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Buck’s a laid-back guy. Sure, he gets intense during calls and he’d rather die than give up in Scrabble, but he goes with the flow. He does.
So he has no idea why he can’t control his jealousy when it comes to Tommy.
He honestly thought he knew jealousy. He’d get irritated when a guy would hit on his girlfriend when they’re obviously at the bar together. He’d forget about it the moment the guy’s out of sight, though, and looking back, it might’ve been an ego thing rather than a jealousy thing.
God, even Abby, probably his most serious relationship, didn’t affect him like this. Finding out she’s engaged, seeing her with Sam, it was a shock but not a horror. He’d gotten over her years ago.
Tommy, though…
Buck didn’t even know he was into dudes when he’d acted like a caveman and twisted Eddie’s ankle. He feels awful about it now, but back then he’d felt almost good, some ancient instinct deep in him purring in satisfaction at having… conquered the enemy or whatever, Buck doesn’t even know.
And now he’s dating Tommy and suddenly there are enemies everywhere, guys eyeing him up at the bar, baristas writing their numbers on his coffee cup, waiters flirting with him right in front of Buck because apparently two men can’t possibly be on a date together.
It’s not that he thinks Tommy would cheat on him. In fact, Tommy’s always either adorably oblivious to their come-ons or he shuts it down politely but firmly. Buck has nothing to worry about.
And yet.
“What’s on your mind, Buck?” Hen asks him, snapping his attention away from the sight of Tommy leaning over the bar, jeans stretching over his ass like second skin – pleasant – and the bartender leaning right back, a roguish grin on his face – not pleasant. “You’ve been giving someone the good ol’ Buck glare for a few minutes now.”
“You see the bartender, right?” he grumbles, not even trying for casual. “What do they even have to talk about other than what he’s getting to drink?”
“Tommy’s a friendly guy,” Eddie reasons, sipping his sweating beer. “They’re probably just talkin’ about the weather.”
“Yeah, right.”
Buck misses the exasperated look his friends give each other, too busy trying to will the bartender into exploding with his eyes. Something must go right, because Tommy picks up the tray of drinks and carefully makes his way back to their table.
The bartender’s eyes linger a bit too long for Buck’s taste, on Tommy’s legs, his ass, his shoulders, his anything because they’re all worth staring at but that doesn’t mean Buck wants anyone but him to do it.
“Shots for everyone, there you go,” Tommy says, sliding the tray on the table, Chimney’s greedy fingers already grabbing two. “Evan, move over a bit.”
“Why, you don’t want to sit in my lap?” Buck asks, too petulantly for Tommy to ignore. He gets raised eyebrows in response.
“I can sit in your lap at home if you want. Now scoot.”
Buck makes room with a grumble, still grabbing at Tommy’s hips and waist when he sits because he needs to touch him in case the bartender is still watching. Tommy doesn’t even blink when Buck rests one arm across the backrest of the booth, the other hand gripping Tommy’s muscled thigh, essentially trapping him in Buck’s embrace.
He doesn’t have any free hands to drink, but that’s okay. The bartender has a sour look on his face when he turns to serve a different customer and Buck’s chest rumbles with a satisfied hum.
“What’s with you?” Tommy asks him lowly, his breath warm on Buck’s cheek.
Buck kisses him in lieu of answering, forcing his – his – boyfriend’s lips open with his tongue. Tommy goes with it, always goes with whatever Buck’s doing, no questions asked. Tommy never makes Buck feel like he’s too much or too little, always patient and fond and keeping up.
It’s far from their first kiss, could be in the tens of thousands at this point, but it sure feels like that time in Buck’s kitchen, heart stopping and then soaring, something in him clicking into place, so right.
Ignoring Chimney’s complaints of PDA, Buck swipes a thumb over Tommy’s spit-slicked bottom lip, his own already tingling to get a second taste. “I’m going to put a ring on that finger one day, baby. No one can ever mistake you for a single man ever again after that.”
