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His throat fucking hurts .
It’s not the only thing that hurts, no, Buck hurts everywhere from head to toe, a striking ache spreading all over his body, sizzling deep into his bones and consuming him all around, and everything that’s happened only a few hours ago feels like a bad dream.
He feels shaken up still, limbs trembling like he just had an out of body experience, and Buck can’t stop the shiver running down his spine as he remembers the tightness of the rough hand wrapped around his throat like a barbed wire. He can’t stop remembering the feeling of his lungs threatening to give up here and there, can’t stop thinking about the way the strong rush of his blood pumping against his ears nonstop, and he definitely can’t forget the horrifying feeling of his throat closing up as he was begging to gasp in a breath of air but failing, his eyes deciding to roll back and his body swinging over the edge of to passing out if it wasn’t for Chim and Eddie getting the guy off of him.
Buck’s heart is still beating too fast for its own good as he slides the keys and lets himself into the loft— Bobby told him to go home and rest after Hen cleared him; he’s finally alone where he can bury himself under the covers and shut down, but the adrenaline coursing through his system is finally crashing down, and every tiny ache Buck has been desperately trying to ignore up until now is kicking back with a full force, making it impossible for Buck to focus on anything other than the painachepressureburn crawling up and down his neck, surrounding his head and lungs.
He tosses his belongings onto the floor as he walks past them, phone in his back pocket, and immediately aims upstairs to the bedroom, taking tired, slow steps as he drags his feet one by one, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying tons of bricks on them.
It makes him look small.
His throat scratches from the inside where he can’t reach, as if there are tiny invisible ants biting him; Buck wants to pierce his hand through and scratch but the pain is so rough that even having a glass of water seems like a torture. He almost got choked again when Hen encouraged him to drink a glass of warm water in the hospital, and he’s not willing to do that again no matter how thirsty he is.
Once he’s upstairs, Buck slowly unbuttons his uniform, laying it on the edge of the bed, followed by his trousers, and puts on a loose, old t-shirt, as well as his black sweatpants that hang a little lower below his waist. Now that the prickling sensation of the fabric rubbing his skin is gone, Buck feels a little more at ease, the heavy tension on his muscles disappear halfway, but everything comes back to smack him on the head when he takes a step into the bathroom, and stands in front of the mirror, his heart dropping in his chest as he stares at his own reflection.
He looks horrible .
Under the bright light, Buck’s eyes are bloodshot in contrast to his ghost white skin, a worn down expression sitting on his face. The lines on his forehead are deeper and his lips are twisted down, he looks like a train ran him over, but the real blow hits Buck when his eyes trail down his face and fall on his throat, where it hurts the most.
There’s an ugly bruise on his neck, a dark purple print of a hand wrapped around his pale skin, it’s big and there , there’s no way to hide it— he can’t stop looking at it, and as he stares at the ugly proof of what happened not so long before, tears prickle Buck’s eyes and his chest begins to feels tight. His brows furrow, and Buck clenches his jaw to silence the wounded sound building up in his throat.
He lifts a shaky hand to his neck and presses the tip of his fingers on the bruise, tilting his head to the side as he trails them along his throat, but lets out a sharp breath and drops his hand just like that, clenching his eyes shut.
He can’t do this.
He looks ugly.
Oh , he looks so fucking ug—
The ringing of his phone coming from the bedroom interrupts his spiral, and Buck picks up the phone to see Tommy calling him.
The beat of his heart quickens at the name, and the tiniest of warmths fills his stomach; letting out a deep breath, Buck winces as he clears his throat and accepts the call.
“H’y.” Buck croaks out.
God, he sounds awful.
“Evan.” Tommy’s voice sounds worried over the line. Buck doesn’t like it. “Just saw your text? Are you okay?”
“I— I’m—” He ends up coughing and his face twists in pain, but thankfully Buck manages to keep it under control, brows wrinkling as he swallows. “C’n we text instead?”
He hears Tommy huffing out a breath. “Okay, okay. Where are you? Are you at home?”
Buck drops his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah.”
He sounds so weak and tired— he is , but he doesn’t want Tommy to hear him like this. Too soon.
There's a shuffling sound, and then Tommy says: “Okay. I’m coming over.”
Tears start to burn his eyes, and Buck only sniffles, nodding. “Ok’y.”
The line goes dead shortly after, and Buck throws his phone on the mattress before climbing on top of the covers with a groan leaving his lips, lying on his back.
He’s really tired, he realizes, now that he’s all sequestered and unguarded; closing his eyes, Buck decides to soak the stillness in and tries to ignore the constant pain pressing his body.
He wakes up to a gentle knock on his door.
And to a headache that squeezes his brain and neck, putting a harsh pressure behind his eyes.
His throat isn’t any better— it’s in fact worse, itchy and scratchy and burning , and Buck can’t hide the distraught sound vibrating his throat as he swallows once, twice, and gets up to go downstairs, a pained expression on his tired face.
