted, turned on just imagining what the two of them would do tonight. He pulls back a little, about to ask. Maybe Evan will tell him what he was thinking about; that could be a fun game. Tommy usually likes to direct things, but he’s open to ideas—
And then Eddie fucking Diaz walks out of the bathroom in a towel and a cloud of shampoo-scented steam.
"Hey Tommy," Eddie says, like they're running into each other at the supermarket.
Tommy's brain entirely shuts down for a long hanging second. Evan's text said that he and Eddie were "hanging out." But. Does that—what does that—
Before his brain reboots, Tommy blurts out, "Did you guys have sex?"
Evan and Eddie share a look of absolute bewilderment, and Tommy starts to think he's somehow gotten the wrong idea, especially as Evan laughs and says to Tommy, "No way, that would be weird, right? I mean, that would basically be cheating."
But Tommy only gets a millisecond of relief before his confusion wins out and he's forced to clarify: "So what were you doing before I got here?"
Evan opens his mouth but hesitates on whatever he was going to say next, turning to Eddie with a little frown creasing his forehead, like he’s hoping Eddie will tell him what to do. To prevent Eddie from getting any bright ideas about being less than forthcoming, Tommy narrows his eyes and gives Eddie his most unimpressed face. Eddie has the good sense to start looking a little nervous, although his attempt to cross his arms and look imposing is kind of ruined by him wearing only a towel and the fact that his wet hair is still dripping on his shoulders.
After a long pause, Eddie manages to meet Tommy's eyes when he says, "You know. Just, like. We were both. Jerking off."
Several thoughts cram into Tommy's head all at once:
- what the fuck
- goddamnit, Evan, what are you doing
- oh, that's actually—I could be into that
- wait, how is that not having sex?
- these two idiots
- I'm going to fucking kill Eddie Diaz
His attention is caught by Evan asking, anxiously, "Tommy?" Evan's looking up at him from the sofa with a worry line on his forehead and his eyes big, because if there's anything Evan Buckley is attuned to, it's the possibility that someone is getting angry near him. "I'm sorry, should we not?" Evan asks. He scrunches his face up more in a thoughtful little frown. "I guess I don't really know what the rules are if you're dating a guy."
Tommy pets his head reassuringly because, whatever's going on, he doesn’t want to put that stressed-out look on Evan’s face. "Uh—the rules?" Tommy asks.
"Well, it's like, women don't really care that much about guy stuff," Evan explains, with a typical combination of sincerity and zero critical thinking.
"Guy stuff?" Tommy prompts gently. Evan's eyelashes flutter a little when Tommy pets around the delicate curve of his ear; it's kind of distracting but Tommy's not about to stop.
"Yeah, like, stuff you do with your guy friends, jacking off at the same time or watching porn together or whatever," Evan says, completely guileless. It’s weird that Evan wouldn’t have mentioned this before; it occurs to Tommy that the rationalization doesn’t sound quite right coming out of Evan’s mouth, like it’s something someone’s told him, not a thought that he came up with. Tommy suspects very strongly that this whole idea started with Eddie fucking Diaz.
Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Are you jerking off together...with a lot of your...guy friends?"
"No, just Eddie," he says easily.
Tommy lands on:
- I'm going to fucking kill Eddie Diaz
The target of Tommy's ire has been attempting to discreetly gather various shed clothes and personal effects, but awkwardly freezes in place when Tommy pins him with a glare.
"Evan," Tommy says, glancing away from Eddie to give Evan a little smile, "why don't you go upstairs. I'm just going to talk to Eddie for a minute."
Evan looks between them and hesitates, and Tommy cuts that off by leaning down and sticking his tongue in Evan's mouth. He's not exactly proud of playing dirty, but it does work, turning Evan into a flushed mess who says, "Yeah. Upstairs. OK," between panting breaths, and hauls ass out of there.
Tommy folds his arms and glares at Eddie, who winces. "Listen—" Eddie starts.
"I literally do not even want to hear it," Tommy bites out, but quietly, aware of the lack of privacy in the loft.
"Why are you pissed off at me?" Eddie hisses.
"Because I've met a lot of guys like you," Tommy says witheringly. "The kind of guy out on deployment with a wife back home, who'll jerk you off behind the latrine and never make eye contact with you, because it doesn't count with a man."
Eddie sets his jaw but Tommy can see the emotions flickering in his eyes: fear, and anger, and something hollower than either of those. "It’s not. It’s—" He swallows. "It’s not like that," he says, unconvincingly. His defensive posture has gone from "spoiling for a fight" to "waiting for a blow," shoulders curling in, exchanging puffed-out bravado for protecting his ribs. He's still in just the towel, and Tommy can see the goosebumps on his skin from the A/C.
"Look," Tommy says, uncrossing his arms. "I know because I was the other guy. In that scenario." Despite himself, Tommy can't hold on to his annoyance, feeling it get washed out by a creeping sadness about the whole thing. The thing is, Tommy remembers what it was like to be that guy, that combat jack guy—not with a girl at home waiting, but still not wanting to think too hard about what he was doing, or admit anything to himself that might hurt too much. Not wanting to take the risk of anyone knowing what he really wanted, or anyone looking at him and seeing who he was. Never kissing, or holding someone, or even going to bed together—just waiting until the wanting was too much and then finding some close-to-anonymous body in the dark. “But how could you—how could you drag Evan into that?”
Instead of answering, Eddie sits down on the sofa and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. He looks miserable and cold, and on the back of his hunched shoulder, Tommy can see the knot of scar tissue from the exit wound where the sniper shot him.
Sighing, Tommy sits beside him, a little too close for a friendly talk between bros. By no means is Eddie a small guy, but he's smaller than Tommy, and he slumps against Tommy's shoulder when Tommy pulls him in by the back of the neck. "I know it seems easier to—tell yourself it doesn’t matter. But you can't live your entire life like that, man."
"I know I fucked up," Eddie mumbles, or something like it, maybe, "I know I'm fucked up." He's still got one hand over his eyes but the other is a fist in Tommy's henley.
Tommy is struck, suddenly, by the memory of how desperate and broken open Evan had been from one kiss, like it was the first bite of a meal when you were hungry enough to be lightheaded. Starving. He exhales hard through his nose and has the very clear thought, This is a bad idea, followed immediately, equally clearly, by, I'm going to do it anyway, right before he tips Eddie's chin up with two fingers and kisses him.
He starts out with the impulsive, half-formed idea that it would be something he could give to Eddie: comfort, and forgiveness, and a taste of what Eddie could have if he’d stop fucking lying to himself and go out there and find it. But Eddie’s mouth is sweet and yielding, and Tommy can admit—if only to himself—that after the first few seconds, it’s as much something he’s giving to Eddie as something he’s taking for himself because he wants it. He’s wanted it for a while, actually; he’s been thinking about kissing Eddie almost since they met, since before he was dating Evan and was instead spending a bunch of time doing things like flying Eddie to Vegas in a helicopter, for fuck's sake.
