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“Are you gonna come back?”
"Buck— don't start."
Buck laughs bitterly. "Buck? So, that's it. You've decided then?"
It's Tommy's turn to scoff. “I just came for my stuff. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Harder? I— uh. I’m not sure what that would even look like. You know Bobby sent me home early again today? Taking too many risks, apparently. Buck 1.0 back in full force, but uh, that’s what you wanted right? You wanted me to fuck as many guys as possible, right?” He steps closer then, eyeing Tommy like prey, zeroing in on his discomfort. “Am I into bears or twinks? Jocks or daddy’s?”
It lands on Tommy’s face like a slap. His jaw clenching as he tries to school is features. Buck is standing too close now for him to get away with it.
“Old guy didn’t last long with me begging him to fuck me like his good little boy, calling him my da—”
“Enough, Evan. The brat routine isn’t cute anymore.”
But he’s clearly affected. So Buck steps dangerously closer.
“I don’t want them, Tommy. I only want you. Just you.” Tommy’s eyes are glued to his mouth now, tracking the movements. “Please, daddy.” He whispers.
And he must have done something right, because the next thing he knows, he’s pinned against the countertop with Tommy’s hips shoved up against his ass and his arm pinned behind his back. “Fucking. Brat.”
Buck’s grin turns into a chuckle as he feels his jeans being tugged down. Finally.
Tommy is reaching over him, grabbing something. Fuck yes.
The first smack of the wooden spoon stings something awful, but the satisfaction is worth everything. It feels like victory. Like he’s conquered something. Like it’s Christmas morning and turns out Santa is fucking real. He melts onto the countertop, relishing in the cold concrete against his flushed face.
The smacks come down steady and hard. Buck's smug attitude smarting with each smack. His resolve wearing thin while a familiar vulnerability stretches itself under his skin, blossoming under the pain, begging to take up more space.
“Fuck, I missed punishing this ass, Evan. You look so good like this.”
Buck whines, “Please, daddy.”
Tommy pauses. “Please what, Evan?”
Buck shivers under the attention; letting it seep deep into his bones. “Wanna be good for you.” He blinks up at him with wet eyes.
“You know how this works baby. You take your punishment for daddy and all is forgiven. You’re always his good boy. Right?"
"Yes daddy."
"Color?”
Buck lets out a shaky breath, “Green.”
Tommy nods. “How many men?”
Buck startles, flinching under tommy’s grip and pinned by his intense gaze. He glances away.
“No, Evan. Look at me.”
He swallows and looks at Tommy. “Uh…”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Evan pouts. “I’m not! I wouldn’t!”
That earns him another smack with the spoon. He winces. “Th-thirteen. I— I think.”
“Good boy. Let’s finish this. Count it.”
The lingering, meaningful gaze fills Buck in on Tommy's intent. Oh. A thrill goes up his spine. “Okay.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow.
“I— I mean, yes daddy.”
Tommy hums in approval, running a hand through Buck's hair softly.
It feels like forever before the next blow lands. But when it does, it nearly knocks the wind out of him. He gasps, “One.”
Smack. “Two.” Smack. “Three,” his voice wavers.
Smack. “Four.” Smack. “Five", he hiccups.
Smack, smack, smack. The tears are running now. And he curls his fingers around Tommy’s where he can reach them, as he still has his arm pinned behind his back. Tommy adjusts them so he interlocks their fingers and squeezes.
Smack. “Nine.” Smack. “Ten,” he sobs.
“Remember to breathe, baby.”
“Please,” Buck begs.
“Almost done, sweetheart.”
Buck inhales shakily and exhales on a whimper. The physical pain acts as a conduit for the real reason he needs to cry. The emotional pain being coaxed out of him by determined hands, brought to the surface under the veil of role play. Tommy is, unknowingly or not, purging him of all his guilt, regret and heartbreak, with this little dance of theirs.
Smack. “Eleven,” Buck cries.
Smack. “Twelve.”
One more left. He’s good. He never has to think about or see those strange men ever again.
Smack. Buck howls in pain, “Th-thirteen.”
