Archive of Our Own ^beta

Buck hadn’t planned on drinking. When he followed Ravi to the bar, he’d even offered to DD. 

“I actually prefer staying sober.” Clearer mind, better decisions. God knows he needs a dose of that lately (always).

Then, the drag queen pulled him on stage.

“Look at this gorgeous specimen of a man,” she’d gasped, hooking him by the elbow and tugging.

“Okay, but Ravi—”

“Is also very gorgeous, I’ll give you that. I mean, that skin. Glowing! But he’s also preoccupied, dear. Sad for the rest of us.”

Buck sighed as he glanced over at where he could see Ravi’s hand tighten around the neck of the woman he was kissing. “Suppose it would be a shame to separate them.”

“And a shame to waste this”—the drag queen peeked behind Buck’s back to check—“chest”—(Buck laughed)—“sitting alone in the corner. Come on, sweetheart. Don’t you want to find love?”

That’s when Buck suspected he was cooked.

But he knows for certain the moment he’s sat in front of his ex.

“T-Tommy?” he gasps.

The drag queen, Yanta, looks between them. “Do you two know each other?”

Tommy scoffs. “You could say that.”

“H-hey,” Buck says, weakly. “Long time no see.” 

Fuck. This is awkward.

“Well, considering the last time we saw each other, you were asking me to commit a felony …”

“No, no,” Buck argues, “technically the last time …”

The shoe drops.

“Oh.” Bobby’s funeral.

To Tommy’s credit, he does look guilty for pushing Buck to that realization.

Yanta claps her hands. “Well. This certainly shakes things up.”

Buck stands. “I’m happy to—”

“Nope!” She shoves his shoulders down until Buck retakes his seat. “You’re playing because I don’t have time to find someone else. I just need to adjust my cards …”

She hustles to the side of the stage, leaving Buck and Tommy alone. On stage. In front of thirty increasingly drunk bar patrons, clambering for a better view of what’s sure to become a giant mess.

Buck raps his knuckles on the small table between them on which their two drinks and a small microphone sit. “Okay, but was it technically a felony?”

“You asked me to steal a helicopter!” It slowly dawns on Tommy. “Twice!”

“No banter before the show starts!” Yanta shouts.

Tommy huffs and slumps in his chair. “Yeah, Evan. No banter.”

Buck rolls his eyes. Kiss-ass.

(Which is pretty ironic, considering Tommy never once returned the favor.)

Finally, Yanta jogs back across the stage. She clears her throat, fluffs out her pink petticoat, and flips her long, blonde hair over one shoulder. Her long, diamond-flecked nails tap on the microphone, easily catching the bar’s attention. “Good evening, sluts.”

“Good evening, hoe!” they shout back.

Yanta grins. “I hope you’re all excited for tonight’s Cocktail Menu. We have quite the mix prepared.”

The audience roars their approval.

Yanta moves her hands in a simmer down movement. Well-trained, the room’s noise quiets to a low hum.

“For those of you new to the game”—Buck leans forward—“the rules are simple: we provide these lovely contestants with a series of increasingly challenging prompts and questions. For each question or prompt they complete, the dollar amount I've specified gets added to their pot. At the end of the night, they split whatever they’ve earned … or maybe share for a second date, if the chemistry sizzles. But!” Yanta pauses for dramatic effect. “If they refuse a prompt, instead of earning the cash, that dollar amount is subtracted from their overall earnings.” Yanta looks back over her shoulder at Tommy and Buck. “You understand?”

Buck nods furiously. Tommy shrugs.

“Good enough. Now!” Yanta claps her hands. “Let’s meet our contestants.” She walks over and places her perfectly manicured hand on Buck’s shoulder, turning on the table mic with the other. “Okay, sweetheart. Into the mic. Name, age, and profession.”

“Uh.” Buck winces at the sound of his amplified voice. “Buck. Thirty-four. And, um, firefighter.” The bar whoops into cheers and Buck blushes, waving at the crowd.

Yanta pinches his cheek. “Utterly precious. Thank you.” She walks over to Tommy. “Okay, big boy. Your turn.”

“Tommy. Forty-nine, and”—he puffs out his chest, ugh, Buck cringes—“firefighter and pilot for the LAFD.”

“And a pilot?” Yanta waggles her eyebrows in what’s maybe meant to be complimentary but mostly comes across sarcastic, not that Tommy seems to notice with the way he’s nodding, so proud of himself.

Buck pushes down the urge to roll his eyes again.

Also, forty-nine? Maybe for the third time …

“And!” Yanta turns back to the audience. “A twist! It appears our two handsome firefighters know each other? Do tell.”

“We dated,” Tommy explains.

“A while ago,” Buck adds. “He dumped me.”

Someone in the audience shouts, “Wait, seriously? Why?” which, Buck can’t deny, makes him feel a little bit better about himself.

Tommy drinks a sip of his beer, unmoved otherwise.

“Well, that should certainly make things interesting …” Yanta shuffles through her cards. “Alright! Here. A little shot to get us started. For ten dollars, tell each other why you’re both still single.”

Tommy laughs so hard he nearly falls off his chair. “Seriously?”

Buck tenses his jaw, spitting out a quick, “You’re an asshole,” before Tommy can say anything demonstrably untrue.

Yanta asks, “Is that your answer?”

“Yeah, Evan.” Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Is that your answer?”

“Yes!” When his shout makes the mic crackle, Buck lowers his voice. “Yes. You’re mean. And you’re boring. For a man with a sexy job, who saves people for a living, I’ve never met someone so average and cruel.”

Tommy shrugs, like these are fine things to be. “Whatever.”

Yanta flicks her cards against her palms. “And you, Tommy? Why do you think our Buck here is single?”