And it turns out that Tommy was right, when he had imagined it before, when he was inviting Eddie over to spar or smiling at him over the open hood of the Chevelle: Eddie likes to kiss slow and deep. Romantic. Honestly, Tommy's been half-hard since he walked in and found Evan already rumpled, smelling like sex, and Eddie's mouth has him the rest of the way there in about twenty seconds.
"Oh, wow," he hears, and pulls apart from Eddie to see Evan leaning against the side of the staircase, looking dazzled. Every muscle in Eddie's shoulders locks up underneath Tommy's hand, and it's automatic for Tommy to try to knead some of that tension out of his neck. Evan's lost his jeans and is down to his boxer briefs, the swell of his cock making an obscene outline. "He's a really good kisser, right?" Evan asks Eddie, smiling at both of them like they brought him a present.
"Buck," Eddie says, sounding hoarse. "I can—I can go, I'm sorry—"
Evan tilts his head quizzically. "Eds, of course you can leave if you want to," he says. "Do you wanna go?"
"No," Eddie says. Tommy gives the back of his neck what he means to be a reassuring little squeeze but it makes Eddie's eyelids fall heavily as he sways towards Tommy a little more.
"Then get up here," Evan says “Both of you.” He gives Tommy a look that's less eye contact and more eye fucking before turning back to the stairs. If Tommy watches his ass when he goes, well, Eddie is doing the same thing, so.
"We're going to talk about this more later," Tommy tells Eddie, but any seriousness is kind of ruined by his obvious erection.
"Later," Eddie agrees, standing up. Tommy snorts a laugh at the way the towel around Eddie's waist is a full-on tent. Eddie makes a face like he's got a lemon in his mouth and it just makes Tommy laugh harder. "Yeah, whatever," Eddie mumbles, and tosses the towel on the back of the sofa, shooting a defiant look over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs bare-assed.
"Nice," Tommy says sincerely, and snickers when Eddie trips a little on a stair.
It's been a secret suspicion of Tommy's that Evan has an exhibitionist streak, and he's not dissuaded from that when he sees what's waiting at the top of the stairs: Evan reclined against a stack of pillows, one leg drawn up and the other sprawled out, everything on display. One hand is working his cock with slow, teasing strokes, and, somehow even more provocatively, he’s using his other hand to rub behind his balls, fingertips just barely catching on the edge of his hole. Tommy wants to devour him; feels like he could snap him up in two bites like an amuse-bouche.
He expected Eddie to get a little shy, maybe, but Eddie climbs onto the other side of the bed from Evan without hesitation and makes himself comfortable, lying on his back with one arm thrown over his head.
Tommy sits down on Evan's other side, kissing him hello and overlapping his fingers with Evan's on his cock. "You guys ever make it to a bed before or just jack off on the sofa?" Tommy asks Eddie, lightly mocking, fully intending to razz them about only ever fumbling around on the couch like high school kids.
But Eddie’s relaxed posture turns into a small uneasy squirm, and Tommy turns his raised eyebrow on Evan. "Well, uh—during the pandemic, Eds—everyone—Eddie and everyone stayed here for. For a while," Evan manages, and Tommy is impressed by him expressing complete thoughts while Tommy is still working their hands together over his dick. Not too fast, but enough that it's making the flush on Evan's cheeks spread down his neck and past his collarbones. "And—Eddie. And me. Shared the bed. And there wasn't a lot of. Um. Privacy. From each other. So we just—we jerked off together in bed. Kind of—kind of a lot, actually," Evan says.
Tommy's mouth drops open, but Evan doesn't seem to notice, his eyelids fluttering as Tommy works him over. "How much is 'a lot'?" he asks, and his voice sounds raspy. In his peripheral vision, he can see Eddie shifting towards them, feel Eddie’s gaze like the beam of a flashlight through smoke.
"In the mornings, if we woke up first—" Evan takes a shuddering breath as Tommy sweeps his thumb over the head of his cock. The tendons in his neck stand out under pink skin and he shifts his hips fretfully. "That was, I mean. Almost every day." He licks his lips, and opens entreating big blue eyes. "And—and sometimes during the night. When everyone else was asleep."
"For the record," Tommy says, stopping the motion of his hand, using his grip to stop Evan's too. "That's sex. You guys were—you are—having sex with each other. If there's two of you and you're trying to get off together. It's sex."
Evan's face is soft and worried again, and Tommy sighs. "It's okay," Tommy says, and he means to punctuate it with a quick kiss, but Evan turns his face up so sweetly that Tommy can't resist lingering for a moment.
"I'm not angry," he says, when he finally pulls away. Their faces are close, and he can see all the different shades of blue and green in Evan's eyes under his half-lowered lashes. "When we talked about whether we were seeing other people, you had a" —he sits back enough to cut his eyes sideways to Eddie— "different frame of reference. And I wasn't as clear as I could have been." To show Evan that he's forgiven, Tommy gives a long, squeezing stroke up and down his cock. It makes Evan drop his head back and groan, his eyes closing.
"What else?" Tommy asks, looking at Eddie, who's lying on his side now, watching them. He's got one hand resting over his dick, not really jerking himself, just holding his hard-on against his abs, almost like he’s protecting himself. "What else have you guys done?"
It's Evan who answers, still with his eyes closed. "One time—we were drinking." Tommy tracks the motion of his throat as he swallows. "And Eddie." His sentences are choppier now; sweat is starting to collect at his hairline. "He. He sucked me off."
"Did you like it?" Tommy asks, and his voice comes from somewhere deep in his chest.
"Yes," Evan says, gasping. Tommy’s dick twitches against his belly imagining it—maybe they were on the sofa, relaxed from a few beers, Evan with his head tipped back, long legs spread and Eddie sliding to his knees between them.
Evan opens his eyes and looks at Tommy, at Eddie, then down his body where Tommy’s hand is guiding his own, controlling the handjob, and back at Tommy again. "We never talked about it," he says, imploring. "It was just—just that once. That one time. The rest of the time, we didn’t—we just—it was just jacking off at the same time. I didn't—I thought it was just—"
"Shh, baby," Tommy says, soothing. "I asked you because I like hearing about it." He wets his lips at how Evan whimpers at that, a little embarrassed noise that makes Tommy's cock throb.
He puts a twist on their hands on the next upstroke and Evan's head knocks back against the top of his stupid modernist bedframe as he swears. "Fuck, fuck, Tommy," he pants, and they've had fun together but Tommy's never seen him this wrecked this quickly, and it's just from his hand and some dirty talk. And maybe from Eddie watching them, eyelids heavy, starting to touch himself now, just a slow open-handed rub of his palm against the head of his cock.
"You already came once tonight, right?" Tommy asks Evan. "So if I get you off now, will you be able to come again after that?"
The noise Evan makes is desperate, so vulnerable that it makes Tommy's cock press uncomfortably against his jeans. "Tell me," Tommy insists, tightening his fist around Evan’s dick.
"I don't—" Evan licks his lips. "I don't know."
"OK, then, do you want to come now?" Tommy asks, enjoying the bright color in Evan's cheeks, the way his mouth is shiny, lower lip fat and glistening. "Or while I'm fucking you?" He moves their hands a little faster. "Or do you want me to choose?" Tommy offers.
