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1. The Battle of the Couch Blanket
Tommy had been home from the hospital for a week, and the couch had become his prison and sanctuary in equal measure. His leg, encased in a cast and elevated on pillows, stretched across the length of it while Buck flitted around like an overzealous nurse.
“Evan,” Tommy called from the couch. “Where’s the blanket?”
Buck poked his head out from the kitchen, a cookie in his mouth and a mug in his hand. “You mean the one you kicked off five minutes ago?”
Tommy scowled. “It was too warm then. It’s not now.”
With a dramatic sigh, Buck retrieved the blanket from the floor and draped it over Tommy’s lap with exaggerated precision. “Anything else, Your Highness? Your crown? Some snacks delivered by gold tray?”
“Just your undivided attention,” Tommy replied with a smirk. “I'm sorry, I'm such a grump.”
Buck rolled his eyes, but the fondness in them gave him away. “First responders always make for the worst patients.”
---
2. The Couch as a Command Center
The couch had become Tommy’s unofficial headquarters. From his spot, leg propped up and crutches within reach, he directed his boyfriend through the endless list of holiday tasks.
“Evan, did you mail the cards yet?” Tommy asked, shifting slightly to adjust the pillow behind him.
Buck, balancing a tray of freshly layered lasagna, gave him a long-suffering look. “Yes, General. Yesterday. Along with the package for your cousin.”
“And the grocery list?”
“Checked off,” Buck replied, setting the tray down on the kitchen counter, ready for the oven. “Anything else?”
Tommy squinted, clearly trying to think of something. “Did you—”
Buck cut him off with a dramatic groan. “Babe, I’ve got it covered. You’re supposed to be resting, not micromanaging me from the couch.”
Tommy, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t have to micromanage if you weren’t so bad at multitasking…?” He knew this wasn't true, his boyfriend was anything but.
“Bad at multitasking?” Buck echoed, arching a brow. He pointed at the tray of cookies, the perfectly wrapped gifts under the tree, and the spotless kitchen visible from the living room. “Care to repeat that?”
The pilot’s grin widened. “Fine. You’ve earned a break. Come here, Evan.”
The younger man leaned down, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “How gracious, your Highness. Thank you.”
“Don’t be a brat, Evan,” Tommy quipped, but his smile was softer now, his hand brushing Buck’s wrist as he settled back against the cushions.
---
3. The Couch Is Sacred
Buck had invited Hen and Chimney over for a movie night, promising a cozy evening of bad Christmas films and good snacks. When they arrived, though, Tommy was already sprawled across the couch, leg propped up on a pillow, and his crutches leaning against the armrest.
Hen eyed the setup, arms crossed. “So... where exactly are we supposed to sit?”
Tommy, without missing a beat, gestured to his cast. “I’m injured, Hen. Couch privileges come with the territory.”
Chim grinned, flopping into the one available armchair. “He’s got a point, Henrietta. Man’s earned it.”
“Thank you, Howie,” Tommy said, flashing a satisfied smile. “Finally, some respect around here.” Burrowing deeper into the pillows, he winked at his boyfriend.
Hen shot Buck an amused look. “And you’re just going to let him claim the throne like that?”
Buck rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “Trust me, Hen, you try telling him to move. I’m not risking it. The couch and him are a unit now.”
“Smart man,” Tommy quipped, adjusting the blanket over his lap.
With a resigned sigh, Buck dragged a couple of dining chairs into the living room, setting them up by the coffee table. “There. Perfect view. And no one steals my popcorn.”
The pilot gave him an exaggerated look of mock offense. “You wouldn’t share with a man on crutches? I was JUST in a helicopter crash.”
Hen snorted, grabbing a chair and pulling it closer. “Wow, he’s milking it for all it’s worth.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Tommy shot back, grinning as Buck handed him a bowl of popcorn without a word.
“Wrapped around his finger,” Hen murmured to Chimney, who nodded sagely.
“Absolutely,” the curly haired man admitted, plopping down on the other dining chair and throwing a fond look in Tommy’s direction. “And you know what? I’m fine with it.”
Tommy reached out to grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That’s why I keep you around.”
“Oh, sure,” Buck said dryly, though his smile grew as the movie started. “I love you too, you diva.”
---
4. The Couch as an Obstacle Course
After another long day of sitting around, Tommy decided he’d had enough. The couch, as comfortable as it was, was starting to feel like a prison. “I need to move,” he muttered to himself, reaching for his crutches.