Buck drops his eyes to the table.

“Well, it’s obvious he’s in love with his best friend.”

“Oh, shit,” a voice sounds from the audience. One that sounds suspiciously like Ravi’s.

“Oh. Honey,” Yanta says.

“I’m not in love with Eddie,” Buck says. “Eddie’s straight. So. I can’t be in love with Eddie.” The argument doesn’t feel any stronger for how often Buck makes it.

Yanta squeezes Buck’s shoulder. Tommy rolls his eyes and drains his beer. “Can I get another?”

With a lazy flick of her wrist toward the bar which Buck assumes is her ordering, Yanta moves on. “Okay. That’s ten dollars. For another ten, hmm …” She shuffles through a few cards. “Do an impression of each other.”

If that prompt’s meant to lighten up the room, it doesn’t, because Tommy immediately launches into a terrible impression, some weird high-pitched voice that in no way resembles Buck’s rasp : “I’m not in love with Eddie! He’s straight. And a renter.”

“He is a renter! And a homeowner. He’s everything! I mean. He’s both.” Buck frowns. 

“Okay, sweetie.” Yanta’s hand is back on Buck’s shoulder. “Now do him.”

Buck’s frown deepens. As much as he wants to reciprocate in kind, it feels mean to pretend to be Tommy. To call back that fight the morning after they’d hooked up, which is the only thing coming to him. “I mean. I don’t know …”

Tommy chuckles, shaking his head. Oh, Evan. Buck can almost hear it.

Sighing, Buck decides to make an even bigger fool of himself. He holds his hands up, pretending to fly a helicopter. “Oh, look at me, I’m Tommy. My whole personality is flying helicopters because I think reading and learning things is for babies. Isn’t it so fun to never find anything interesting and to laugh at people who try? Yay!” He drops his hands back down to the table and stares up at the ceiling.

Lightning doesn’t strike twice and definitely not through the roof of a West Hollywood gay bar, right?

“Well,” Yanta says, “that was … ten more dollars for a total of twenty. Let’s move along.” Shuffle, shuffle. “Well, this is a gamble, but, for ten dollars, Tommy, sniff Buck’s armpits.”

“Seriously?” Buck says, but Tommy’s already moving.

He touches Buck’s arm. “Mind if I …”

Well, at least he asked.

Buck lifts his arm and Tommy sniffs loudly. 

“Smells nice,” he says, as he shuffles back to his seat.

It’s probably the closest thing to a compliment Tommy’s ever given him.

“Cool,” Buck says. Maybe that moment will erase Buck’s earlier humiliation.

A waiter comes by and hands two drinks to Yanta. Thank god.

“I was drinking Miller.” Tommy frowns as Yanta hands him his beer. The label says Coors.

Buck tries to hide his smile.

“Oh, did it? Hmm. Next time. Here you go, sweetie,” Yanta says, pushing over a tall, rainbow-colored cocktail adorned with nearly a whole fruit salad speared in the center.

“Ooh! What’s this?”

“A Punch in the Face, since it looks like you’ve already taken one. Be … careful …” Yanta’s warning comes after Buck takes a big sip, coughing.

“Fuck, what’s in here, rubbing alcohol?”

“Should have warned you earlier about the heavy pour.” Yanta tuts.

Buck shrugs and pops one of the pieces of pineapple into his mouth as a chaser. “’S fine. It’s still really good. And it’s not a bruise”—he points over his eye—“it’s a birthmark.”

“Oh. It’s cute.” Yanta pats his cheek. “Okay. For another ten dollars, you can sniff Tommy’s armpits, or, server’s choice.” She flutters her lashes. “You can sniff mine.”

Buck laughs and reaches out a hand. “If you really don’t mind.”

“Oh, in fact, I insist.”

Buck surprises her by cupping her waist, tugging Yanta down onto his lap before lifting her arm and sniffing, deeply. “Damn, girl. You smell like lilacs.” Then, he pushes her back up to standing.

She wobbles a bit when she lands on her feet, fanning herself with one hand. “A man who knows his flowers. You are a catch, Buck.”

Buck grins up at her.

“Can we move on?” Tommy sulks on the other end of the table.

“Of course.” (Buck nearly shivers at the chill in Yanta’s voice.) “For another ten dollars, describe your first kiss—”

“Sarah Hernandez, sixth grade. Our braces got stuck together.” Buck makes a face.

“—with each other,” Yanta finishes with a chuckle.

“Oops.”

Tommy leans forward, energized by the question. “Oh. That was a good one, right?” He grins. “It was at Evan’s apartment. He’d just maimed his best friend playing basketball, the ‘straight one’”—Tommy makes the air quotes and everything—“because Evan was so jealous someone else had Eddie’s attention. I went over to reassure him that people can have more than one friend, and then Evan starts hitting me with this, ‘I was trying to get your attention, Tommy,’ and fluttering his lashes and, well, you’ve seen him. So, in the middle of one of his rambling sentences, I cut him off with a kiss. Pretty romantic.”

Explained that way … 

Buck shifts in his seat. “Yup. That about sums it up.”

“Buck.” Yanta doesn’t grab his shoulder again (Buck’s kind of grateful; that’s really more of an Eddie move), but she does give him a deeply apologetic look. “You have to give your own version of events, or I have to deduct ten dollars.”

Buck glances over at Tommy. Well, Buck doesn’t want to owe him ten along with every other debt. “He’s … right. I was upset that I’d hurt Eddie, and confused about how I’d been feeling. Why I’d acted so strangely, you know. And I did want Tommy’s attention. Or I thought I did. When he kissed me, I thought … well, I didn’t know men were an option for me. I kind of hoped it was the answer to a question I couldn’t remember asking, but one I suddenly felt I needed.”

