Work Text:
Buck decides he wants to learn how to deep throat two days after Tommy sucks his soul out through his dick so good that he spends the entire twelve hour shift the next day walking around with his toes curled.
He does his research - he doesn’t want to just ambush Tommy with this unprepared - and spends his day off watching people get their throats fucked until they’re crying and browsing a few very specific forums and Reddit threads and comes up with a plan. The credit card he never uses takes a hit, if only so he doesn’t have to explain to some poor curious soul why there’s a couple hundred dollars of gags and other… accessories on his transaction history.
The package arrives two days before their shifts align and they have the day off together and Buck is tortured by the sight of it tucked away in the corner of his closet every time he gets ready for work - patience has never been his strong suit, and he’s nothing if not a hedonist.
Miracle of miracles, he manages to survive the next two shifts - and, wouldn’t that be just his luck? If he died on one of these shifts and Tommy or, god forbid, his sister found the box tucked away in his closet. He could already envision his tombstone: here lies Evan Buckley purveyor of sex toys!
He manages to hold out long enough for Tommy to disappear into the shower before he unboxes everything and lays it out meticulously on the counter. And then he sits just out of view on the couch and waits.
“Sweetheart,” Tommy calls out into the loft a few minutes after the shower’d been turned off, and Buck tries to pretend he isn’t thrilled by the tone his voice has taken. “Why are there a bunch of sex toys on your kitchen island?”
“I’m thinking about redecorating,” he calls back, nonchalant.
Tommy picks up one of the ring gags and hangs it off of his finger by the metal. “And your choice of decor includes a series of gags?”
“I think it’s what the kids call avant-garde.”
“Kids,” Tommy says around a snort, “you’re still a kid yourself.”
“I resent that,” Buck hums, sauntering his way through the kitchen and leaning against the counter next to Tommy and the little collection on the counter. “You’re not even a decade older than me.”
“I’m nine years older than you.”
“That’s not ten.”
Tommy rolls his eyes fondly and drops the gag back onto the counter, fingers skimming across the other two that Buck had spent an embarrassingly long amount of time deciding on - he’s apparently familiar enough with them not to be freaking out, which he counts as a win.
“So,” Tommy says eventually. “Are you going to tell me the real reason you’ve covered your kitchen in sex toys?”
Buck’s never been one to be shy when it comes to talking about sex; he’s always operated under the general adage that the more you talk about it with the people you have it with, the better it’ll be. Which is exactly why he doesn’t hesitate when says: “I want you to fuck my throat.” He pauses, and then adds, “I want you to teach me how to deep throat.”
Something dark flickers in Tommy’s eyes for a second - whether it’s the prospect of him getting to bury his dick in Buck’s throat, or the idea of him teaching Buck something, he’s not quite sure - but then it’s gone.
“We don’t have to,” Buck adds when the silence starts to verge on for too long. “Not if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“I never said that,” Tommy counters, looking back at Buck like he’s searching for something. “I was just wondering what brought this on, that’s all.”
And, well, what the hell: in for a penny in for a pound.
He draws in a breath, steeling himself. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Remember after our date at the pier? Where you wasted all that money trying to win that stupidly adorable polar bear plushie?”
“It’s not my fault those games are rigged.”
Buck huffs out a laugh. “Sure, but that’s not the point. Remember after? When we went back to yours and we were making out on the couch?”
Tommy, apparently picking up on some of the trepidation that’s crept up on him, nudges their hips together playfully. “Vividly.”
“And remember when you went down on your knees and sucked my dick so good I think I blacked out for a minute and you had to practically carry me up the stairs?”
“Also, very vividly.”
Buck exhales a little sigh of relief - at least he isn’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. “Well, it’s been on my mind since then. You have no idea, Tommy, I think I was walking around my shift the next day still high off of how hard you made me come.”
“Evan, whilst the image of you at work thinking about me sucking you off is incredibly hot,” Tommy hums, smiling. “I feel like I should say something about how irresponsible it is.”
