Work Text:
They’d been together for a year and a half, sixteen months and two days to be exact. Well, they’d actually hated each other (in the most lethal, petty borderline clinically insane way) for a good five of those months. Then life sorted itself out (long story) and they’d been going steady ever since. The point was that Buzz had been dating Woody Pride, his very worst rival and later very best friend, for a good while and the only reason he’d yet to tie the knot was because Woody claimed to be too old for him.
“I’ll just enjoy my time with good ol’ Buzz Lightyear while it lasts.”
“You’ll get tired of an old cowpoke like me a few years from now, so don’t sweat about it.”
“I don’t think you’ll want to be tied down to some old man for that long.”
“Quit it, Buzz! I said no!”
—and other such phrases. Woody had a habit of shutting Buzz down whenever he wanted to ensure something longterm. Jessie told Buzz her elder brother would come around if he just waited. Jessie’s new girlfriend told Buzz that Woody would die of old age if they waited any longer because “stuffalo bill” was practically an octogenarian anyway (Buzz politely yet firmly told her that this was a great exaggeration, and also his name was Woody, thank you very much). Of course, Woody was some years older than him, but he couldn’t have been that much older. He was lively and spry and fun, with barely a wrinkle on his face. And also surprisingly flexible in bed, no matter which way Buzz bent him.
Then Woody’s birthday arrived.
In the brief but passionate time they’d been together, they celebrated holidays, friends’ birthdays, family birthdays, anniversaries (first pizza date, first horse riding date, first rodeo date, first space center date, first this and first that—), and so on. They’d also celebrated Buzz’s birthday, which happened to be two months earlier than Woody’s. Buzz wasn’t one to prioritize things like the date of his birth, so it came as some surprise to him that Woody remembered.
They’d gone to brunch with Jessie and the rest of their friends (Woody said it was supposed to be a small celebration, but word got out and one invitation led to another and another until the whole “gang” was there, including the Potatoheads and their triplets). Then Woody had taken him through a scenic little stroll through the woods behind his family ranch. At dusk, Woody made him blow out the candles sticking up from the uneven cake he and Jessie had baked the day before. Buzz remembered doing so on the porch, alone with Woody. No light in the dark save the candleflames in front of him and the fireflies above him.
Afterward, the cowboy grinned and put on his hat. He insisted on driving Buzz to the local planetarium, a trip that took an hour but felt like a minute. They went in long after it’d closed. “Bo knows a guy,” was all the answer Woody gave.
They had the planetarium all to themselves. And Buzz had found it- well, it was, dare he say, magical. Woody knew his passion was space. Woody knew he’d wanted to be an astronaut as a boy (and that as much as he loved piloting commercial planes for Star Airlines, a part of him always yearned to fly even higher above the air). Woody knew he loved the peace and quiet, the blue glow of projections in the dark. The low breaths and hot touches too.
That was how Buzz spent his thirty-first birthday. It was the best birthday of his life.
So how the hell was he supposed to outdo Woody now?
As appreciative as he was of his husb- boyfriend, Buzz could never quite scratch away his competitive streak. He wanted to, needed to make Woody’s birthday even better. He needed the cowboy on his knees and sobbing tears of joy.
Buzz thought of throwing Woody a surprise party, but he nixed the idea when he remembered how much Woody hated surprises. He thought of taking Woody on an island vacation and then decided against it when he remembered how jittery the cowboy got on long distance flights. He thought of cooking a candlelit dinner, then remembered that Woody wasn’t much of a foodie. He could bake a cake; no, that would offend Jessie, who’d already volunteered to do it. He could buy Woody a new saddle? New boots? But he loved his old ones, he had attachment issues. No, no. He could rent a limousine for the day and— no, Woody would chew him out for spending too much money. Jessie would too. Buzz must have come up with a thousand and one ideas and scrapped them all.
Eventually, he rang up everyone Woody knew in order to compile a list of the cowboy’s likes, dislikes, hobbies, histories, and more. Most of it wasn’t new information. Ninety-nine percent, he already knew from his own observation skills. When he asked for suggestions, he received an assortment of answers like-
Rex: “What if you get Woody a video game? But one that’s not too hard. The hard ones are so frustrating, it’s terrible! Or too violent. I don’t like confrontation!”
Hamm: “Give him money. We’re adults.”
Trixie: “I know this great restaurant with this super romantic vibe-”
Dolly: “Why didn’t anyone tell me it was Woody’s birthday? Now it’s too late to plan-”
Pricklepants: "Do you even need to ask? Go see a Broadway show, of course!"
Jessie: “You’re all he needs, Buzz! Just be yourself and ride him like the wind-”
Slinky: “Take it easy. Believe in yourself, Buzz.”
Mr. P: “What kind of nutjob calls a married man with three kids at four AM?”
Mrs. P: “Oh, you’re so sweet. Let me think. Well, I think Woody would love it if you bought him some flowers. Or maybe a movie. I love the notebook!”
Until he got to Bo. She chuckled and said, “Why don’t you start by asking him his age, flyboy?”