From his spot on the couch, Buck looked up from his book. “Where are you going?”
“To the kitchen,” Tommy said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “I’m getting my own snacks for once.”
The younger man raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I can get something for you.”
“Nope,” the pilot replied, already hobbling his way around the coffee table. “I need to do something for myself before I go stir-crazy.”
The journey started well enough, his crutches clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. But as he maneuvered around the room, one crutch caught on the edge of a throw pillow Buck had forgotten to pick back up, after throwing it playfully at the other man.
Tommy’s balance wavered, and his curse was halfway out of his mouth when Buck sprang off the couch, catching him just before he could hit the ground.
“Easy!” he said, steadying him with a firm grip.
Tommy groaned, leaning heavily against his boyfriend's chest. “Damn it. This stupid couch—and all its pillows—are out to get me.”
Buck couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “So it’s the couch’s fault now? Sorry, I forgot to pick up that pillow.” Planting a soft kiss into the other man's hair.
“Absolutely,” Tommy muttered, refusing to acknowledge his own carelessness, he had eyes you know.
“Not the guy who insisted he didn’t need help?” Buck teased lightly, guiding Tommy back to the couch with practiced ease.
Tommy sighed as the younger man helped him lower onto the cushions, his frustration ebbing slightly. “Fine. Maybe it’s not entirely the couch’s fault. But it’s at least partially responsible.”
Buck snorted, crouching down to adjust the blanket over Tommy’s lap. “Okay, sure. I’ll have a word with the couch later. But in the meantime, maybe let me get the snacks next time?”
The pilot hesitated, the stubborn set of his jaw softening just a little. “Deal. But only if you sit down with me, relax and have something yourself.”
“Deal,” Buck replied with a grin, leaning forward to press a kiss to the other man's temple.
Tommy’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles, his earlier grumpiness melting away. “Thank you, Evan. I’m lucky, I have you,” he said, his voice quieter now.
Buck smirked as he stood. “Don’t I know it?!”
As the other man disappeared into the kitchen, the room settled into a comforting quiet, and Tommy let himself relax against the cushions. For all its supposed crimes, the couch wasn’t such a bad place to be after all.
---
5. The Couch and the Catastrophe
It wasn’t Christmas Eve yet, but the living room looked like it was gearing up for a magazine cover shoot. The tree glowed softly in the corner, lights twinkling, ornaments perfectly spaced. Stockings hung over the fireplace, their cheerful patterns a stark contrast to the chaos that usually dominated the room. And the couch—finally free of its usual clutter—looked almost too pristine, like it didn’t belong in their home.
The scene, however, didn’t stay picture-perfect for long.
“Evan!” Tommy called from the living room, his voice tinged with both irritation and disbelief.
“What is it?” The man appeared in the doorway, balancing a plate of cookies in one hand and steaming mugs of hot chocolate in the other.
Tommy gestured at the couch, his crutch leaning precariously against the armrest. A large, spreading wet spot had bloomed on one of the cushions. “You left the eggnog on the armrest, didn’t you? My crutch … Sorry.”
Buck froze, his guilty eyes darting to the puddle soaking into the fabric. “Oh, no. SHIT.”
“Oh, yes,” Tommy said miserably, sinking deeper into the cushions—well, as much as one could while sitting in a cast with a crutch nearby.
The younger man set the cookies and mugs down on the coffee table, this time and darted forward, grabbing a towel from the nearby laundry basket, that he didn't get to fold yet. “It’s fine. Totally fine. We’ll just clean it up—”
“—and end up buying a new couch,” Tommy finished for him, eyebrows raised. “You don't have much luck with couches, do you?”
Buck dropped to his knees beside the offending object, blotting furiously at the mess. “This couch is cursed,” he muttered under his breath, dabbing at the stubborn stain.
Tommy snorted, his guilty conscience giving way to amusement. “Or maybe you’re cursed. How many couches were there again? Three .. Five?”
Buck looked up at him, affronted. “Stop, it’s simply called multitasking! I had cookies, hot chocolate, and eggnog. Something had to go somewhere.”
“Clearly,” Tommy said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that gave him away.
“Don’t laugh,” The other man warned, pointing the soggy towel at him.
“I’m not laughing,” The pilot lied, poorly, as a chuckle slipped out.