Buck raises an eyebrow at him. “Maybe if you weren’t so good at sucking dick I wouldn’t be thinking about it all the time.”
Tommy steps away from the counter and moves so that he’s standing in front of Buck instead, hands resting on his hips through his shirt. “I promise I’ll try and get worse at sucking dick - for your sake I mean.”
They meet halfway for a kiss; one that threatens to turn dirty far, far too soon considering they haven’t even had the chance to talk about the toys or the whole throat fucking thing yet.
“You’re not-” Tommy starts when they break apart, stopping himself and mulling over the words, scrambling for the right ones, “-this isn’t something you feel obligated to do, right? You’re not suggesting it because you feel like you have to? Because I’m very happy with the way your mouth feels around my dick, Evan, I don’t want you to feel like I’m not, or that this is something I need or-”
He’s babbling in that Tommy-esque way he does when he gets nervous or unsure about something, when there’s a million thoughts running through his head and he’s wracked with insecurity; he’s even got that little crease in his forehead that Buck wants to kiss at until it’s gone.
“Tommy-” he interrupts, placing his own hands over the ones on his hips and threading their fingers together, “-this is something I want. This is something I’ve been thinking about for weeks, I’ve done research and bought equipment and everything and I want to do this with you.”
“Research, hm?” Tommy hums, a half-assed attempt at pretending like he isn’t nervous. “Exactly how much porn did you watch?”
“So much porn, you have no idea.”
“Hm. Did you come to it?”
“Did I, or did I not, send you a video of me jerking myself off like a week ago?”
Tommy grins, like the cat that ate the canary. “You did. And that was because you were thinking about this?”
Buck nods.
Something shifts in Tommy’s gaze; Buck watches the way he searches his eyes like he’s looking for any sign of trepidation, watches the way they flicker over his shoulder to the counter where the toys are lined up, watches the way something resolute comes over him.
“Okay,” he acquiesces and Buck has to fight the urge to fist pump the air. “But I have rules.”
Buck kisses him because he can’t not, and then lets himself relax back against the island now that they’re doing this. “Lay them on me.”
“First,” Tommy pauses, holding his index finger up. He reaches behind Buck and grabs one of the two bottles, eyeing it with disdain as he holds it up. It’s one of the throat numbing sprays - the cotton candy flavoured one if the bright blue bottle is to be believed - that he’d spent ages agonising over because how the fuck could there possibly be so many flavours to numb your throat with? His curiosity had won out, in the end, and he’d ended up ordering a normal one and a flavoured one, if only to figure out exactly what a cotton candy flavoured blowjob would end up tasting like.
“We’re not using these,” Tommy finishes and Buck deflates - there goes all his cotton candy flavoured dreams.
“Tommy-”
“Non-negotiable, Evan,” he adds, steadfast. “I don’t care how enticing porn makes these things look, I don’t trust them. How are you meant to know if you’re pushing yourself too hard if you can’t feel it?”
Which - okay, maybe he has a point.
“Besides.” Tommy’s voice drops low and a little dark - his sex voice, Buck thinks. “If you want to take my cock in your throat, you’re going to feel all of it, sweetheart.”
Buck’s dick twitches in his jeans and Tommy glances down at his crotch like he knows exactly what he just did to him, the fucker.
“Also-” he grabs the gag he’d been playing with earlier and holds it up for Buck to see, “-these are fun, and I’d love to see how pretty you look in them, but I want you to take me without them first before we bring them out to play, okay?”
Buck nods once, eyes flickering from the gag, to where Tommy’s hand is holding it, to his eyes and back again. He can’t exactly pinpoint when the shift happened but the air around them feels different now, it feels charged.
Tommy just smiles at him, like he thinks Buck getting caught up in the sight of him holding a gag is cute or something. “Give me words, pretty thing.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay. I trust you, Tommy.”