"Please," Evan says, and it sings in Tommy's chest like a chord. "You choose. Please, please, Tommy, please," he says, and Tommy kisses another moan out of his mouth as he lets go of Evan's cock and then grabs him by the wrist to pull his hand away too. Evan whimpers and his hips lift up into the air, seeking contact, finding nothing.
"Then you can wait," Tommy says, like he's bestowing a favor.
He brushes their noses together and gives Evan another little kiss before sitting up. "Eddie gave you a blow job and you never reciprocated, did I get that right?" he asks, letting his eyes rove freely across the picture they make together: Evan blushing all over, chest heaving, cock red and leaking on his belly; Eddie curling towards Evan but still not close enough to touch, taking in everything with eyes big and pupils wide. "Seems kinda unfair," Tommy says, raising his eyebrows at Evan and getting a small breathless laugh in reply. "So I think you should eat him out," Tommy says, and Evan's little grin changes into an expression that's partly stunned but mostly wanting.
Tommy glances at Eddie, who's breathing fast, color rising in his cheeks. "Yeah?" Tommy asks. Eddie bites his lip and nods.
Tommy stands up and pulls his shirt off, enjoying how both of them follow the movement. "Turn over," Tommy tells Eddie, unbuckling his belt. "On your hands and knees." And god, shedding his fucking jeans feels so good, finally, freeing his aching dick and his hot, full balls. He peels out of his shorts, too, and stretches out on the bed, giving his own cock a couple strokes just to take the edge off as Evan and Eddie shuffle around.
At the first touch of Evan's mouth, Eddie's eyes get round and almost shocked, and the groan that comes out of him seems to start from his toes and work its way up his whole body. "Anyone ever done this for you?" Tommy asks. Eddie drops his head, letting it hang between his shoulders, then shakes it: no. "Well. He's good at it," Tommy says, low and friendly. He can hear the slick sounds of Evan's tongue against skin, the sound of his mouth getting sloppy with spit. It makes Tommy shudder all over from a vivid memory of Evan eating him out, spitting on his hole and sucking on it, thrusting his tongue inside, enthusiastic and unashamed and face soaked from the nose down.
"Maybe if he does a good job getting you wet, he can fuck you after," Tommy says idly, jacking himself. He means it mostly just as something dirty to say, but Eddie snaps his head up to look at him, mouth open and forehead creased with longing.
"You want that?" Tommy asks.
"Yes," Eddie says, as hoarse as if he'd been yelling for hours.
"Have you done that before?" Tommy asks, enjoying the way Eddie is trembling a little.
"Not in. A long time. But yes. Once," Eddie says. Then Evan does—something, Tommy can't see, but it makes Eddie gasp, eyes pressing shut, hands fisting in the sheets. Tommy sits up to get a better view and watches Evan's pink tongue slide inside Eddie's hole, Evan using both hands to spread him. He's got a single finger one knuckle deep, hooking Eddie's rim open to make more space for his tongue inside, the slick noise of it obscene. Evan spits, filthy, unselfconscious, and uses his tongue to push the foamy glob into Eddie's hole.
Tommy is hard enough that he could fucking cut glass, watching Eddie rock backwards, pressing against Evan's mouth, trying to get more. "You need it so bad, poor thing," Tommy says, cupping his hand under Eddie's chin. Eddie looks up at him with his pretty brown eyes, and Tommy can't help but slip two fingers into his mouth, drawing them in and out. Eddie’s jaw is mostly slack as he moans, letting Tommy finger his mouth, just barely hollowing his cheeks to suck. "We'll take care of you," Tommy says, meaning it. The desperation in Eddie, the wanting, is too familiar; the memory twinges in Tommy’s chest like the ache in his scars before a storm, an old hurt that’s dormant now but never quite gone. Eddie's lids fall heavily shut, surrendering, and the roaring in Tommy’s head is like a wall of water, a wave high enough to sweep all of them away.
"Here, Evan, let him turn over," Tommy says, and it takes a little scooting around but Tommy gets what he wants: Eddie on his back, holding his knees against his chest, displaying himself for Evan to keep using his mouth. And now Tommy can watch him and get a hand on Eddie's dick too. It's a nice cock, a good length and satisfyingly thick in Tommy's hand, and uncut, which he always likes. Tommy plays with Eddie's foreskin a bit, rolling it up and down, using it to tease the head of Eddie’s cock, making him writhe against Tommy’s grasp.
Between Eddie’s legs, Evan alternates broad sweeps of his tongue on Eddie’s hole with deep, sucking kisses on the rim. The noise of it is beyond obscene, and Tommy has to take his own dick in one hand and tug a few times or he’ll go insane. With his other hand, he toys with Eddie’s fat cock, not giving Eddie enough to get closer to coming, just enjoying the way it fills up his fist and how Eddie gasps when he rubs his thumb against the slit.
“Evan,” Tommy says, getting his attention. Evan looks up with his chin wet, mouth red and swollen, and Tommy wants to sink his teeth in to his lower lip and tug. “You should fuck him.”
"Yes," Evan says fervently.
Eddie lifts his chin, looking down his body at Evan, then lets his head fall back, hitting the mattress with a thump. "Fuck," he says. "Yeah. OK. Yes. I can take it," Eddie says, and the undercurrent of steely determination makes Tommy pause.
"I'm sure you can," Tommy says, and lets go of Eddie’s dick to push the sweaty hair off his forehead. "And here in the 21st century, we use lube first." He tilts his head at Evan, who scrambles for the bedside drawer.
Eddie has his jaw set and his face is burning, hot to the touch when Tommy lays his hand on his cheek.
"Did—whoever fucked you before, did they not—" Tommy says. Eddie won't meet his eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," Tommy says, leaning down and kissing him. Eddie's breath is stuttering, half-choked, and he claws at Tommy, scrambling into his arms. Tommy cradles his head in one hand and puts the other low on his back, petting him there, pulling him close. It feels like Eddie is melting against him as they make out, his soft warm skin pressed everywhere, his body heavy and a little slippery from sweat as he sinks into Tommy’s arms, trusting Tommy to hold him up.
Gradually, Tommy becomes aware of Evan beside them and parts from Eddie with a last soft, shallow kiss. "Hey," Evan says.
"Hey," Eddie says back, and leans towards him, surprisingly hesitant, and Tommy thinks—oh. All that, and they never even kissed; it wasn’t in Evan’s earlier recitation and Tommy would bet that Eddie had some rule about it. Something like "no touching each other," which definitely meant no kissing; a rule he broke one time, drunk, and never talked about afterwards. A rule to help pretend they weren’t doing anything with each other, because as long as they were just touching themselves, it wasn’t anything worth talking about. It was just. You know, totally normal. Guy stuff. Tommy almost wants to knock their heads together but he’s pretty sure it would echo.
Their kiss starts off slowly, feeling each other out, and then Eddie is clinging to Evan’s shoulder with one hand, the other one fisted in his hair. They chase each other’s lips ravenously, Evan's tongue sliding into Eddie's mouth.
When they finally break apart, Eddie lets out a small, needy moan that makes Tommy rub his back reassuringly. "You never did that before," Tommy says, not a question. Eddie’s still halfway in Tommy’s arms, pressed close enough that Tommy can feel a thrumming tension in his whole body like a piano wire struck by a hammer.