Something flickers across Tommy’s eyes. He cuts his gaze away.

“So. Yeah. Maybe not … I don’t think I’d call it romantic, but. Enlightening? Maybe? I am grateful it happened.”

And Buck realizes as he says the words that he is grateful. Not to Tommy, not specifically, but he’s glad their relationship happened. He can’t imagine if he was still walking around, not knowing. Not that he understands everything about himself, but he does understand more.

Unlike Tommy, Buck’s happy to keep learning.

“Good answer,” Yanta says, kindly. “Okay! Next question, and, let’s make it a fun one. Since you’re both firefighters, what famous firefighters would you sleep with if given the chance?”

“Oh, man,” Buck groans. “So many good choices! Joaquin Phoenix from Ladder 49. Kurt Russell in Backdraft, obviously. That movie made me want to be a firefighter, you know.” Buck furrows his brows. “Wow. Kind of sad there aren’t more women firefighter movies. I can name three badass female firefighters I’ve worked with off the top of my head, but I’m drawing a blank on the famous ones.”

Yanta’s eyebrows seem stuck at her fake hairline. “That was … thorough. Thanks, Buck. Now Tommy, who’s your pick?”

Tommy smirks, darting his eyes at Buck briefly before casting his gaze out into the audience like a dare.

Buck can almost guess the name before it spits off Tommy’s lips into the mic, as loud as he can say it without shouting.

“Eddie.”

Buck tightens his hands into fists and shoves them under the table, letting his nails dig in his palms for a few seconds before releasing his grip with a slow breath.

“Nothing to say to that, Evan?”

“Okay,” Yanta says, her emcee voice slipping into casual, “one last question before we move onto the next round. This one is, again, for Tommy: why the fuck do you keep calling him Evan?”

Tommy blinks. “Because that’s his name.”

“No,” she argues, “he introduced himself as Buck.”

“Which is—”

“His chosen name. I don’t care what it says on his birth certificate. Buck says he’s called Buck. I know I’ve seen you here before and you know we take that shit seriously.”

Tommy sits up straighter, like that thought hadn’t occurred to him. He swallows. “Right.”

He does, actually, look contrite.

Buck sighs. “It’s fine. I don’t … I mean, I prefer Buck, but I don’t hate Evan. He’s not, like, deadnaming me. He’s just being …” an ass “… Tommy.”

“Honey, I appreciate your kindness, but I’m going to have to set the line on your behalf. You gave us Buck as your name. He has to honor that, or explain himself.”

“I’ll call him Buck. It’s fine. I didn’t … he’s Buck. I get it now.”

Tommy doesn’t really seem like he does get it, but Buck guesses he doesn’t need to. And he won’t undermine Yanta’s stand; names are important here. To Buck, too, although, maybe he’s never been entirely certain why.

So he chooses another slice of kindness.

“Thank you, Tommy.”

To Tommy’s credit, he smiles.

They take a short break between rounds for people to use the restroom, grab another drink. Tommy rushes off, probably to get a whole bucket of Miller Light to last him through the rest of the game. 

And while Buck sort of hoped Yanta would stick around, she also heads off “to the powder room” which Buck hopes she means for her face. Unlike Eddie, he’s not a trained medic.

“Pst!”

Buck looks down into the audience. “Oh! Hey, Ravi.”

“Want me to help you escape?”

Buck laughs. “Nah. This is actually … I dunno. Good, I think.”

Ravi looks ambivalent at best. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Because if you leave here with Tommy—”

“Um, weren’t you trying to get me to leave with Tommy the last time you saw me with him?”

“That’s before I met him,” Ravi says with a scowl. “And before I saw Eddie’s face when you mentioned hooking up with him again. I promised Eddie I wouldn’t let it happen a second time.”

“Wait …” Buck’s head is spinning, and not just because he’s finished his second Punch. “When did you and Eddie—”

“I’m back!” Yanta sings. “Oh, hello, darling,” she coos when she sees Ravi. “Where’s your friend?”

“Ah.” Ravi rubs the back of his neck. “Kinda had to part ways when I saw Buck here on stage. He’s my partner, you know? Not like that!” he adds at Yanta’s confused look. “Firefighter partners. Gotta look out for him. God knows he won’t do it himself.”

“Mm, isn’t that the truth?” Yanta’s brown eyes scan over Ravi. “You’re a good man, aren’t you.”

Ravi’s lashes flutter. “Oh, I don’t—”

“And a firefighter, too.” She smiles.

Buck kind of feels like an asshole for interrupting. “Um. Is the show …”

Yanta startles out of her daze. “Right!” But her eyes still seem to stick on Ravi as he shuffles back into the crowd.

And Buck’s not sulking. He wasn’t … he wasn’t actually going to ask her out. Not really. Not when he’s still caught on …

But he did like the attention.

He pouts.

Yanta taps back on the microphone, not that she needs it to call the room to attention; they’re already waiting, rapt. “Hello, again. As we all remember, we’re playing The Cocktail Menu with Buck and Tommy, two firefighting exes with … let’s say, a complicated past. When we last left them, they were taking shots at ten dollars apiece, with no shots wasted, for a total tab of sixty—”

“Hey!” Tommy interrupts. “Shouldn’t it be seventy? Given your last—”

“I never specified a dollar amount,” Yanta explains with a shark-like grin.

Tommy huffs and slouches into his seat.

“As I was saying, sixty dollars on the tab. But don’t worry; this next round we play for mixed drinks at fifty dollars apiece. Let’s start with something easy. For fifty dollars, if you could erase one fictional firefighter from the world’s collective memory, who would it be?”

“Race Banner,” Buck and Tommy say at the same time.