“Good.” He drops the gag back on the counter behind them. “And my last rule is the same as always. If something’s wrong, or you don’t like it, or it hurts, you have to tell me. It doesn’t mean we have to stop, but we at least have to check in, okay?”
“You know I have played with things in my mouth before,” Buck counters, stubborn. “Beyond your dick, I mean.”
“I think you’ve mentioned your colourful past once or twice, yeah.” Tommy reaches one hand up and swipes his thumb across Buck’s bottom lip, pulling it out from between his teeth. “But this is different. If you panic and use your teeth on a toy, there’s no damage. If you use teeth on me, I don’t think I’ll be able to recover as easily.”
“Okay-” he relents because, yeah, that’s a really good point, “-you’re right. And I promise to tell you if something feels wrong.”
“Good boy,” Tommy praises, and then he kisses him.
It took very little time at all for kissing Tommy to become one of his favourite things - he loves their quick hello-goodbye-be safe pecks in the mornings and before a shift; their I missed you kisses that edge on the promise of something more than the first kind; the sleepy half-awake kisses they trade on lazy mornings when they’re off together; the way Tommy kisses his forehead. And then there’s the kisses like these ; the kisses that leave him weak in the knees, the kisses that make him want to curse god for creating a body that needs oxygen, the kisses that feel like he’s being devoured, that remind him that Tommy’s just as hungry for him as he is, the kisses that lead into bites, that lead into making out, that lead into them just panting and licking into each others mouths.
Buck’s always loved kissing but kissing Tommy is in a whole league of its own.
By the time they break apart, he’s half-sitting on the island and has one of his legs hitched up around Tommy’s thigh, his boyfriend cradling it as support.
“I want you-” Tommy starts, and Buck thinks yeah, he could stop right there and he’d be down for whatever, but then he adds, “-to go upstairs and get naked. And put on a shirt you don’t mind getting messy.”
“You’re not coming?” Buck pants, closing his mouth around Tommy’s bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth.
Tommy sinks his teeth into his as recompense. “I am,” he nods. “But I want you to take a breath and a second to think by yourself. If you don’t want a taste tonight, leave your shirt off and we can do something different. But if you still want this, then you know what to do. Okay?”
The way Tommy is always so attentive and thoughtful towards him makes Buck want to do something stupid like crawl under his skin and build a home there and stay forever, or drop to his knees in the middle of the kitchen or, hell, the middle of anywhere, really. He wants the world to look at this man and know that he is his.
“Okay,” Buck says and, fuck, Tommy’s even gentle when he lowers his fucking leg back down to the ground; he’s even gentle when he gives him a playful smack on his ass as he walks away and Buck is so in like with him he feels giddy with it.
He doesn’t immediately go for his closet when he gets upstairs; instead he perches on the edge of his bed and takes the second that Tommy wanted him to.
He wants this - fuck he wants this so much - but he also knows that there’s no rush to it, that this offer, the offer of him getting his throat fucked, would stay on the table for as long as he wanted it to. He knows that if he stripped like he’d been told and kept his shirt off, Tommy would probably pin his hands to the bed and finger him open until he can slide his cock home and bury it deep inside him and it would be good, it would be so good because it always is - but it’s not what he wants. Not tonight.
He changes into one of the faded old LAFD shirts from his time as a probie.
By the time he hears Tommy’s footsteps on the stairs Buck’s sat back on the edge of the bed, naked from the waist down and feeling like he’s about to vibrate out of his damn skin with the mix of nervousexcitednervousexcited that’s coursing through his veins.
“Is that a thermos?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at the flask Tommy’s cradling in his hands.
Tommy hums in affirmation. “It’s for after. Your throat might be sore so I made some tea and put a little honey in it.”
Buck blinks at him. He resists the urge to crack a joke about Tommy putting some honey in him because- “fuck, you are so fucking considerate. Take your pants off and put your dick in my throat.”