That question landed like a slap to the face. Despite all his concerns, Buzz indeed never stopped to wonder how old Woody would be (he’d simply assumed Woody was his peer, give or take two years). Woody was a nostalgic man. Buzz would certainly make his day if he presented him with a nostalgic gift.
So immediately after his conversation with Bo, Buzz went to Woody’s home and asked, point-blank, “How old are you?”
At the door, Woody nearly choked on his morning coffee. He stood and gagged for a good ten seconds while Buzz waited patiently for his answer.
“I never told you?” Woody said, turning a shade of pink Buzz had never seen him turn.
“I never asked. Now I want to know.”
“It’s too early for this. Just come in and let me make you some eggs or something-”
“How old are you?”
Most people would have taken the hint and stopped asking. Buzz was not most people. So after a stretch of silence, Woody awkwardly said:
“I’m forty-four.”
Buzz processed that information, the number somehow not computing. It was impossible. No way. Woody was fourteen years older than him?
“I turn forty-five tomorrow.” Woody stepped back inside so Buzz couldn’t see his face, only the back of his head.
Woody’s hair was chestnut brown. But it looked darker in the pictures of him as a teen. It’d gotten lighter over the years. Because Woody was fifteen years older than him. A whole decade and a half. Way.
In retrospect, Buzz shouldn’t have been surprised. There was always something a little more (no, archaic was an exaggeration) mature about the way Woody spoke, some inflections here and there. He used a flip phone because he claimed a smartphone was too difficult. His best friend was Slinky, who’d just celebrated his fiftieth birthday. Hell, he played poker with Mr. Potatohead and Slinky every Saturday. His favorite musicians were country singers who’d either retired or died. His favorite show was High Noon. And he’d raised Jessie from girlhood. He’d practically raised their neighbor, Andy Davis too. And Bonnie Anderson. And that Forky kid-
“Buzz, you coming?” Woody called from inside, sounding a little nervous. “I didn’t scare you too bad, did I?” He laughed, fakely.
“I’ll be back tomorrow!” Buzz said, so suddenly that he heard Woody’s mug drop and shatter. “Don’t go anywhere without me!”
Then he turned and sprinted away.
Woody spent the morning with Jessie and their closest friends, but he couldn’t quite focus on their birthday wishes when all he could think about was Buzz. Great. Now Buzz knew just how old he was. It was enough of a miracle that a young stud like Buzz would fall for someone like Woody in the first place. He was probably having second thoughts now. Who’d want to be tied down to some old man anyway?
Well, it wasn’t like Woody would die without him. He had enough money to get by. He wasn’t bad looking. He had good work. And he could just start fresh with some other guy or gal whenever he wanted. He could do anything he put his mind to. Oh, who was he kidding. There wasn’t anyone he wanted except Buzz. He was head over heels for Buzz Lightyear and he would literally keel over and die if Buzz threw him aside like fresh garbage.
He told Bo just as much when they went out about town later. He’d said the same to Slinky at cards. Bo told him he was overthinking and betraying Buzz by not trusting him enough. Slinky told him to relax; besides, he still had the guys even without Buzz. Hamm said he had severe abandonment issues and needed decades of missed therapy.
Woody came home after sunset, after a distracted dinner at the Roundup Bar, courtesy of his sister and their pals. Jessie said she would be home later, after winking at him like he was supposed to know what she meant.
As soon as he stepped inside the house and shut the door, a hand snatched him from behind and pushed him against the wall, almost shaking a few picture frames down. Then a pair of familiar lips touched his mouth. When the kiss pulled away, Woody stared into a set of blazing blue eyes.
“Buzz?” he gasped, “what are you doing here-?”
“It’s your birthday,” Buzz told him sternly, “I wouldn’t miss it even if my life depended on it.”
Woody gulped. “You still wanna be with me? Even after you know-”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
“You don’t mind being with an old man?”
Buzz cleared his throat. “Woody, listen. The only thing that bothers me about your age is the fact that you have years of life experience that I lack. But I promise I’ll make up for it. So today, I wanted to say to you-”
He wants me. He still wants me. He still wants me! Hey howdy hey, he still wants me!
Before Woody could faint from relief, Buzz flipped on a light and dragged him to a corner of the living room, where a vintage record player awaited. With minimum fidgeting, Buzz managed to slip in a vinyl record. Scratchy music floated out.
“I got this at an auction yesterday,” Buzz said carefully, “you once told me it’d been a while since you had one of these. You also told me Riders in the Sky was your favorite band. So I got their album too.”
Woody stared at the record, something fluffy and light overtaking his chest. He wasn’t sure if he said or breathed out the word, “Buzz…”
“I love you.” Buzz put a hand on Woody’s shoulder. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I wish I had been born earlier so that I could have spent more of my life with you, but I can’t make that wish come true so I’ll just have to settle for making the most of what we have now.”
Woody looked at him. Buzz was smiling. Then Woody kissed him and-
It was the best birthday of his life.