They catch each other’s eyes and laugh. Tommy shrugs, like, surprise! We do have something in common.

Buck dips his head in a smile.

Yanta looks between them with something like worry on her face. “Um. Okay. Shockingly aligned, although, maybe not so shocking. I have seen Hotshots, after all.” 

And, yeah, it is objectively annoying how Captain Banner’s storylines take over the whole plot of the show, especially at the expense of minority characters, but mostly Buck hates Race, aka Brad, because he represents all those months Bobby wasn’t with the 118, now that Bobby’s gone. All those months Buck could have had with him.

Yanta continues: “Next prompt, text your ex and ask them what your best and worst quality is. And no, it can’t be each other.”

Buck shrugs and pulls out his phone. This is the kind of data he’d gather for free. “You really expect them to get back to us before the game’s done?”

Yanta hums, considering. “Let’s say, half credit for asking, full credit if they respond. For both of you.”

Now Tommy’s pulling out his phone. “You mean, we can both get credit?”

Of course Tommy was planning to let Buck fall on the grenade alone. God, why did Buck expect anything different?

He ignores Tommy and Yanta’s deliberation, scrolling through his phone and trying to decide which ex to text. Abby … no. No, fuck that. Plus, that’s probably who Tommy will text. Ali … she hardly counts. They barely dated. Lucy doesn’t count, either. Natalia … no. That doesn’t feel right, either.

Taylor, though.

Buck can’t help thinking about her sometimes. Wondering if she saw something he didn’t. She’d always been weird about Eddie. Cautious. Buck could tell she’d bite back words on him, never too harsh. Or complimentary.

Fuck it. He quickly types up the message, then presses send.

He shoves his phone at Yanta. “Done.”

She reads through the message, her brows flying upward when she reads the contact name. “Taylor … Kelly?”

“The last person I lived with.”

“No, no. I mean. You dated the …” Yanta must add something together in her head. “Wait. You’re Buff Buffley?”

“Who?”

“The character … in her book?”

“Oh. I, uh. I never read it.”

Yanta blinks and shakes her head, dazed for some reason.

Luckily, they aren’t stuck in the moment for long because Tommy’s waving his phone so hard at her his arm’s likely to fall off.

“Yes, yes. I’ll come check your work.” She sighs and reads through his message, snorting at the end. “Your Abby’s already gotten back to you.”

“Huh?” Tommy looks down at his phone and frowns.

“Message undeliverable," Yanta announces to the crowd through her mic, glee dancing in her voice. “You’ve been blocked, Tommy. But don’t worry, that’s still twenty-five dollars.”

In Buck’s pocket, his phone buzzes.

Yanta turns to him. “Buck? Did Miss Kelly respond?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. But it’s the same as Tommy. Undeliverable.”

“Hmm,” Yanta hums. 

(Buck’s always been a terrible liar.)

“Okay. Well. Fifty then, half-credit to both of you. And, this one’s for Buck.” Yanta smirks. “Name a time when Tommy disappointed you.”

Tommy sighs and buries his head in his hands.

“Hey, don’t hate the host. Hate the prompts!”

“You choose the prompts,” Tommy mumbles into his palms.

“Oh, I guess I do. Don’t I. Buck? Your answer?”

“Just do it, Ev—Buck,” Tommy corrects at the last second. “I’d rather have the fifty bucks than my dignity. Which I’ve clearly already lost.”

And Buck could take pity on him, say something like, oh that time you brought me mint chocolate chip ice cream when I’d asked for cookie dough, or, rude that you didn’t back me up on the whole mummy curse.

Something easy. A story as much at Buck’s expense as Tommy’s.

But Buck’s slowly realizing the gift he’s been given. The kind of closure no one ever gets after a breakup. So he shares: “It really hurt my feelings when you diminished how I felt when Bobby was in the hospital. After his heart attack. I-I … I know he’s not really my dad. Wasn’t. Whatever. But, he meant something to me, something big, and I was worried about him. You made it a joke. You made my feelings a joke. So. That was disappointing.”

Tommy looks up from his hands. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that.

God, did he really think Buck would bring up …

And it’s coming out before he can stop himself, “Wait. You really thought I was going to mention the time you couldn’t get—” He snaps his mouth shut the second he realizes he’s doing exactly as Tommy feared.

Shit.

Damage done; the whole bar bursts into laughter.

Tommy sneers. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. Thanks, Evan.”

“Buck,” Buck corrects him.

“Sure. Whatever. Thanks, Buck.”

Yanta clears her throat. “Well. That was. I wish I could give you an extra fifty for that, Buck. But. Alas, the rules.”

“That you make up,” Tommy mutters.

“Ah”—Yanta stops her shuffling of the deck on a new card—“here’s an appropriately timed one. Describe your favorite sexual experience. With each other.” Yanta aims a wink at Buck.

Which, sure, Buck could take the bait and dive into the story he’s just hinted at. Yanta said favorite, not best.

But Buck throws Tommy a bone. “I’ll go first. That time. With the medals.”

“Oh, yeah.” Any defensiveness left on Tommy's face melts away. “That was good.”

Buck had fucked Tommy from behind, his medal dragging over Tommy’s broad back, using the ribbon from Tommy’s medal to hold him in place, almost choking. Tommy had moaned, “So good, so good for me, Evan,” over and over until he’d nearly lost his voice. Buck came so hard he’d passed out.

Buck had really liked being good for Tommy.

“And … you?” Buck prompts before Yanta can. “The same?”

“No.” Tommy clears his throat. “The, uh. That night. At … after we broke up.”

“O-oh.” Buck flushes. That had also been good, but … not for the reasons Tommy’s thinking, probably.