Tommy laughs, a soft little noise that rumbles in his throat, and puts the thermos down on the bedside table. “Down boy,” he teases, eyes raking over the faded old LAFD shirt Buck’s changed into - he’s clearly got the message. “I said I’d give you a taste, I never said I was putting my dick anywhere near your throat today.”
“Tommy,” he whines, petulant; he wants his throat fucked, dammit, but all he gets in return is an amused quirk of his boyfriends lips. “Tease.”
“Brat,” Tommy counters, which, fair enough, he can’t argue with that. “I’m still going to take care of you, but you have a shift tomorrow.” When Buck opens his mouth like he wants to protest, Tommy holds a hand up. “The first time we do this properly, your throat and jaw are going to be sore afterwards. Maybe for a few hours, maybe for a day or two, I’m not sending you into work like that. Our 48’s line up again next week, if you still want this by then, that’s when we’ll try, alright?”
The thought of him being sore after having Tommy’s cock in his throat makes his head feel a little hazy, makes goosebumps start to prickle on his arms and a thrill go down the length of his spine. He wants that, fuck, he wants it so badly. Before Tommy he’d never really felt the urge to still feel like that after sex, but after the first time they’d fucked desperate and hard for hours in the bed at Tommy’s house, he’d got it. There’s a delicious sort of thrill in sitting down and still feeling it, in finding finger shaped bruises on his hips and fitting his own over them and pressing, in the incessant throb of bite marks, the sting of scratches.
“Alright, sweetheart?” Tommy prompts when he doesn’t get his answer.
“Yes,” Buck nods, blinking himself back into awareness. “Yeah, alright.”
Tommy nods, satisfied, and drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s head before settling onto the left side ( his side, Buck thinks, because Tommy spends enough time here that he has a side by now) of the bed, legs spread wide. “Come here,” he tells him, voice low and dark, leaving no room for argument. “Sit with your back against my chest.”
It’s not an exaggeration to say that Buck scrambles his way across the bed and throws himself between Tommy’s legs, nestling down in the position he was told to. It’s not the most dignified he’s ever been, but the rumble in his boyfriend’s chest and the kiss that he gets on the side of his neck dispel any lingering self-consciousness.
“Somebody’s eager.”
Buck shrugs and leans back into the strong, broad arms that wrap around him. “You promised me a taste.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
He gets more kisses lavished against his neck; kisses that quickly turn sloppy and wet his skin with saliva; kisses that very quickly are accompanied with the lightest scraping of teeth; kisses that so quickly turn into bites, and, fuck, he wants to wear the imprint of Tommy’s teeth in his skin forever.
“Before I give you your taste-” Tommy starts, and he sounds so fucking composed despite the hard outline of his cock that’s started to dig into Buck’s back, “-I need to know if you’re comfortable, if your leg’s okay, if there’s anything else you need, or want.”
“Leg’s fine,” Buck confirms, stretching it out experimentally in front of him. “I’ll tell you if it changes. I’m good.” He hesitates for a second, and of course that’s all Tommy needs to pick up on it.
“Tell me,” he prompts, blowing cool air on the side of his neck that’s shiny with spit and making him shiver.
“I want-” he tries, arching his back a little at the shiver that descends down from his neck and into his spine. The words die on his tongue so he reaches back and curls a hand in Tommy’s henley. “This. Off. I want to feel you.”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
Tommy tilts them both forward enough so that he can grab the back of his shirt and pull it over his head and Buck barely waits for the shirt to hit the floor before he’s leaning back in those arms again.
“Better?” he asks.
“So much better.”
Tommy drops a kiss to his shoulder. “Good. Now, for your taste you’re getting my fingers. We’re going to practice, so you can see how it might feel to have something in your throat, see if you really want to do this. If you need to pause, or want to stop, or feel uncomfortable, you can pinch my leg and we will, alright? Promise me you’ll tap out if you need it.”