Tommy’s amused, Buck can tell, even when his face is contorted in that exasperated confusion Buck sees directed at him often. It’s in his eyes, the slight creasing around them, in the twitch of his mouth.
“You probably shouldn’t make promises to propose when you haven’t even bought a ring,” he says neutrally, but his body leans closer in affection. Buck squeezes his thigh harder, thick and hard under his hand. He can’t believe he ever thought men didn’t do it for him.
“Just letting you know. Maybe that bartender will finally stop making eyes at your ass. Look at him, he’s still glancing over here.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, smacking Buck in the stomach. His hand stays there for a moment, then two, warm and big against Buck’s abdomen. He’d clench his abs to fluster him if he weren’t on a bulk right now.
“Evan, you’re ridiculous. No one’s making eyes at my ass.”
“I’d have to disagree,” Hen pipes in and Buck remembers they’re still sitting at the same table. Awkward, except they’re so used to him by now they barely blink. “I see it happen all the time. Of course you don’t notice, your back is to them. Or, your ass is.”
“See?” Buck demands, pointing at Hen.
“Hen, don’t encourage him,” Tommy sighs, threading his fingers between Buck’s. He traps his hand in his lap, not something Buck objects to. “Not everyone is out to fuck me. Besides, you do it enough for all of them.”
Chimney grimaces.
“Boo,” Eddie says and throws back a shot.
Hen chuckles. “Honestly, it’s fascinating seeing you two. Buck never brought his girlfriends out more than once and they were never serious. I didn’t know he could get like this. He’s usually a gentleman.”
“I’m a feminist,” Buck interjects because he is. It’s not his girlfriends’ fault if they get flirted with, it’d feel weird getting all possessive on them, like they’re his property and not people with their own autonomy. He doesn’t know why Tommy is different.
“Right,” Hen says after a pause. “Anyway, that bartender was definitely making eyes at you, Tommy. You seriously didn’t notice?”
Buck lets their conversation flow over him once again, uninterested in discussing that man any further. He focuses on the feel of Tommy’s hand on his, warm skin on warm skin. It’s different from holding hands with a woman, but not in a bad way. Their hands are almost the same size, but Buck’s fingers are longer.
He imagines a ring, silvery and shiny, right there on Tommy’s finger. He’d have to take it off during work, maybe switch it to a silicone one. Buck would tattoo Tommy’s name on his ring finger in a heartbeat if he didn’t know Maddie would kill him for it.
He doesn’t know if that’s his impulsive personality pushing through again. He tends to go all-out in his relationships, give more than he receives, and maybe he’s done some stupid things that felt right in the moment but months later, after a break-up, make him wince.
He’d like to think Tommy isn’t like anyone else, though. That this is it for him, just like it’s it for Buck. For the first time, he’s thinking of the future, not just now. He’s not drunk on the novelty of a new person, he’s not confusing good sex for a good relationship.
They’ve been together longer than any of Buck’s past relationships, they live together. He knows Tommy doesn’t wash his dishes until they pile up, knows he hogs the blankets. He’s met Buck’s parents, for fuck’s sake, if that’s not real, he doesn’t know what is.
Yeah. He’s not rushing into a stupid decision this time. Maddie might still kill him if he dares to get a name, any name, tattooed, but that’s fine. Maybe he doesn’t need a tattoo to keep Tommy in his life. Just a ring and two words.
When they leave the bar a few hours later, passing by the bartender pretending to wipe down the counters, Buck plasters himself close to Tommy, one hand on his lower back, the other fiddling with Tommy’s fingers. He doesn’t bother looking at the bartender’s reaction.
No, he doesn’t worry about Tommy cheating. It still feels good to claim him like that, in public, Tommy letting him.
At home, a black box waits in his sock drawer, bundled inside his ugliest cartoon socks so Tommy will never find it. One day, Buck will take it out and it will wait in his pocket instead.