All Buck can remember from that night is the feeling of Tommy’s tight hole mixed with the smell of Eddie still lingering in Buck’s sheets, how easy it was for Buck to pretend. He felt he could almost see Eddie, feel him. He’d fucked Tommy so hard, wanting what he couldn’t have so deeply even as he had who he thought he’d wanted back in his bed.

Then, Tommy’s lips twist. 

Yeah.

Buck’s always been a bad liar.

“Still good,” Tommy says, and for the first time Buck actually feels guilty. Sad, for Tommy.

After all, if there’s one thing Buck understands, it’s the pain of being the person someone else settles for.

Yanta’s voice snaps Buck out of his thoughts. “Another fifty. You guys haven’t failed a single one, huh?” She shuffles her cards. “How about a tougher one. What if I asked you to moan the other person’s name?”

Both Buck and Tommy burst into laughter.

Buck makes a face. “I’ve gotta go with no. Sorry, Tommy.”

“Mm, no. I completely agree. I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

“Fair, fair.” Yanta starts looking through her cards for another prompt.

“Or …”

Yanta looks up, warily. “Yes, Tommy?”

“Buck could moan Eddie’s name.”

Buck grinds his teeth. “Tommy.”

Tommy throws his hands up in surrender. “Just a suggestion! It might help. Get it out of your system.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

Yanta bounces her eyes between them. “I’ll allow it. If,” she adds when Tommy nearly starts cackling with glee, “Tommy does it too.”

Buck thinks this is meant to be a gift to him. A way to make this a joke, or call out Tommy’s cruelty, but Buck’s ears ring with the thought of it. The mere suggestion of Eddie’s name in Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy reads Buck's anger clearly. “Mm, I’m going to have to decline. Pretty sure Ev—Buck will punch me in the face if I try, and I’d like to keep my face as is.”

“You sure?” Yanta mutters under her breath. But before Tommy can object, she adds in a louder voice, “No point! Next, and, I hope this is a quick answer to get us back on track. Would you two ever consider hooking up with the other?”

“No,” Buck answers at the same time Tommy says, “Yes.”

“Really?” Buck almost can’t believe it.

Tommy shrugs. “You’re a good lay, Buck. Very … eager. It doesn’t hurt my feelings if your mind’s in a different place, so long as I can have your body.”

“Oookay!” Yanta interrupts. “Yeesh.” She gives a feigned shudder. “I almost don’t want to give you guys the point, but I suppose you did both answer it. Creepily, in one case. Okay. Let’s …” She’s not even looking at the cards when she adds: “For fifty dollars, say something you like about the other person. Tommy. You go first. And it can’t be about Buck’s appearance or sexual prowess. It has to be centered on his personality. I need a palate cleanser.”

“Okay. A hard prompt, but, I guess Buck’s a good friend. Too good, in some cases. Always willing to do whatever it takes to help someone in need. Even if it’s in the middle of sex.”

“His son was in El Paso, Tommy,” Buck spits. 

“And who’s fault was that?”

“I swear—”

“Buck!”

Buck cuts himself off. “Sorry, Yanta.”

“It’s fine.” But for the first time she looks annoyed with him.

Buck slumps his shoulders. “Uh. Tommy’s really hard-working. Loyal. And he’s also a good friend.” Buck taps the toe of his shoe against Tommy’s boots under the table. “Came to my rescue multiple times. And Chim’s, right?”

“Well, I owed him.” Tommy looks uncomfortable.

Strange.

“Owed him for what?”

But Tommy shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Buck decides not to push. They both look over at Yanta expectedly.

“Okay. Getting along. Nice to see it.” She shuffles her cards. “Can I pick another sex one? Will you two behave?” She levels a look at Tommy.

He grins. “Always.”

Yanta sighs. “I’m probably going to regret this, but … which of you is better at oral?”

“Me,” Buck says and Tommy nods. “Definitely Buck.”

Yanta waves a hand. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“Well, I don’t have a gag reflex,” Buck says, proudly. “And I love giving head.”

“It’s true,” Tommy adds. “Buck’s very good at oral. Always left me … pleased.”

Buck bites his lip, the back of his neck heating up at the praise.

Tommy smirks. He leans forward. “How about that one night you got me off, what? Three times?”

“Four.” Buck puffs out his chest. It took hours, what with Tommy’s diminished refraction time, but Buck was determined. Tommy said the most he’d ever gotten off in one day was three.

“Mm. So good,” Tommy purrs.

“Okay, okay, geez. Don’t make me get out my water bottle. Spray you two tomcats in the face.” Yanta gives Buck a look, like she’s disappointed in him, but what does she expect? Tommy’s a dick, but he knows Buck. Which buttons to press.

Plus it’s been … a while. Months, several of which Buck shared Eddie’s bed.

To say he’s pent up is an understatement.

Yanta frowns down at her cards, the ones she’s already read. “Shit. That was the last in this round. Sorry. One more break, and then”—Yanta rubs her hands together like a cartoon villain—“we’ll move onto the doubles.”

Tommy, again, bolts from his seat as soon as Yanta signals their break. Probably to piss out all his light beer. 

Buck looks around. Yanta finds Ravi easily in the crowd and the two of them sidle up to the bar. This time, Buck welcomes their pair-up.

He pulls his phone out from his pocket.

Taylor, ever-efficient, has sent one long text in reply.

“What is this, some kind of 12-Step Program? Or, worse, are YOU writing a book? God help us all. You’ll wear out the E on your keyboard writing Eddie’s name so many times. Well, whatever your goal, you know I can’t resist a call to the truth, and this time it’s mine, so I’m doubly invested. 