An anxious feeling blooms in his stomach as Buck makes his way to the door, slight tremors on his hands— he doesn’t want to think about the way Tommy’s face turns to disgust when he opens the door, doesn’t want to see the hesitance on Tommy’s face when— if he reaches for Buck’s bruises to get a better look, but Tommy’s standing behind the door and Buck isn’t the one to keep him waiting.
So, slowly, Buck pulls the door open, and a restrained smile curves up his lips as he greets the other man, his heart racing at the thought of what to come.
But when Buck’s reddened eyes meet Tommy’s, the look on Tommy’s face softens just like that, his expression shifting to a gentle concern, and Buck feels fuzzy all over again.
“Hey.” Buck manages to speak clearly this time, stepping aside as Tommy walks in.
Tommy’s stare is too intense, too gentle for Buck to handle, he finds himself averting his gaze and looking down.
“Evan.” Tommy says softly, with worry, and places his fingers under Buck’s chin to tilt it up, taking another step and leaning closer. “My God.”
Tommy’s hand slides down to rest on his neck, a featherlight sensation, and traces the tip of his fingers over the ugly bruises on Buck’s throat, touching every inch of dark patch of skin so gently as he examines, like he’s scared to hurt him.
The feeling sends shivers down Buck’s spine, the feeling of big, calloused hands caressing him so tenderly ; Buck holds his breath as he looks at Tommy’s worried face, and tears prickle his eyes once again because it’s too much, too kind, too good. He’s scared he’s going to combust at any second.
Tommy must have felt the fast beat of his heart beneath his fingertips, because he looks up to face him, and his eyes glisten with care as he sighs and quietly says: “Evan, hey.”
Lifting his hand up, Tommy cups Buck’s face and strokes his thumb back and forth along his cheekbone, wiping away the drop of tear dampening his skin.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
Buck contemplates saying no, saying he’s just bruised and it looks worse than it is, but there is something about the other man that makes Buck want to be vulnerable with him— for some reason Tommy’s presence urges him to drop his guard and let go, so that’s what Buck does.
“Uh—” His hand loosely rests around his throat, scratching. “It’s— I think it h’rts.”
“Anywhere else?” Tommy asks.
Buck closes his eyes, drops his head, and mumbles a low whimper that only Tommy can hear when another wave of pain strikes his head. “Head hurts, too.”
His throat burns every time he speaks and his face screws in pain, a thin mewl escaping him; Tommy seems to understand the deal because he places his thumb on Buck’s lips and keeps it there.
“Shh, don’t force it.” He says, stroking his bottom lip. Tilting his head to meet Buck’s eyes, Tommy brings his hand to pet the other man’s hair. “Did you take any painkillers?”
Buck gives him a hesitant head shake.
God, he’s really achy.
Tommy nods in acknowledgement, cards his fingers through Buck’s hair one more time, and slides his hand down Buck’s shoulder until it falls to his side.
Buck instantly misses the way Tommy’s touch feels against his skin but a part of him feels weird to ask for more, but as if he sensed it, Tommy wraps his arm around Buck’s waist to pull him close. “Come here.” His one hand rests on the nape of his neck, scratching, and Buck melts against his chest as he lays his head on Tommy’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
“Were you sleeping?” Tommy asks quietly and plants a barely there kiss on the crook of Buck’s throat, plastering his temple against Buck’s.
Buck shrugs weakly, and his voice comes out as a mumble. “Jus’ dozing.”
“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do.” Tommy tightens his hold around Buck. “You’re gonna go upstairs and get in the bed, I’m gonna bring you a painkiller, an ice pack, and then make you all better. How’s that sound?”
It makes Buck breathe out a light chuckle, and suddenly he doesn’t feel ice cold anymore, because Tommy’s arms are around him, and his voice is gentle, and everything coming out of his mouth oozes safety , and everything feels fresh and new and right , and Buck can’t stop sinking deeper into the other man’s embrace.
A shy smile finds his face, and Buck gives Tommy a tiny nod. “Good.”
It doesn’t take long for Tommy to come upstairs.
Buck is already settled in bed in a sitting position, his back resting against the pillows and head dropped back against the headboard, and Tommy swims into his line of vision with a tray in his hand— an ice pack, a cup of water, a plastic bottle, and a cream container, as Buck stares at the stairs.
Buck feels exhaustion creeping up on him already, now that he’s in bed— and, fuck , the grounding feeling of Tommy’s arms around him was almost enough for him to ignore the painachepressure crushing his head and lungs, but now his brain is too jaded to keep the act and, yeah, he’s hurting alright.
The throbbing of his head picks up a notch just when the lump in his throat feels heavier and prickling as on cue, and it must be visible on his face or he must’ve made a wounded sound or both , because after Tommy places the tray on the nightstand, he sits next to Buck and leans closer, placing a tiny kiss on Buck’s forehead that warms his insides.
“Evan.”
Buck’s eyes flutter open— when did he even close them, and he winces as he tries to swallow, wincing again after clearing his throat and straightening himself up in the bed. “ ‘m ‘wake.”
With a soft smile, Tommy takes the glass from the nightstand and hands it to Buck. “Okay, then.” Unscrewing the plastic bottle to pop out two tablets. “Painkillers first.”