And then he’s being picked up and carried. Up up up. Up the stairs and he’s shivering and whimpering and reaching and grabbing. Tommy strips them both of their clothes; never without a hand holding him somewhere. And soon enough, Buck is spread out on top of Tommy, with his face pressed into his neck and his bruising, red ass in the air. He’s not crying anymore, just drifting. Floating in the space. Tommy’s hand's caress his hair, run up and down his spine, draw pictures and words on his back, as he whispers sweet-nothings into Buck's ear. His breath slows and evens out and he’s sighing happily, nuzzling deeper into Tommy’s smell. Breathing in his sweat and musk. He presses a kiss there.
A few moments later, he hisses as Tommy rubs cold lotion over his bare ass. But it’s over almost as soon as it starts and he’s back to humming contentedly in Tommy’s embrace.
“You were so good, Evan. Such a good boy. You're always so good for me.” Tommy kisses the back of his head.
Buck hums and does a little happy wiggle. Too far in sub space, head dumped with too many happy chemicals to speak just yet. But he soaks up all the praise whispered into his ear like an animal finding water after a weeklong drought.
They drift off at some point; or at least Buck does. Because next thing he knows, his bedroom is cloaked in darkness and his neck feels stiff where it’s been bent in the crook of Tommy’s neck. Buck stirs on top of Tommy, searching for his face under the glow of the pale moonlight. Buck leans up to kiss his boyfriend’s chin when he discovers the hard lines of a frown; shaping his face into something Buck doesn’t like.
“Tommy? What is it?” Buck croaks. His throat dry from sleep or crying. Or both.
Tommy makes a move to get up. “Let me get you some water. I should have done that earlier.”
But Buck's not having it. He pins Tommy down, taking advantage of the fact that he’s still sprawled out on top of him like a hairy octopus. “No, forget it. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Tommy sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “Did I go too far with you, Evan?”
Bucks heart sinks. “Wh—what do you mean?” But he’s already pulling away to protect himself. He doesn’t want to hear this.
Tommy glances at him and he looks scared. Evans frown deepens.
“I— was that selfish of me? Making you say how many…”
Buck relaxes then and chuckles because oh thank god. Tommy flinches at the laugh, so Buck puts his hand over Tommy’s and squeezes. “No. If you were out of line, I would have safe worded, you know that.”
Tommy nods but he doesn’t look convinced. “We were both— we’re in a vulnerable place, Evan. Both of us. I— I just—"
Evan cradles Tommy’s face with his hands, “Hey, hey,” he speaks softly. “You’re okay, Tommy. We’re okay. I assure you that I'm fine and, in fact, I feel better than fine. I feel great. You took such good care of me and I— I think I needed you to do that? It felt— it felt good to have you put sensation to those memories and feelings. It feels like you cleared out my guilt and regret and now I just feel so thoroughly owned again, by you, I mean. Like I belong to you again?” He feels heat rise in his cheeks. “Is— Is that… weird?”
Tommy shakes his head. “No sweetheart, that’s not weird. Not at all. I just—" he lets out a frustrated sigh, “I guess I’m the one who feels guilty now.”
Buck nods and caresses his face with his thumb. “I think you’re experiencing dom drop, babe. It’s okay, it’ll pass. It was an intense scene for both of us. What do you need?”
Tommy shrugs. “You. Just you.”
Buck smiles, “I think I can manage that. Come here.”
And then he’s going in for a kiss. Their first since the break-up. And his stomach does happy little somersaults once their lips meet. He's gentle with it, takes his time with it, kissing him thoroughly; slow and deep. Now it’s his turn to take Tommy apart.
Buck realized early on that Tommy needs soft hands. The type of hands he never got growing up. Or in the army. The type of hands he ran from for so long; hands that he almost didn't recognize when Buck came along. The type of hands that let him know it’s okay to be vulnerable and to cry. And Buck uses those hands to work tension out of his muscles, to help him melt down into the sheets, to open him up in ways he says he hasn’t with anyone else.
Tommy needs soft hands, Buck knows this, when few else do. Just like how Tommy knows Buck needs a firm hand every so often, to feel his feelings.
They touch each other like it’s their first time; explorative, curious, gentle and indulgent. Except each touch is loaded with something heavier than either of them have ever admitted out loud. They let their hands and tongues and bodies speak for them. The passion and heat rolling off them in waves, as they bury themselves in the other, searching for something and finally getting an answer.
I love you. I’m yours. I'm here to stay.