Let’s start with your best qualities: you’re considerate both in life and in bed. You’re sweet, which maybe that sounds like the same thing but I think it’s different. Because you come off like some big tough guy but you really just want one thing, and that’s sweet. How little artifice you have. You try. Maybe that’s a strange one to highlight, but it’s something I miss about you. You don’t always get things right, but you try to be better. That’s a rare quality, if you can believe it. You want to learn, and grow. Again, rare. 

I hope you’re still trying, by the way. The world needs men like you who do. Okay. Now onto your worst qualities. I can already feel you cringing. Waiting for me to hit you like the six o’clock news. Brace yourself. 

Your worst quality, Evan Buckley, is that no matter how hard you tried, you were never going to love me. Because your heart belongs to someone else. I’m assuming it still does. I’m sorry to tell you: I think it always will. Best of luck, Buck. If it’s worth anything, I think he loves you back. The question is: does he know? And worse: will you ever tell him?”

Buck stares down at his phone. 

“Mm-mm,” Yanta sing-songs, “that looks like a reply!”

Buck locks his phone as he looks up. “But I don’t want to share it. So it doesn’t count.”

“Long paragraph,” she argues.

“None of your business,” he replies.

Yanta pushes over a shot of tequila. “Here. From your friend. Said you could use it.”

“Thanks.” Buck downs it. Forgoes the lime chaser.

Right now, he wants to feel the burn.

Once Tommy’s back, the game restarts and Buck greets it with the wariness of a call that comes too close to shift’s end.

Yanta works on driving the energy up with her announcement: “This time each question will be worth one hundred dollars.”

The crowd gasps along with Yanta’s reveal, even though certainly most of them are already aware of this fact.

“Okay, Tommy, Buck. Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Tommy shrugs.

With a sigh, Yanta turns to Buck.

But he can’t give her much more than an encouraging smile. A brief, “Yep,” while Taylor’s words echo in his head.

“Mm, let’s start with another exes question. On a scale of one to ten, one being the worst you’ve ever had with ten being the best, rank each other’s sexual prowess.”

Tommy makes a gesture that Buck reads as, after you:

He thinks about it.

“Out loud,” Yanta sighs, slapping her cards against her palms. “Come on, boys. This is a game!”

“Okay, okay. Well, it’s a little bit of a challenge. Tommy’s the only guy I’ve ever been with.”

There’s some rustling in the audience, a chorus of men shouting, “Pick me!” and “I’ll rock your world, Daddy,” which, sweet, but not what Buck wants.

He leans forward and rests his chin in his hand, suddenly exhausted by it all. Because, “Seven.”

The sex had been good. Great, even. Adventurous. Athletic. Tommy understood the post-shift adrenaline fuck, and the lazy, my-body-is-too-sore-but-I-gotta-get-off morning sex. He liked when Buck fucked him. He loved when Buck went down on him, and ate him out. He was full of praise, and encouragement. Yeah, maybe he was a little selfish, but Buck was a lot green, and he liked catching up to Tommy’s experience. 

Were they perfect for each other? No. But Buck still thinks there was more right about them than wrong.

And it didn’t matter! It would never matter because Buck couldn’t have Eddie, which is what he actually wanted, so no one else would ever measure up.

Tommy must see this roll across Buck’s face (when has Buck ever been able to hide what he’s thinking), because he says, quietly, with more care than Tommy’s ever shown anyone, “Ten. You were a ten for me, Buck.”

Buck nods.

When he’s done gathering his emotions back into the neat Eddie-shaped hole in his heart, he looks over at Yanta, looking back at them, confused.

“Well,” she says, “a little less detailed than I would normally like, but, the sincerity seems to have some profound meaning for the both of you so I’ll allow it. You guys need a moment?”

Tommy waits to see Buck shake his head before he shakes his own. “No. Please continue.”

“Okay,” Yanta nods. She stares at the cards in her hands. “Another risk, but. Buck, call someone in your life and tell them you and Tommy are back together.”

“Evan, I mean, Buck, you don’t have to—”

“You assume I’m going to call him?” Buck crooks an eyebrow.

Tommy crooks one right back. “Don’t Chimney and your sister have a newborn? You really gonna wake them up in the middle of the night for this? Hen? Athena?”

They both shudder at the suggestion.

“I could have other friends,” Buck says.

Yanta waves them off. “Ravi doesn’t count. He’s already here.”

“And you don’t!” Ravi calls out from the audience.

“Rude, but he does have me there.” Buck pulls out his phone.

“Buck,” Tommy sighs.

“Gotta get you that one hundred dollars,” Buck says, and presses call.

After all, what else does he have to lose?

Eddie’s already on his way to the bar when Buck calls. “Buck!” he answers, then winces at himself.

Was that too eager?

It feels too eager.

“H-hey, Eddie,” Buck replies. “What’s, uh. I mean. You’re up. Sorry. For calling so late.”

“It’s fine, Buck.” Despite how quiet it is in the background, considering Buck’s location, Eddie asks, “Hey, what’s that sound? Am I on speaker?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Put me on FaceTime.” He bites his lip to control his laughter. Oh, man. He hates torturing Buck when he already knows the man’s drunk, or whatever reason Ravi texted asking Eddie to come pick Buck up from the gay bar. But he’s just so giddy to be seeing Buck after what feels like months of missed connections (even when they were sharing the same bed) that he can’t help teasing.

“Uh …” Buck stammers. “I can’t put you on FaceTime. I’m at a bar.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean I can’t see you. Come on, Buck. Turn on video. You know I like seeing your face when we talk.”

There’s a weird noise in the background, a vaguely familiar scoff, and then total silence. “Buck?”

The silence cuts back into the previous dull hum. “Sorry about that. Accidentally hit mute. Hey, real quick. I, uh. I gotta tell you something.”

Eddie pulls into a parking spot near the front of the bar. Lucky, someone else must have just left. “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

Buck takes a big breath.