Buck nods; Tommy doesn’t play around when it comes to his comfort, he takes it so incredibly seriously, treats him like he’s something precious, something to be worshipped, and it should scare the shit out of him but it just makes him feel safe.
“I promise.”
“Good. Mouth open, tongue out for me,” Tommy says with a tap to his chin.
Buck does as he’s told and barely has to wait a second before Tommy’s sliding two of his thick fingers into his mouth, the weight of them resting against his tongue. Buck takes them easily - Tommy’s fingers are thick, but not quite as thick as his cock and he might not be an expert, but he’s had that cock in his mouth enough by now to know what that heavy weight feels like. He hums around them and tries to work his tongue between the two of them to get them slick and wet, only to get a swat to his thigh in reprimand.
“None of that, sweet boy,” Tommy hums, pressing down on his tongue to still it, inadvertently forcing Buck’s jaw open a little wider. “That’s not what this is, just keep your mouth open and let me play with you.”
Buck makes a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat and leans back into Tommy’s chest when his fingers push deeper, lingering just at the precipice of where he would usually gag - a tease, a promise. He keeps them there and the hedonist in Buck is half-tempted to jerk his head forwards just to feel them forced down his throat, just to feel something, but he doesn’t.
“Good boy,” Tommy says, like he fucking knows exactly what was going through his head, and then he slides those two fingers into his throat and Buck-
Buck gags.
It’s a loud and wet and messy sound, and Tommy keeps his fingers there making him gag around them again. He pushes them deeper, holds for a second or two longer than is comfortable, before pulling them out completely - the gasps of air Buck draws in are so deep he feels a little lightheaded with them.
“You good?” Tommy asks him, as if his brain isn’t leaking out of his fucking ears.
He nods.
“Words, sweetheart. I need words.”
“I’m good.” Fuck, maybe it’s in his head but his voice already sounds a little rough and there’s the beginning of an ache in his throat - the thought makes his cock twitch
Tommy hums his approval. “You want to go again?”
Buck’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth even as he chokes out a desperate little, “ yeah.”
He doesn’t even have to beg for it like he normally would, Tommy just taps two of his fingers against his bottom lip and Buck drops his mouth open and then they’re in his throat again. They make it a little deeper this time before he gags around the intrusion again, only this time Tommy doesn’t pull them out. He pushes them deeper until he’s knuckle deep in Buck’s throat and he holds them there.
“Fuck, Evan,” Tommy curses, and Buck has to make a conscious effort to listen over the sound of ringing in his ears. “Your pretty throat keeps tightening around my fingers.” His mouth is right there next to Buck’s ear and his body is hit with the sudden realisation that he could come from this - from some fingers in his throat and a dirty voice whispering in his ear. “I wonder if it’ll feel this tight around my cock.”
And fuck, if that doesn’t make him start dripping, his cock dribbling a steady stream of precum over his abs.
“Oh, you like the sound of that?”
Buck nods, pushing those fingers deeper as Tommy keeps up his steady stream of dirty talk.
“You already look so good when you suck me off, sweetheart, I bet you’ll look so much prettier choking around it, your throat all full of me.”
Tommy moves his fingers out of his throat but keeps them in his mouth and it’s almost instinctive the way Buck starts sucking them deeper and working his tongue around them.
“I’ve never met anybody as eager for it as you are,” Tommy laughs, just on the border of condescending (which, huh, maybe that’s another conversation they’ll need to have because it’s working for him) and kisses the tender spot behind Buck’s ear which makes him whine, a high pitched noise that builds in the back of his throat until he can’t choke it back. It’s not fucking fair that Tommy can have a mouth filthy enough to make him blush, and also get to be sweet with it too.
The fingers get pushed down into his throat again. “This is exactly how you’re going to take my cock when we do this, isn’t it, Evan?” Tommy says, pulling his fingers back and pushing them forwards again, thrusting into his throat the same way he fucks them into him when he preps him. “Nice and slow at first so you can get used to it in there.”