"No," Evan agrees, a little dazed. Tommy tilts Evan’s jaw towards him with one hand and kisses him, gently but with his tongue curling into Evan's mouth, before he lets Evan go and surveys what he brought over from the bedside table: the bottle of nice lube, a couple condoms in a strip, and a silicone cock ring with snaps. Tommy picks up the last item with interest. "I'm not sure how long I'll last without it," Evan says, ducking his chin, red on the apples of his cheeks. It’s cute. Just looking at him makes a steady glowing warmth fill Tommy’s chest.
"Here, c'mere," Tommy says, rearranging them with gentle pushes until Eddie is on his back again, Evan kneeling up between his spread legs, and Tommy behind Evan. He indulges himself by letting his cock rub against the delicious curve of Evan's ass, then he reaches around and snaps the cock ring snug around the base of Evan's dick and behind his balls.
"S-shit," Evan says, unsteady. Tommy lets his cock slip between Evan's cheeks and pulls Evan flush against him with an arm around his chest, rocking them together.
Below them, Eddie is breathing hard, mouth open. Tommy looks him in the eye and pinches Evan's nipple, hard enough his whole body rocks and his ass rubs against Tommy, a drag of friction that makes Tommy groan. "Tommy," Evan says, "please, oh my god—"
"Please what, kid?" Tommy says, and pinches his other nipple. Eddie closes his mouth on a whimper, but Tommy hears it anyway.
"Please fuck me," Evan says, arching his back, and how is anyone supposed to say no to that? Tommy sure as shit isn't going to. But not yet.
"You can get him ready and then I'll get you ready," Tommy says, and grabs the lube, handing it to Evan. Evan's hands are shaking a little as he opens the cap and squeezes some out onto his fingers, Tommy notices.
Which is fair, because Tommy himself is distracted beyond coherent thought by Eddie tilting his hips up and linking his hands behind one knee to hold himself open. Evan pushes his thick finger inside and asks, "OK?", considerate, and Tommy is so, so fond of him, a feeling as soft as spring rain.
"'s good," Eddie says, and his throat works a couple times before he says, rasping, "More. I can—I can take more."
"There's no rush," Evan says, and leans down to kiss him. Between their bodies, Tommy can see the unmistakable motion of Evan's hand, deliberate and filthy, fingering Eddie slowly but using the strength of his whole arm, generating force from the shoulder. Tommy leans down and licks Evan's spine, kisses the back of his neck, loving the taste of his skin.
When Evan sits back, looking around, Tommy realizes that he's lost track of the lube bottle in the tangled sheets, and grabs it for him. "Give me your hand," Tommy says, and when he does, squeezes out another dollop into his palm.
"Thanks, babe," Evan says, with a breath of laughter, and Tommy cracks up too. Yeah, all right, it's a little weird to be doling out lube to your boyfriend so he can finger his best friend, but whatever.
Tommy gets his own fingers wet, and Evan's laugh becomes a sharp breath when Tommy runs his slick fingers all the way down between his cheeks before dragging back up to rub his hole. Not going inside, just getting everything slippery, teasing him, pulling away entirely when he tries to push down onto Tommy's fingers.
"Slut," Tommy says affectionately, right in Evan's ear.
"Yes," Evan gasps. "Tommy, please, c'mon, I've been waiting."
"Don't leave Eddie hanging," Tommy says, and bites the tender lobe of Evan's ear, making him moan. "You'll have to be patient. I wouldn't want to distract you."
"God, you’re so mean," Evan says, but he sounds happy about it.
Tommy hooks his chin over Evan's shoulder to watch as Evan slowly, deliberately stretches Eddie out, rotating his wrist to get a deeper angle and working methodically until Eddie can take two of his thick fingers easily. Tommy can't even take credit for showing Evan how to do this; Evan had blushingly but straightforwardly explained before the first time they'd fucked that he'd had, as he put it, "adventurous girlfriends."
Which wasn't really surprising—Tommy had heard some stories from Howie about the shit Evan had gotten up to. It figured that a guy who had gone through a phase where he was so sex-crazed that he stole a firetruck to get laid had done anal. What did surprise Tommy, maybe unjustly, was that Evan had been on both the giving and receiving side before—"Although, um. The toy she had, it wasn't as big as your dick," Evan had said, licking his lower lip and giving Tommy a look from under his lashes. And if Tommy popped a button, or a few buttons, off Evan's shirt in his haste to get them undressed after that, well. Dry cleaners can fix buttons.
Evan drips more lube directly onto Eddie's hole, scooping it up with three curled fingers and pushing it inside. Eddie moans so loudly that it almost echoes in the high-ceilinged room. "Buck," he begs, lifting his hips and trying to fuck himself on Evan's hand. But he has almost no leverage lying on his back, and Evan holds him down by the hip effortlessly, almost absentmindedly, focused on twisting his wrist.
And then Tommy gets to see on Eddie's face the exact moment that Evan gets him just right—the moment when Eddie's eyes roll back in his head and his whole body jumps like every nerve fired at once. "There you go," Evan says, an octave deeper than usual, as he repeats the motion again and again, making Eddie writhe. Eddie’s mouth hangs open, panting; his eyes are glazed, head lolling on the pillow. Tommy thinks that whoever fucked him before, if they didn’t even bother with lube, definitely didn’t bother with anything like what Evan’s doing now: working him over brutally slowly with a hand wrapped around his cock and fingers in his ass, keeping Eddie trapped as his hips jerk and roll.
"Fuck, fuck, mother of god, Buck," Eddie moans. Sweat is trickling down his sternum and in rivers down his ribcage. The flush that started high on his cheeks has turned his ears and neck pink, too, and his hair is sweat-damp and wild.
"I think you're ready," Evan says. Eddie nods frantically and Evan slowly pulls his fingers out before reaching for the strip of condoms.
"Uh—if you." Eddie stops, swallows. He takes a deep but unsteady breath and starts again. "I haven't been with anyone since the last time I got tested, and. You guys—only with each other, right? So if you're, like. If you don't want to wear a condom—" he stalls out there, looking up at them, chewing his lip.
Tommy had felt his eyebrows climbing higher and higher as this little speech continued and he can only imagine what his face is doing as Buck looks back at him, wide-eyed and startled. "Um," Buck says.
Too much of Tommy's blood flow is being diverted to his dick to make carefully calculated decisions. With whatever brain cells he has left, he weighs it up for a moment and then mentally shrugs.
"It's up to you," he says to Evan.
"Hmm," Evan says, and then surprises Tommy by lying down beside Eddie and kissing him deeply, running his clean hand through Eddie's hair. Eddie digs his nails into Evan's bicep, hard enough that Tommy can see the red marks come up immediately.
"Do you want that?" Evan asks him, and Tommy can barely hear his voice. "Or are you saying that because—because you think I want it?"
Eddie shudders and takes a few shallow breaths with his eyes closed. "It's because," he manages, and the little encouraging kiss Evan puts at the corner of his mouth makes Tommy's heart flutter. "No one's ever." He opens his eyes and looks up at Tommy with an expression that reminds him of someone trying to swim for a life preserver just out of reach.