Buck groaned, sitting back on his heels. “Great. Laugh it up, invalid.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow, smirking now. “Wow, we’re resorting to name-calling, Evan?”
“It’s either that or throwing the towel at your head, your pick.,” Buck shot back, tossing the towel onto the coffee table in defeat.
“You know you wouldn't do that. You'd feel bad instantly.” Tommy quipped, leaning back with exaggerated nonchalance.
Buck sighed, but when he looked at his boyfriend, his irritation melted away. His expression softened, his blue eyes warm and affectionate. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “No, I wouldn't.”
For a moment, they just sat there, the eggnog disaster forgotten. The glow of the Christmas lights bathed the room in a soft, golden light, and the faint sound of Christmas music drifted from the Bluetooth speakers.
“Hey, Evan.” Tommy said after a beat, his voice softer now.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for making all this happen. I appreciate it... all of it. And I appreciate you. I know I’ve been a little grumpy.”
“A little?” Buck teased, earning a light shove from the other man.
“Alright, a lot,” Tommy admitted, rolling his eyes. “But seriously, thanks. You go above and beyond just to make me feel good.”
Buck shrugged, his smile a little sheepish. “You’re my boyfriend. I love you. You took me in after the fire. Also I want to makes this time special. For us.”
Tommy’s gaze softened, and he reached out, tugging the curly haired man closer until their foreheads touched. “You’re special enough,” he murmured.
“Cheesy,” Buck whispered, though his grin said otherwise.
“Maybe. But it’s true,” Tommy replied, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
As they sat together, the eggnog stain temporarily forgotten, the couch no longer felt like a catastrophe. It felt like home.
---
+1. The Couch as Home
Later that night, after the eggnog disaster had been cleaned up and the laughter had faded into a comfortable quiet, Buck and Tommy found themselves nestled on the couch together. The tree lights glimmered softly in the corner, casting the room in a golden glow. Tommy’s leg was stretched out across Buck’s lap, his cast resting on a pillow, while Buck idly traced patterns on the blanket that covered them both.
“Not the worst pre-Christmas,” Tommy murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was low, warm, and tinged with just the faintest hint of exhaustion.
The other man hummed in agreement, his hand instinctively coming to rest on Tommy’s cast. “You know, next year we’ll upgrade this thing. Get a couch that’s spill-proof and actually big enough for both of us. Maybe one with built-in recliners.”
Tommy chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling as he glanced up at Buck. “And less cursed?”
“Definitely less cursed,” Buck replied with mock solemnity, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Tommy’s forehead.
The man shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket around them as his fingers brushed against Buck’s knee. “You’d miss this one, though,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Admit it, Evan. We’ve made way too many memories on this thing to just toss it.”
Buck smirked, his hand moving to gently rub Tommy’s thigh above the cast. “I don’t know. A couch that doesn’t try to trip you might be a game-changer.”
“Hey,” Tommy shot back, feigning indignation. “That was one time. If you haven't noticed, I'm on crutches.”
“I have noticed. You know, when my leg was busted I was pretty good with the crutches. Than again, I was a much younger man than you ..,” Buck teased, his grin softening as he leaned closer.
Tommy rolled his eyes but let his head rest back against the cushion. The room fell quiet again, the only sound the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional rustle of the blanket as Buck shifted.
For all its mishaps and spills, the couch had become more than just a piece of furniture. It was where they’d had late-night talks about everything and nothing, where they’d weathered bad days, shared quiet joys, and stolen moments of intimacy in the chaos of life.
Buck reached out, brushing a strand of Tommy’s hair back. “You know,” he started softly, “this is my favorite place to be.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “On a cursed couch?”
“With you,” Buck clarified, his voice quiet but full of meaning.
Tommy’s teasing expression melted, replaced by something softer, deeper. He reached up, his hand brushing against Buck’s cheek. “Cheesy,” he murmured, echoing the word Buck had thrown at him earlier.
“Maybe,” Buck admitted, leaning in until their noses touched. “But true.”
Tommy’s fingers slid down to tangle with Buck’s, their hands clasping loosely. “I guess this couch isn’t so bad,” he said, his voice teasing but his gaze serious. “It’s home, after all.”
Buck smiled, pressing his forehead to Tommy’s. “Home,” he agreed, sealing the word with a kiss.