There’s drool and spit leaking out the sides of his mouth, dripping down his chin and it becomes apparently clear why Tommy wanted him to change into something old when he feels the grey LAFD shirt sticking to his skin, dark and wet with his spit.
It’s messy, it’s so messy and Buck should feel disgusted at being covered in his own saliva; at the way it gathers and leaks out the corners of his mouth, at how much more drips down his chin when Tommy pulls his fingers out, but he doesn’t. He feels debauched, owned, and kind of like his head might start floating off of his shoulders if he keeps sinking into this feeling.
“But you don’t do well with slow, do you?” Tommy continues, his voice a tether. “Especially not the first time. It won’t take you long at all to get it right down here-” the fingers in his throat thrust so deep that Buck thinks he can feel them in his fucking stomach, “-to take me all the way like I know you can. I bet I’ll be able to see me in there, my cock buried so deep in you just like you want.” There’s a pause for a second, and then Tommy’s free hand moves up to rest on Buck’s throat. He doesn’t press down, doesn’t apply any sort of pressure, just leaves it there so that he can feel the weight of it like a promise. “I bet I’ll be able to feel it.”
That thought alone - of Tommy being so damn deep inside him that he can see it, of him being able to rest his hand there and feel the bulge of it in his throat - is almost enough to have him spilling all over himself untouched.
Almost.
The fingers from his throat disappear again and his mouth feels empty. Too empty. He wants them back, wants them filling him up again, wants the weight of them on his tongue, holding it down and making him drool around them, he wants- he wants- he wants so badly.
“Look at the mess you’ve made.”
Tommy’s voice cuts through the staticky cotton-wool feeling in his head and Buck has to blink a few times to clear the blurriness out of his eyes when a hand appears in front of his face and- oh.
That’s Tommy’s hand.
Tommy’s hand that’s slick and wet down to the wrist with his spit and his drool and it should be gross, it should be disgusting, but it just makes more heat unfurl in his belly.
“Tommy,” Buck whines. He thinks he might be shaking but Tommy’s hand drops from his neck and curls around his waist and holds him so tight that at least if he shakes apart, he knows Tommy will be there to slot the pieces back together.
“Look how hard you are, all from having your throat played with a little,” Tommy hums, and then he wraps the hand that’s slick with Buck’s spit around his cock and starts sliding it up and down. It’s so fucking wet he doesn’t even need lube and- this isn’t going to last. Buck’s going to come embarrassingly quickly.
“More th’n a little,” Buck mumbles, tucking his face into the crook of Tommy’s neck. He can’t watch the way he’s playing with his cock or else it’ll all be over.
Tommy laughs, a low rumble in his chest that Buck can feel against his back, and drops a kiss to the side of his head. “Alright, from having your throat played with a lot, but you liked it. Look at you, you’re dripping.”
Buck whines, the sound slightly muffled from where he’s nuzzled up against Tommy so intensely it’s like he’s trying to claw his way underneath his skin to fucking live there or something.
“Look at yourself, Evan.”
He shakes his head.
Tommy stills his hand.
Buck wails. “Tommy-”
“I said look, sweetheart.”
“I can’t.”
Tommy drags his thumb across the head of his cock, smearing the precum around it. “You can.”
Buck shakes his head again, insistent. “If I look then I’ll come.”
Tommy, apparently, fails to see an issue with this if the way he tightens his grip around his cock is anything to go by. “So come. Let me see it, let me see you.”
He so desperately wants to hold on, to ride this high out as long as possible - this isn’t a three or four round kind of night, Buck knows after this he’s going to be spent, that when he comes it’s going to suck everything out of him and leave him boneless and dammit, he wants this to last, he will make this last.
Tommy uncurls his hand from around his cock, a few seconds of precious relief, but then his spit and come covered hand nudges at Buck’s jaw, cupping it tenderly and coaxing his face out of his neck until they’re looking at each other, both their eyes blown wide with lust and the hint of another L word that Buck isn’t brave enough to think about when he’s got his own come and spit on his jaw.