Tommy lowers himself to the bed on Eddie's other side and strokes his palm down the center of his chest, enjoying the way the hair there is damp from sweat. He slides his hand down over Eddie's abs and grasps his cock gently, tugging a few times.
"No one ever fucked you bare before?" Tommy says, and Eddie is still giving him that look, like his head's barely above water and he wants Tommy to pull him ashore. "No one ever came in you," Tommy says, a statement this time. Eddie trembles; his yes is barely a whisper. Tommy jerks Eddie a little faster but still keeps his grip loose. "And you want—Buck to do that. To be the first one."
Eddie gasps and closes his hand around Tommy's wrist to still it. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna come," Eddie pants.
"Better hurry up," Tommy says to Evan, who looks half-stunned, half-awed.
"Eddie," Evan says, turning Eddie's face towards himself with two fingers. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Eddie says, and then— "Fuck me. Come in me," he says, and it's like something has finally given way inside of him, whatever wall that was holding him back. "I want it," he begs. "Buck, please."
"Whatever you want," Evan murmurs to him, kissing Eddie again, cupping his cheek.
A queen-sized bed was not exactly designed with three six-foot-something firefighters in mind, and as they try to arrange themselves, Tommy has the fleeting thought that next time, they're doing this at his house, on his king mattress with the steel-reinforced oak bed frame that can take a lot of punishment, as he knows from experience. Very extensive experience. Of course, the thought right after that is—wait, next time?
And then he decides to put that all that to the side in favor of enjoying what's happening right in front of him, which is: Eddie folding his chest down onto the bed, ass up, putting an arch in his back that all on its own will probably feature prominently in Tommy's future jerk-off sessions. Evan is behind him on his knees, hard cock jutting out, flushed red and the tip shimmering wet from precome.
Tommy grabs the lube and fits himself to the curve of Evan's back, kneeing his legs apart to make room between them. He gets his hand generously slippery and takes Evan's cock in his hand, smoothing the lube everywhere, a slow and purposeful caress over every part of him: the ridge around the head, along the veins underneath, all the way down to the base. He can feel it when his touch makes Evan shiver, as close as they're pressed, and he can't wait to be even closer, to be inside him.
"Remember," Tommy says, right in Evan's ear, keeping his voice low, just for them. "He can beg for your load all he wants.” He uses his thumb and forefinger to encircle the silicone ring around Evan's cock. "But you decided to let me choose when you come tonight. So this" —he tightens his grip until Evan whimpers— "stays on until I take it off."
Evan nods frantically, and Tommy is close enough to hear him swallow a few times before he manages to scrape out, "Yes."
"Good boy," he tells Evan, and Evan whimpers again, a high little noise that makes Tommy's dick twitch against Evan's back.
With the little bit of lube left on his hand, Tommy pets over Eddie's slick hole, which flexes a little, empty. He can't resist testing it with a finger, meaning to just barely dip inside, but Eddie is so ready, Tommy can just slide right in, all the way to his knuckles. "You did a good job," Tommy tells Evan, approvingly, thrusting his finger a few times, enjoying the wet noise it makes.
Evan is breathing like he's running a race, and Tommy's pretty sure the cock ring and the earlier orgasm are the only reasons that he's not shooting all over Eddie's ass at that exact moment. Tommy chuckles a little as he pulls his finger out and gives Eddie's hole a parting caress. "He takes it so well," Tommy says. "I can't wait to watch him take your cock."
"Tommy," Evan moans.
Tommy uses his tongue to trace the curve of Evan's ear. "Go on, fuck him," Tommy says.
From over Evan’s shoulder, Tommy can see everything: the way Evan uses his thumb to help guide himself into Eddie’s ass; the way Eddie works his hips back at the first hint of pressure, the broad head of Evan’s cock popping past the rim. Then Evan is tilting his hips down and sliding all the way in, bottoming out with a groan before pulling back halfway and setting up a steady, fluid rhythm. Evan moves in him smoothly, getting deep every time, but almost gently, and Tommy can see Eddie making fists in the bedding for purchase and trying to fuck himself on Evan’s cock demandingly.
Tommy waits until Evan is mostly pulled out, then leans almost his entire weight against him, putting the force of both their hips into the next thrust. It makes Evan collide with Eddie hard enough that Tommy feels the reverberation in his own body. Eddie shouts, and then says, “Yes, fuck, like that, come on, fuck me.” Tommy leans back, dragging Evan with him, before he drives his hips forward again— like Evan's whole body, like Evan’s cock, is just an extension of himself.
Although Evan doesn't have much leverage from his knees like this, he’s definitely strong enough to put up some resistance if he wanted to. But he's compliant in Tommy's grip, letting Tommy set the pace with his own body: not too fast but hard. Eddie is moaning almost continuously, broken up only by little hitches like each thrust is knocking the air out of his lungs.
“Tommy,” Evan pleads, as Tommy keeps using him to fuck Eddie. “Tommy, I need—I need your cock inside me.”
The great thing about Evan—well, there are many great things about Evan, but among his many talents is that he can take Tommy's dick with a lot of lube and not much else. Probably because he learned the term "size queen" and immediately adopted it so enthusiastically that he bought dildos thick enough that they almost made Tommy blush. Something Tommy intends to take full advantage of right now, because as fun as stringing him along has been, he might spontaneously combust if he doesn't get to fuck Evan soon.
Tommy lets him go and shuffles back to get some room between them. He spreads a generous amount of lube on Evan's hole, not bothering to be too tidy about it, pushing as much as he can inside and letting the extra drip down Evan's balls and run down the inside of his legs. "Oh my god, Tommy," Evan says, pleading. "Tommy. Tommy," Evan chants, in time with his hips still rocking into Eddie. "Please. I waited for so long," he says.
"You were very good," Tommy reassures him, using the rest of the lube on himself, and then finally, finally he can pull Evan onto his cock, all the way down all at once, shuddering at the tight friction, a wave of pure physical relief that he feels down to the soles of his feet.
The motion makes Evan's dick slip free of Eddie, who makes a noise of shocked protest. Evan’s hips jerk futilely in Tommy's grip as he tries to get back inside Eddie, but Tommy tightens his hold and keeps him still. The way he writhes against Tommy lights up every nerve in Tommy's cock and Tommy gives in to the overwhelming need to bite the big muscle sloping down from his neck, worrying his teeth there.
Eddie looks back at them, pupils huge. "Turn over," Tommy directs. Eddie obeys, moving almost like he's drunk, less rolling over than falling in a barely controlled sprawl, his legs dropping apart as his back hits the bed. Fucking perfect.
"OK," Tommy says, letting Evan go and pushing him down by the shoulder. It means he has to pull out for a second himself, but then they get arranged properly and Evan is working himself between them, forward into Eddie and backwards onto Tommy's cock. The little noises Evan makes are as sweet as candy, like it feels so good he's shocked every time, a breathy ah, ah, ah interspersed with quiet whines. Tommy barely has to do anything but try to keep himself in the right place and let Evan go for it, let him take Tommy's cock into the gripping heat of his body over and over, sending sparks through Tommy's body, inevitably going to ignite.