Oh. Whatever this is, is big.

Eddie puts his Prius in park and shuts off the engine. He grips the wheel with both hands; they’re suddenly shaking.

“I got back together with Tommy.”

Eddie’s teeth clack together hard enough to hurt. “Huh,” he manages to grit out.

“Yeah, we, uh. We ran into each other at a bar. Talked. You know how it goes.”

We fucked, he’s not saying. “Uh huh.” Eddie’s going to kill Ravi.

“There’s just a lot of history there. He, uh. You know how he was at the lab. With Bobby.”

And I wasn’t. Eddie clenches his eyes closed.

“I. Eddie …”

And Eddie knows. He knows Buck wants him to say something reassuring. Agree. Accept, like he always does. Push down his own wants again, and again, and …

But he just can’t find the words.

“Eddie,” Buck repeats. “I don’t. You know I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Like that’s a reason, because he’s not. He’s not. How many times does Eddie have to tell him—! “Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“Yup. Okay. Thanks for telling me, I guess. Could have waited until the morning,” Eddie forces a laugh, “but. Yup! Okay. Super happy for you two. Look, I gotta go. Chris needs me.”

“Eddie, wait—”

Click.

Eddie drops his forehead onto the steering wheel and drags in a breath. Forces it out. And again.

His hands are still shaking.

In his lap, where he dropped it after ending the call, his phone starts buzzing with incoming text messages. Eddie has half a mind to press the button on the side, silence the notifications, then throw the damn thing through his window. Maybe if he gets lucky—

No, he can’t go there. He can’t. It doesn’t matter the timing, that Eddie was finally … that he was going to … that he was working up to …

That he realized he loved Buck. Loves.

Nope. It doesn’t matter that the love of his life is back together with his shithole of an ex on the heels of Eddie finally figuring out that the reason no other relationship has had a chance at sticking.

Because Buck’s still alive. He’s still Eddie’s best friend. That’s not a consolation prize.

The fact Eddie can’t have everything he wants is just life. No reason to give up on … all of it.

Finally, his breathing calms down enough for him to check his phone, just in case the buzzing was Chris needing him from his sleepover.

But it’s not.

It’s fucking Ravi, asking if Eddie’s outside.

Eddie picks up the phone and calls but Ravi sends it to voicemail. That complete—

“Ravi,” Eddie says in his coldest, serial killer adjacent voice, “I swear to god. I will find you and I will end you for this. I can’t believe you told me—you promised! You promised not to let Buck get back together with Tommy and then you …! Why did you invite me here, huh? Couldn’t separate them yourself so you just had to drag me into this? Making me fucking watch—fuck you, Ravi. Fuck—” Once again, he presses the end call button with prejudice.

He bangs his forehead against the steering wheel a few more times. 

His phone buzzes again. Ravi.

“Please just come inside,” his text reads. “I promise. I swear on the life of my precious cockapoo Miss Lady that this isn’t what it sounds like, but you HAVE TO COME INSIDE RIGHT NOW.”

Eddie screams for good measure. Fuck! He scrubs his face. Takes a deep breath. (Ravi really does love that stupid dog; he wouldn’t swear on it without good reason.)

And gets out of the car.

Buck’s trying not to think about his call to Eddie. It’s a little easier when Tommy takes Yanta’s bait to call one of his friends, someone at the 127, who apparently doesn’t even have Tommy’s number saved and has never heard of Buck. (Or Evan.)

Now, Yanta’s got them standing up at the front of the stage to take an awkward prom photo they both have to post to their Instagram stories.

Buck’s still figuring out the best caption for the one where Tommy’s at Buck’s back with his hand on Buck’s stomach when Yanta gives them their next prompt.

“For the next one hundred dollar dare”—she drumrolls on her thighs—“you two have to kiss each other like you’re in a movie playing people in love.”

Immediately, Tommy makes a face which, Buck shouldn’t be surprised. Everything about this game has proven they aren’t right for each other. (In fact, he thought Yanta had figured that out?) But after Buck’s weird call with Eddie, the rejection stings more than it should.

Buck finds himself saying, “Come on, Tommy. It’s just one kiss. We don’t … Yanta, we don’t really have to pretend we’re in love, right?”

“Yeah, no, that prompt is, admittedly, a little unhinged. A short peck will do it.”

Still, Tommy shakes his head. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Evan. Buck. Considering …”

Right. No one had a better shot of Buck’s face during that phone call than Tommy.

Buck’s nodding his head, pursing his lips, trying to push away the sting, when someone calls from the back of the room, by the front door, “I’ll do it!”

Buck sits straight up. That voice …

Yanta’s rolling her eyes and turning out to face the audience, hands on her hips. She speaks loudly into the mic, “Alright. Who said that? Because y’all know my audience rules. No excessive interruptions and no volunteering as tribute. Come on! Someone bring him—oh, lord. Well, handsome, I am angry you broke my rules, but who could stay mad at that face? What’s your name?”

Then, she steps aside.

Buck’s eyes bug out of his head. “E-Eddie?”

“And now Diaz is here,” Tommy huffs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Like this night couldn’t get worse.”

“Wait, this is Buck’s Eddie?” Yanta gives Buck a look, like, ooh, girl I get it, then smiles. “Okay.” She turns back to Eddie. “I’ll accept it.”

“What?” Tommy sits up straighter.

Buck doesn’t understand why everyone’s acting weird. So Eddie is here. So what?

But then Eddie’s being helped onto the stage. He’s got a five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing that white henley Buck loves. His best date night jeans. He’s staring at Buck like he’s the roast beef at the end of a hunger strike.

“H-hi?” Buck manages to get out.