“You did so good, Evan,” Tommy tells him, voice so soft and sincere and thankful with Buck for letting him have this that Buck thinks he might just fucking melt or something. “Please will you let me make you come now?”
Desperation claws under his skin and, once his limbs have remembered that they’re limbs, he moves his arm behind him and starts pawing at the waistband of Tommy’s pants. “Only if you come with me.”
Tommy doesn’t even bother lifting his hips to take them off, he just shoves the sweatpants down below his balls so his cock is free for Buck to get a hand around. “I don’t think that’s going to be much of a hardship,” he says, playful, and then gets his own hand back around Buck’s cock, mouth working its way across his shoulder.
“Can’t wait to have it in my throat,” Buck coos, voice a little muffled as he lets himself bury his face in Tommy’s neck again. He smells like sweat and sex and that stupid sandalwood soap that Buck thinks he can taste when he opens his mouth and gets his tongue on all that skin.
“Can’t wait to be in your throat,” Tommy adds, twisting his wrist on every upstroke, grip so tight and hot and perfect that Buck can’t not start fucking his hips up into it. “Fuck, you’ll feel so good; all hot and tight and wet around me.”
Buck nods, breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Just for you.”
“Yeah, baby? All mine?”
“Yeah, all yours.”
Tommy kisses the spot behind his ear again. “Prove it. Come for me, make a mess of us.”
That, coupled with two more long, slick drags of the hand up the length of his cock is all it takes for Buck to come. He sinks his teeth into Tommy’s neck hard enough that he knows there’ll be some sort of outline of them for days, and Tommy’s cock jerks in his hand at the swell of painpleasurepainpleasurepainpleasure that it sends pumping through him. It seems like his orgasm goes on for-fucking-ever, like he can’t come down from the high of it even with Tommy whispering praises in his ear calling him his good boy.
“Tommy-” he pants, head rolling back against the shoulder behind him; it traps his arm at an awkward angle but Tommy doesn’t seem to care about the way it makes him tighten his grip around his cock, “-come, please.”
Tommy fucks his hips up one, two, three more times before he comes too, spilling over Buck’s hand, the skin over the small of his back where his shirt’s rucked up, and soaking into some of the fabric. It’s hot, feeling claimed like that, it’s so fucking hot that his softening dick twitches in Tommy’s hand, a valiant attempt at getting hard again.
He keeps a hold of Tommy’s cock until he softens and only when it does does he shift out of the awkward position he’d slipped into it. His shoulder protests at the sudden change when he brings his hand up to his mouth and licks some of the come off of it - behind him, Tommy’s cock twitches against his back.
Buck doesn’t even get the opportunity to swallow any of it before Tommy’s kissing him, tongue pushing straight into his mouth to chase his own come out of it. Once it’s gone, Buck coaxes the hand that’d just spent so long in his mouth back up to his lips so that he can lick his own come off of it and, once he sticks his tongue out to show Tommy the mess of white gathered there, he kisses him again so they can trade it back and forth.
Their kisses turn slow and lazy and satiated quickly, even with the taste of come still on their tongues. They end up trading shallow breaths and small pecks until Buck feels a heavy weight on his stomach and-
“Are you wiping the come off of your hand with my shirt ?” Buck huffs, indignant. The little voice in the back of his head that reminds him that it’s hot, that begs him to never wash this shirt ever again, gets locked away.
“It was already dirty,” Tommy rationalises, smiling his satisfied little post-orgasm smile. “Didn’t want to risk the sheets.”
“Dick,” he scoffs, but doesn’t bother protesting more.
“Plus, I was sparing the thermos,” Tommy adds, grappling at the bedside table until he curls the hand around the thermos. He curls Buck’s own hands around it once he gets it into his lap and pops the lid open. “Drink. It’s got honey, it’ll help your throat.”