"Tommy," Evan gasps. "Tommy. Please. I need. Please, Tommy."
"What do you need, baby?" Tommy says, even though he knows. But he still likes to hear it, likes to push Evan until he starts to crack. He doesn’t do it every time, but Evan brings it out in him; something about how easy it is to take him to the edge of coherence, and how once he’s there, he almost always gets obedient and polite, like underneath everything he just wants to be good, to be told he’s good. And when he’s like that he’ll beg for anything Tommy will give him, with his voice, with his eyes, with his whole body.
"Please let me come," Buck says, and he's so desperate and beautiful, looking over his shoulder at Tommy with his eyes very blue next to his pink-flushed cheeks, his hair curling from sweat. "Please, Tommy. Please, I—" He shudders at Tommy's next thrust, and Tommy cants his hips, chasing that same angle. "Please, oh my god. It feels—it's so much—please, please, I need to come."
"What do you think?" Tommy asks Eddie, who's staring up at them with his red lips open, panting, and next time—seriously, next time?—Tommy is going to get that mouth on his dick.
"Yes," Eddie says, closing his eyes as Evan rocks into him again, then opening them to look right at Tommy. "Please," he says, his brown eyes almost all pupil. "I want it. Please—" His breath catches, whether from Evan's cock hitting him right or from embarrassment, Tommy can't tell. "Please let Buck come in me. Please," he says again, and his eyes are getting shiny. "I need it."
With a request like that, how can Tommy say no, really. He reaches down and unsnaps the cock ring, tossing it to the side. Evan shouts and lurches forward, overbalancing and landing mostly on Eddie. Tommy manages to stay inside him, mostly by holding tight to Evan’s waist and riding him down like a goddamn surfboard. Pinned between them, Evan can't move his hips as much as before, but he seems happy enough to grind against Eddie with short, shallow thrusts, and claim Eddie's mouth in a messy kiss.
"You asked so nicely, you can come whenever you want, baby," Tommy says, pushing in as deep as he can and leaning down over Evan's back to murmur in his ear—just for a second, so he doesn't completely squash Eddie.
Eddie must have heard him, because he starts begging again, breaking the kiss to press his forehead to Evan's and saying, barely above a whisper, "Please, Buck, please do it, come in me—" Tommy can see the motion of his arm as he works his cock, brutally fast.
All Tommy can do is hang on, let himself follow the pitch and roll of Evan’s body, of Eddie’s, all three of them breathing hard. And then Tommy gets to feel Evan's orgasm from the inside, the convulsive grasp of his body as everything draws up tight and then releases, a rippling wave of sensation on Tommy's cock that makes him swear and dig his nails into Evan's sides.
"Oh god, I can feel it," Eddie moans, awed. "Fuck, oh my god, Buck," he says, trying to arch up, getting nowhere under Evan's almost limp weight, and he must be coming too, the sound of his hand on his dick turning sloppy and wet as he exhales a short, sharp moan, like a noise that's been punched out of him.
The small jerks of Evan's hips as he shivers and twitches in the aftershocks are a brutal tease, not enough friction to get Tommy the rest of the way there but enough to ratchet his need even higher, an engine at the red line trying to shift into the next gear and not quite making it. He pulls out and grabs Evan to roll him onto his side; Eddie catches on and rolls too, face-to-face with Evan while Tommy spoons up behind.
Tommy peeks over Evan’s shoulder to see the side of his face—his eyes are mostly closed, lashes fluttering a little, and Tommy loves when he's like this, when he's a sex-addled mess and Tommy made him that way. Well. Tommy and Eddie, this time.
Tommy pushes Evan's leg up over Eddie's hip, making room so Tommy can glide right inside. "Yeah," Tommy says, when Evan says his name, thready. "Does that feel good, sweetheart?" he asks, setting a quick, steady pace, hard enough to make Evan sway into Eddie every time.
"So good," Evan says, all his consonants blurred. Eddie murmurs something too low for Tommy to hear over the slapping sound of their bodies meeting and his own harsh breathing, and kisses Evan again, thrusting his tongue into Evan's mouth and sucking on his lower lip. Tommy puts his head down and drives his hips, desperate to come, no room for anything in his mind except how hot and smooth Evan is inside, how he’s letting Tommy use his ass and Eddie devour his mouth, giving himself over to Tommy. To both of them.
He just needs—a little more—and as he shifts to try for another angle, Eddie picks up the movement, grabbing Evan's thigh where it's draped over him and hitching it higher, letting Tommy get that last fraction of an inch closer. And that's it for him; that's what he needed—Eddie opening Evan up for him, helping him get all the way inside. Then he's pulled under by the wave, buried as deep as he can get and coming, a rough groan of relief resonating in his chest. And next time—fuck yes, next time—he's going to make Eddie do that sooner; he's going to make Eddie spread Evan for him, let Eddie open Evan up, maybe even wait until Evan is sloppy from Eddie's come to fuck him. His cock pulses again, throbbing, and he bites down on the back of Evan's neck until Evan moans.
All of them collapse into an overlapping pile: Eddie flopped onto his back; Evan with his head resting on Eddie's chest, arm flung over his waist; Tommy half-draped over Evan, face buried in his hair. Tommy grants himself a few moments of languor, until his hands feel less tingly and his breathing evens out, and then he smacks Evan's ass solidly and says, "All right, everyone go get cleaned up."
Eddie takes the downstairs bathroom; Evan gets in the shower upstairs while Tommy wipes himself down at the sink efficiently before heading to the kitchen. He unearths odds and ends from the fridge and the cabinets—sliced cheese, some of those tiny oranges, a handful of grapes, leftover coleslaw, a sleeve of fancy crackers, half a box of Cheez-Its, some olives from a fancy grocery store—and sets them out on the counter.
Eddie comes out of the bathroom; he's dressed this time, which reduces Tommy's faint sense of deja vu, and hesitates, visibly uncertain.
"Sit down for a minute," Tommy says, throwing him a sports drink.
Eddie perches on a barstool, ass on the very edge, like he's going to make a break for the door at any moment.
"For a guy who just came his brains out, you look pretty tense," Tommy says, leaning his elbows on the counter. It does what he wanted, which is that Eddie gets annoyed with him instead of being nervous, narrowing his eyes. Tommy smirks. "Relax, this isn't an interrogation," he says.
"Then what is it?" Eddie says, clearly humoring him.
"A civil conversation between adults," Tommy says, and eats a Cheez-It. "How long have you and Evan been doing—whatever it is you've been doing?"
"I came to the 118 like six years ago, I think? So around then," Eddie says.
Tommy barely keeps in an exasperated sigh. "I meant, specifically, how long have you guys been getting off together."
"No, I—I understood the question," Eddie says, looking squirmy again. "That's the answer. To that question."
Tommy stares at him.
"Not the whole time!" Eddie says defensively. "It was—on and off. Sometimes."