“Stand up,” Eddie says. He hasn’t even looked at Tommy, his former friend. His gaze locked onto Buck and hasn't broken. “Come here,” he commands.

Buck’s feet start moving before his mind registers Eddie’s words. 

“Like a movie?” Eddie asks Yanta though, again, he doesn’t look at her, doesn’t look away from Buck. (What’s like a movie?)

“Like you’re playing two characters in love,” Yanta says.

That’s when Buck remembers the prompt. Kissing like a movie. This is significant somehow. All of his neurons try to line up and fire, one after the other, in a row, but make a sad trumpet noise instead.

Buck still doesn’t know what this has to do with him.

“I’m not playing,” Eddie says as he grabs Buck by his hips, pulls his front flush to Eddie’s. (Hngh.) “I’d never play with Buck like that,” he says, before dragging his hand to Buck’s back and dipping him into a kiss.

Both of Buck’s hands fly up on instinct, fisting the front of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie still has one hand on Buck’s back to hold him but he takes the other hand and grabs Buck’s ass, drags his hand down Buck’s thigh until Buck lifts it to wrap around Eddie, almost completely held in his embrace. 

Holy fuck. If Eddie dropped him, Buck would fall to the ground. 

(Good thing he already fell.)

Buck’s mouth drops open and Eddie shoves his tongue inside. Buck groans, their lips parting with a slick sound as Eddie adjusts their angle, lets Buck tongue into his mouth. Buck can’t help running the tip along Eddie’s sharp canines; he wants to remember who this is, who’s kissing him within an inch of his life, squeezing where his hands grip Buck, exploring the parts he can reach without threatening his hold.

Good god, Eddie’s still holding him up.

Their kiss turns sloppier as they pant for air, as Buck’s hips start to move, restless, with no care to how their movement upsets Eddie’s balance.

Finally, Eddie lets Buck’s foot drop back to the floor. “Careful, baby, or you’ll send us both sprawlin’.” There’s an extra twang to Eddie’s words, like his accent’s slipped in, too fucked out from that kiss to hide it like he normally does.

Buck whimpers.

A voice clears to their side. “Guys?”

They both stumble out of the hold, Eddie making sure Buck’s steady before stepping away. (He’s not; he’ll never be again. Sweet lord. Buck is changed.)

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles.

Yanta laughs. “Don’t be. Although, you did scare off Buck’s partner.” She gestures over toward Tommy’s empty seat.

“Not his partner,” Eddie says, at the same time Buck says, “Not my partner.”

The corner of Yanta’s mouth twitches. “Noted. Still, all the same, someone will have to take Tommy’s place. There’s still one last prompt. Double or nothing.”

“How much have we earned?” Buck asks.

“Seven hundred and sixty dollars,” Yanta answers. “So … this is your chance at almost sixteen hundred bucks. But once you hear the prompt, there’s no take-backs. You either do the prompt, or you walk out of here without a damn dime. We will cover your tab, though, as thanks,” Yanta leans in to whisper. “Yours and Richard Gere over there, if he wants a drink after.”

“Richard Gere?”

“An Officer and a Gentleman?”

Which Buck doesn’t get, but he looks over at Eddie to see if he’s game.

Eddie shrugs. He reaches over and takes Buck’s hand with a squeeze. “Whatever you want.”

Buck smiles. “Well, I’m feeling kind of lucky so … sure, Yanta. We’ll play.”

After all, Eddie’s still holding Buck’s hand. The world is his to win.

Yanta pulls out the last card from the deck, looks down at it like this is the one she had planned all along, smiling. She slaps it against her palm. “For sixteen hundred dollars, you two have to break up. Right here on stage.”

“Oh.” Buck blinks.

He reminds himself it’s just play-acting. None of it means anything. They just have to pretend. Not even very well! Yanta hasn’t been too hard of a judge. All they probably have to say is something like, “We’re breaking up now!” Or, Eddie should dump Buck. That’s more believable. All Eddie needs to do is look at Buck, and say—

“No.” Eddie shakes his head. “I won’t do it.”

“Sixteen hundred dollars,” Buck reminds him, weakly. He barely gets the words out with how wide he’s smiling.

“No.” Eddie turns to face Buck. He takes his other hand. Now Eddie’s holding both of Buck’s hands. Hot diggity! “I won’t do it. I told you: I wouldn’t play with you like that. This isn’t a game to me, Buck. I won’t dump you … not even if it’s fake.”

“Oh.” Buck’s cheeks feel hot with all the blood rushing to them.

Eddie rubs his thumbs over Buck’s knuckles, dipping his face to catch Buck’s gaze as he tries to drop it to the floor. “That okay, Buck?”

“Yup! It’s. Mmmhmm.” If Buck opens his mouth, he’s gonna drool all over this stage. Just … one big puddle because he is embarrassingly turned on by this. 

Romance, huh. Didn’t realize he had that kink.

“So we can go, right?” Eddie looks over at Yanta. “That was the last prompt? No cash to exchange?"

“I suppose—”

But Eddie doesn’t wait for her answer. He dips down, gets his shoulder under Buck’s ribs and throws him over his back in a fireman’s hold. “And it’s Staff Sergeant,” Eddie tells her, the wink all over his tone even if Buck can’t see it from his current vantage point. (Buck can see Eddie’s ass though, so he’s not complaining.)

“Huh?” Yanta seems stunned by this whole switch-up.

“You said earlier. An Officer and a Gentleman. But it’s Staff Sergeant”—Eddie slaps Buck’s ass and Buck melts into Eddie’s hold—“and I don’t think I want to be a gentleman if Buck doesn’t mind,” he finishes (Buck definitely, definitely doesn’t mind).

Then, Eddie carries Buck off stage, out of the bar, and into the night.