Buck hums and curls his fingers around the warm metal. “My throat feels fin-”
Tommy cuts him off. “Drink, Evan.”
“Bossy.”
Still, the part of him that knows that Tommy’s taking care of him preens under the instruction and he takes a few sips from the flask. The tea’s warm and smooth and, begrudging as he is to admit it, feels good when it slides down his throat. They stay like that, back to chest, whilst Buck sips at the tea and Tommy traces small shapes into his skin with his fingers, until his leg starts to cramp and they both start feeling a little gross as the come dries on their skin.
“How do you feel?” Tommy asks when he comes back from the bathroom with a warm, wet rag that he uses to wipe the come off of Buck’s tummy after he’s stripped him of his ruined shirt. “Any discomfort? Or pain? Anything you didn’t like?”
“My throat’s a little sore,” Buck admits, skin prickling into goosebumps wherever Tommy drags the cloth. “But I liked it. A lot. All of it.”
Tommy hums his acknowledgement whilst he finishes cleaning him off, tossing the cloth over his shoulder where it lands on the floor with a wet thud when he’s done with it. Buck wants to complain about mold and the linoleum and the deposit his damn landlord’s holding hostage, but then Tommy’s kissing his stomach and settling down on the bed next to him and, well, one damp rag won’t hurt for now.
“Good,” he concedes with a nod. “Next week- if you still want to- you know-”
“Have you in my throat?” Buck finishes for him, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smirk. “What was it you said? Something about me being all hot and tight and wet around your cock?”
“Yes,” Tommy says, gritting his teeth at the reminder, because as much as his dick wants to be interested, he isn’t thirty anymore. “That.”
“I still want it,” he says simply because he does. He wants all of it.
“We’ll talk about it more when you’re not come drunk-”
“-I am not come drunk !-”
“-but it’ll be a lot more intense than what we just did. My dick is thicker than the two fingers you took.”
Buck rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, maliceless. From some people that might have sounded like a humblebrag, but not from Tommy. He just says it like a fact - the sun rises, the sun sets, his dick is huge.
“Yes, Thomas,” Buck teases. “I’m familiar with the size of your dick, it’d be pretty hard to miss considering how often it’s inside me.”
“Stop trying to make me hard again,” Tommy groans, burying his face in Buck’s pillow to stifle his groan.
“I can’t help that you’re incredibly attracted to me!”
“God, you are such a brat.”
Buck laughs to himself and rolls onto his side so that he’s facing Tommy. He shoves an arm under his pillow and settles in, content to bask in this feeling of comfort and warmth and safety.
“Thank you for trusting me with this,” Tommy hums, mirroring the position so that they’re laying on their sides, facing each other.
Buck’s eyes drift down to the red imprint of his teeth marring Tommy’s neck and his stomach flutters at the fact that he’s wearing his mark. “Tommy, I-”
“I’m not taking it back,” he insists. “I know you’re going to say I don’t need to thank you, but I want to. This was a big thing, and it was important to you. I'm glad you trusted me with it, I’m glad I could give this to you. I want to give you everything you want, Evan.”
This time when his stomach flutters, it’s less to do with lust and more to do with that other L word that’s a little scary to think about. “I’ll remind you of this conversation when I call you on break tomorrow and you get hard at the sound of my voice all gravelly.”
“Brat,” Tommy scoffs for the umpteenth time that night and shifts onto his back. “See if I help you come up with an excuse as to why you sound like you’ve taken up sword swallowing.”
“Oh, I’ll be swallowing a sword alright-”
Tommy groans. “God, that was awful. You’ll be lucky if I let you take my cock in your throat after that.”
Buck laughs and curls up a little closer to his boyfriend - Tommy’s arm instinctively wraps around him and pulls him in closer. “You wouldn’t do that. I know you want it in there as much as I do.”
Tommy says nothing, which just spurs him on.
“All hot and tight and wet, remember?”
“Goodnight, Evan.”