"I'm going to ask you the same thing I did before," Tommy says, and now Eddie's obvious rising anxiety is more justified, because Tommy's pissed off. "How could you do that? All that time, and you just used him?" He manages to keep his voice down, but his knuckles are white on the edge of the counter. "You know that Evan would—he would cut his beating heart out of his goddamn chest if you asked him for it. If you, specifically, asked him for it," Tommy says, leaning in.
It gives Tommy a certain amount of mean satisfaction to see how wretched Eddie looks. "I fucking know, alright? Jesus," Eddie says, rubbing his hand over his face. "I didn't mean for it to be—it started a long time ago, OK?" His face is such a pathetic combination of panicked and sad that, once again, Tommy feels his anger slip through his fingers like trying to hold on to water. "It was just. We were just—" Eddie struggles for a moment, raking his hands through his hair. "We didn't know each other that well yet. And then it was just…something we were doing. And it was easier to not change things. And." Eddie plants his elbows on the counter and rests his forehead on the heels of his palms. "I couldn't lose it. He's—this is all I have," he says, very quiet.
Tommy takes a long breath in, holds it for a moment, and exhales slowly through his nose. From the beginning, he knew that the two of them were wrapped up tight, possessive of each other's time and attention. Even from a thousand feet up, he would be able to see the way they feel about each other, bright as a house fire in the night. The—jacking off together about it, that is a surprise. But he already knew they were the most important people in each other's lives. He was ready for that; he can adjust to this.
"Alright," he says. "Look. I'm not interested in screwing you over, or taking something away from you." Eddie looks up at him, wide-eyed. "What, you thought I was going to throw you out on your ass and tell you to never talk to him again?"
"I mean—maybe," Eddie says, hoarse.
"Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't, because it wouldn't be what he wants," Tommy says. "He loves you," he says, and does not add you idiot, but he thinks it's implied. Eddie keeps staring at him, seemingly speechless. "He would never let me treat you that way. It'd be a good way for me to get thrown out on my ass."
"Hey," Evan says, coming down the stairs. He looks between them curiously as he sits down at a barstool. The neck of the T-shirt he's wearing is stretched out, showing his collarbones, and the whole shirt is nearly translucent from going through the wash so many times. It's a close call, but Tommy restrains himself from going over there and biting the shadowed point of his nipple.
"Here," Tommy says, rolling a sports drink across the counter to him.
"Thanks," Evan says as he cracks the seal. "Uh, am I—interrupting?" he says, like he's amused at maybe being an interloper in his own kitchen.
"No, it's good," Tommy says. "We all need to talk. And you guys need to talk, too."
"That's probably a good idea," Evan says, wry. He looks at Eddie, who glances at him and then stares at the countertop.
"It's kind of overdue," Tommy says, with a huffed laugh, and takes a drink of his Gatorade. "I have to ask. Seriously, six years? And you never had a real conversation about it?"
Evan shrugs, and the motion is disjointed and stiff. It's his turn to look at the counter instead of meeting anyone's eyes. "I hadn't ever talked about it before. I mean, with the guys in the past."
Tommy pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth and lowers the bottle without taking a sip. "The...guys in the past?"
"You know, like," Evan makes a sort of sweeping hand gesture that does not explain anything, but then keeps talking. "On the football team and, like, from the frat. And when I was in Montana. And in Peru. And then there was the group house in LA." Tommy raises his eyebrows. Evan's cheeks are turning red and he darts his eyes up to meet Tommy's for half a second. "I guess—I'm kind of figuring out, um. Well, it's like—I thought all dudes were checking out hot guys' asses all the time but not saying anything about it."
"No," Tommy says slowly, and then, "What?"
"So it's sort of the same thing," Evan says. "I thought everyone jerked off with their friends and it was just something no one talked about."
Tommy seriously considers going back into the fridge and finding himself a beer. "I would say it is probably not a universal experience, no."
"Yeah, I'm getting that idea," Evan says, rubbing the back of his neck. He gives Tommy a rueful smile. "Honestly, when I started doing it with Eddie, we didn't know each other that well. And then. We kept doing it. And I liked it," Evan says straightforwardly. From the corner of his eye, Tommy can see Eddie staring at Evan. "I didn't want to stop. I liked doing it with Eddie more than—with anyone else I'd ever done that with. Probably because I had never done it with someone I liked so much. Who was—important to me. I'm sorry, I should have told you," he says to Tommy, sincere. "It sounds so—so stupid, saying it now."
"A little bit, yeah," Tommy says, not unkindly. "But I told you before, I'm not angry." He doesn't know the word for what he's feeling, some combination of fond-frustrated-sympathetic. He thinks he might owe Eddie an apology, for assuming this was all his idea; of course Evan was there the whole time too, throwing himself in wholeheartedly and never even asking himself what he was doing. And of course Eddie was willing to take all the blame, to let Tommy rake him over the coals about it; Tommy should know by now that one of them will always try to stand in front of a blow to shield the other.
Tommy picks up one of the tiny oranges and digs his thumbnail in, sending up a spray of citrus oil. He thinks for a moment about how to approach what he wants to say as he works the peel off in spirals. "I told Eddie," he says, glancing up at Evan, "I'm not interested in taking something important away from you. Either of you. I would rather add something than—than take something away," he says. He puts the peeled orange down in front of Evan and picks up another one. "You know, when I first met you guys, I couldn't really figure out your deal. And for a while, I was trying to date you," he says to Eddie, whose eyes get round as coins. Then realization sweeps across his face and he hides his eyes behind one hand, shoulders slumping. Evan laughs, the tension in the room loosening.
"Oh my god," Eddie says faintly. "Vegas. When we went to Vegas. That was—was that a date?"
"I wanted it to be," Tommy says. He finishes the second orange and offers it to Eddie, who looks up and tentatively takes it out of his open palm. "Then halfway through dinner you started talking about your girlfriend, so I kinda got the idea that it wasn't going to go that way."
"Oh my god," Eddie says again. "Uh. I'm sorry?" he says, rising at the end like a question.
Tommy shrugs, unconcerned, and starts peeling himself an orange. "It's really fine. Things worked out OK for me," he says, smiling at Evan, who grins back and tosses a segment of his tiny orange into his mouth. "My point is—I'm not exactly opposed. To dating either of you. So there's no reason it couldn't be both of you. We've already proven that…certain aspects of it work. Really well," Tommy says, and his voice sounds strange in his ears, almost smoke-roughened. He clears his throat. "But beyond that, it only works if you two" —he makes eye contact with Eddie, then Evan— "figure your shit out."
Evan looks thoughtful, head tilted a little; Eddie's uncertain, cutting his eyes towards the door and then looking down at the counter. Tommy eats a slice of orange and waits him out. "I don't want to…mess things up for the two of you," Eddie says, after a moment. He glances between them and then looks down again. "Come between you or something."
It takes biting down on his cheek to keep in a joke about coming between them, but Tommy manages. "It's not a surprise that you guys are—that you're important to each other," Tommy says, when he can be serious. "It's not a problem for me, if it's out in the open, if it's something we all talk about. Love isn't—it doesn't have a limit. It's not like a glass of water where you pour it out and it's gone. It's more like the ocean; there's more of it than you could ever use just for yourself. It just keeps going. As much as you need, you can have it, and there's enough for everyone else too."