Buck does what Tommy says and quickly puts them in his mouth— he wants to get this over with, and Tommy watches him close as he lets out a breath, and takes a few sips of the water.
He does end up groaning and it burns when he swallows, barely keeping the fluid in to not choke or throw up; once he’s done, Tommy takes the glass from his hand— fingers brushing as he does, and puts it back in its place.
Scooting closer, Tommy places his finger under Buck’s chin, gently tilts it to the side as he knits his brows and examines the bruise, and it’s— it’s overwhelming— how Tommy carefully looks those ugly patches instead of turning away, and a rush of something Buck can’t describe washes him over as he watches Tommy with big, awestruck eyes and parted lips.
The feeling grows bigger when Tommy comes even more closer and plants the tiniest pecks on one of the darkest spots.
It’s nothing sexual, it doesn’t linger and Tommy’s lips barely touch his skin before he pulls away to get the ice pack, but Buck’s heart does a summersault like crazy anyway.
Buck has never been a big fan of ice packs, is the thing, so naturally he sours his face when Tommy takes it in his hand for the next thing; he chokes out a hiss and squirms when Tommy gently presses it on his throat, clenching his jaw and eyes shut, but Tommy’s hand wrapped around his forearm keeps him in place, holds him steady whenever Buck lets out a whimper or flinches away from the ice cold sensation.
“Almost done.”
Tommy reassures him while pressing the pack here and there, his thumb occasionally caressing his forearm, and Buck barely bites back his whimpers while he lets Tommy treat him.
The next comes the soothing cream Tommy somehow found in his bathroom, and Buck has to keep still for that, too, but this one doesn’t hurt as much. Tommy delicately traces his fingers on his bruises and slowly spreads the cream, taking his time doing it, and the touch of the other man’s hand on his skin puts him at ease, curbs the intense emotions swirling in his stomach, for the first time in a long while, it feels right when someone touches him.
By the time Tommy is done tending to his bruises, Buck feels seconds away from crashing.
If it wasn’t for the headache.
His brain feels mushy, and his limbs feel numb, weak, he wants to shut down so bad— his body probably begs him to let go, but there is a constant static ringing in his ears and a piercing pain penetrating his head and kicks behind his eyes that Buck can’t focus on anything other than that, and god damn it, his head hurts.
The expression on his face shifting to agony, Buck closes his eyes, drops his head in his hand and he can’t hide the shaky whimper tearing his throat this time.
“Evan?” Tommy is quick to notice, brows arched in concern. He wraps his fingers around Buck’s wrist and tilts his head, nudging Buck’s arm to see him closer. “What’s wrong?”
“ ‘m fine.” Buck shakes his head— big mistake, and chokes out another sound that’s dangerously close to a sob, and whispers: “M’head’s killin’ me.”
The next thing Buck knows, the weight of the mattress is shifting, and Buck is being maneuvered until he is laying on his back next to Tommy. There are arms wrapped around his torso— strong but gentle arms, and they pull him close, and it clicks to Buck only when Tommy buries his fingers into the back of his hair and pushes his head down, the other man is guiding Buck to rest his head above his chest.
His body feels a little tense— he’s never done…this before, with a man at least, there is a quiet buzz in his ear whispering he’s going to fuck it up and the pain in his head only makes him more anxious but at the same time, he feels a huge portion of the invisible weight dragging him down fading away, and he finds himself melting against Tommy.
Sliding one arm under Buck, Tommy keeps his hand on Buck’s back, and lifts his other hand to Buck’s face, applying the right amount of pressure on his temple.
“Oh.” His brows furrow at the sudden pressure, a throb making its way, but then Buck lets out a soft sigh between his parted lips, and his eyes flutter.
“I know.” Tommy hums, rubbing Buck’s temple.
He keeps massaging Buck’s head, rubs his temple; he slides his hand up to bury his fingers into Buck’s curls and scratches his scalp and, oh , it feels so soothing, Buck slightly moves his head up and leans into the touch, the tip of his nose touching the part under Tommy’s chin.
It earns him a breathy chuckle from Tommy, and his fingers rub Buck’s scalp so rhythmically that Buck feels himself slowly collapsing on top of the other man, letting all his weight go.
“You think you can get some sleep?” Tommy whispers before he nuzzles his nose on top of Buck’s curls and places a barely there kiss. “Evan?”
He’s too out of it to form a sentence, his body feels loose and his brain feels like cotton candy, so Buck settles for a low hm , and lets out a sigh.
The last thing he feels before he drifts is Tommy loosening his hold just a little to tilt his head, and locks his lips with Buck’s. It’s a short kiss, not even that deep, but Tommy’s lips feel warm against his own, sinking into his chest, and Buck allows himself to surrender. With that, Tommy readjusts their position to before and tightens his hold once again.
A few hours later, Buck is going to wake up feeling slightly better and give Tommy a thank you kiss for it, and heat is going to spread his cheeks when Tommy holds him close and kisses him back but for now, Tommy rests his chin on top of Buck's head, keeps petting his hair, rubs his back, places occasional pecks on top of his head, and Buck sleeps.