Almost everything that Evan is ever feeling shows on his face, or at least Tommy knows him well enough to see it; right now, he looks hopeful, chin lifted and eyes soft. It's more difficult to read Eddie, like someone taught him the lesson—or beat it into him—that it's better not to have certain emotions, much less to show them. Tommy used to see the aftermath of that lesson in his mirror every day, had to unpick it from himself thread by thread like stitches left in too long.
But although Eddie tries, the way he clenches his jaw is too obvious to really be stoic; it's clear something inside him is trying to force its way out. His breath flares his nostrils and his throat works, like he's trying to swallow a hot rush of acid and sickness. Whatever he's trying to push down, it looks like it hurts as it goes, pulling his collarbone towards his navel; he folds around it like a punch, like hiding a gut wound.
"Eddie. Look at me," Tommy says, and Eddie's lips are pressed together tightly but his eyes are wet when he looks up. "It doesn't scare me that you love him. Does it scare you?"
"Every goddamn day of my life," Eddie says, and his face doesn't change at all even though the tears overflow and start tracking down his cheeks.
"That's OK too," Tommy says. "I'm not going to tell you to stop being afraid. I know it doesn't help. But I will tell you it doesn't matter if you're scared. You can have this anyway." Eddie swallows, jaw still tight, even though every blink sends a fresh cascade of tears down.
Tommy smiles at him. "You think I wasn't scared when I flew a helicopter into a hurricane? I was pants-shittingly terrified that whole time. I said it then and it was true—I thought for sure we were all gonna die." It succeeds in getting a small smile to crack through Eddie's facade. "You don't have to stop being afraid. You just have to decide that you want it anyway. I wanted to help. I wanted to save those people, I wanted to be part of the 118. So I did it even though it was stupid and even though I was scared. And I don't regret it."
"I don't—I can't," Eddie says through his clenched teeth.
"Eddie," Evan says, and half-stumbles out of his seat get his arm around him. Eddie holds himself rigid, apart, and Tommy thinks of him hiding his face in Tommy's shoulder on the sofa earlier, saying I know I'm fucked up.
"If it's because you think you don't deserve it, you're wrong," Tommy says, and it cracks Eddie open like a dropped vase, a sob breaking out of his chest and his whole body falling against Evan. Tommy comes around the counter and braces him up on the other side, getting his arms around them both. He can feel Eddie shaking against his chest, Evan's steady warm shoulder under his hand. Evan looks at him over Eddie's bowed head, his own eyes a little wet, and Tommy meant it: he isn't afraid. They're in the storm but they're together, and the thing about flying is that even if you can't see anything outside from the rain, if you trust your instruments, and you trust yourself, you can find the other side. And for all that he's been where Eddie is now, he's not that guy anymore, keeping himself in the dark to avoid getting burned by the light; he's not even where Evan is now, just barely stepping into the sun for the first time. He's past that; he's standing under a clear sky, and he flew them all out of the clouds and the wind and the rain before, and he can do it again; he knows the way out.
He gives Evan a little nod and Evan smiles at him—grateful, hoping, a little afraid himself, maybe—and puts his cheek down on Eddie's head.
"Christ. I'm sorry," Eddie says after a minute, scrubbing at his face with his hand and taking a deep, unsteady breath.
"Don't apologize, you don't need to apologize," Evan says, brushing his thumbs over Eddie's cheeks. His tenderness warms Tommy all the way through.
They disentangle, slowly, Evan returning to his own barstool, Tommy stepping back and tossing Eddie a clean dishtowel for his face, which makes him laugh.
"This is what's going to happen now," Tommy says. "That bed upstairs is way too small for three of us to sleep in. But we'll all fit in the bed at my house." The hope on Eddie's face is like a sunrise, and the reflection of it illuminates Evan's eyes. "I'm going to go home, call the closest Chinese takeout place and order as much kung pao chicken as they'll sell me at once, and enjoy the rest of my night off. You're both welcome to join me. Talk it over," he says, and drains his own bottle of blue-flavored electrolyte drink before he goes to find his wallet and keys.
He makes it to the door and gets his shoes on before it occurs to him—"And if you want this to happen, the three of us. For the love of god. Do not have sex—or another one of your mutual jerk-offs—until you talk about it."
"Why not?" Evan asks with genuine curiosity.
"Well, at a minimum, the two of you need to figure out what the hell it means between you, because right now, you're both kind of fucked up about it. And also, if you want me to be a part of this, next time, I want to watch," Tommy says, eyelids half-lowered. Evan's lips part and Tommy is momentarily fixed in place by the flicker of his tongue as it teases his top lip. Tommy gives his shoulders a shimmy to snap himself out of it. "You don't have to decide tonight, if you're not ready," he says, mostly to Eddie, whose eyes are red and a little swollen. Even though he's not a pretty crier, he's still one of the most beautiful people Tommy's ever seen. "It's a standing invitation."
Evan gets up and comes to Tommy, and it's automatic to wrap his arm around Evan's waist and kiss him. "Thank you," Evan says, while they're pressed cheek-to-cheek. Tommy nuzzles him a little, enjoying the scrape of their stubble.
"I'll see you later," Tommy tells him, with another short kiss. "Go talk to him. I'll be there, no matter what."
Evan kisses him again, the kind of kiss that Tommy could sink into for hours, and it's with real effort that he gently pushes Evan away. "Go," he says, and opens the door to leave.
As karmic punishment for having good traffic on the way over, the 101 is a snarled nightmare on his way home. Tommy is going five miles per hour and considering the ethics of driving up the shoulder to the next off-ramp when his phone rings.
Eddie. He hits the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel and says, "Hey."
"We're coming over," Eddie says. Tommy hears Evan talking in the background, and Eddie leans away from the phone and says, "You can just talk to him yourself, you know," in the pissy way that Tommy smiles to realize he finds familiarly endearing. "Buck says also order something with a vegetable and that he wants some of those shrimp things. He says you know what that means."
"I do," Tommy says, grinning. "And what do you want?"
"I don't know," Eddie says. "But I trust your judgment."
"I'm glad to hear it," Tommy says, and he doesn't just mean about dinner. "Don't take the 101, it's a mess."
Eddie laughs. "I'll tell Buck, he's driving," he says.
"If you beat me there, Evan knows where the spare key is," Tommy says. "But do not get started without me this time."
"You think we're going to go three times in a night, really?" Eddie asks, still laughing.
"Some of us only got off once so far," Tommy says, only half-joking. "I could stand to catch up."
"Yeah," Eddie says, and his voice has dropped low. "I guess it's still pretty early."
"We have time," Tommy agrees, in the same tone.
Eddie pauses for a second. "Hey, Tommy?" he asks, and Tommy makes an affirmative noise. "Thanks."
"Believe me when I say it will be my pleasure," Tommy says, and he really, really needs this traffic to clear up immediately.
"Fuck," Eddie says. "All right. We're leaving. We'll see you soon."
"See you," Tommy says, and if he possibly commits a few minor traffic infractions to escape onto the surface streets so that he can get to them even faster—well. It's worth it.