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Normally Buck finds the ocean fascinating—terrifying, yeah of course, but in a wide-eyed, sense-of-wonder kind of way. Awesome, in the dictionary-approved meaning of the word. And sure, it's still fascinating as hell, but.
It can't hold a candle to the man beside him.
The narrator on the TV is still talking but Buck's stopped paying attention long enough that he can't pick up the thread. He hopes it's not about sharks. He doesn't want to miss any parts about sharks. And maybe if the narrator wasn't talking about the dark, mysterious depths of the ocean but instead the dark, mysterious depths of the human mind. Or one human mind. Tommy's mind. Or maybe soul. The dark night of the soul—that's a thing, right? Buck's pretty sure he's heard that before, though he can't remember where. As easy-going as he is, Buck thinks there's probably a lot going on beneath the surface, stuff that Tommy doesn't want anyone to see. If Buck were narrating, he'd talk about that, about all the things you can only find by diving in, going fathoms and fathoms below the easy currents of the surface. And he'd also probably talk about Tommy's eyes, because they're blue, and pretty, and that's kind of like the ocean, too. And maybe his cleft, because—
"Hey," Tommy says, nudging Buck's leg with his knee. "You okay? Looked like you were drifting off a bit. Thinking about merman dicks again?"
Buck flushes because he's really never going to live that down, is he. It's not his fault that he wondered if Ariel came out of an egg. Sure, some fish give birth to live young but a lot of them —most of them, he's pretty sure—lay eggs. And what was going on inside those merpeople anyway? Because there weren't a lot of human organs in normal legs, so what exactly was in a mermaid tail? (Meat? Maybe merpeople had delicious meat for some deepwater abyssal predator.) If Buck was a merman, he'd like the tail, but he'd want to keep his dick. Tommy would make a hot merman, but he should definitely keep his dick, mostly because Buck liked it so much. Not that he was supposed to be thinking about that, because they were just friends watching a movie together, totally chill and platonic, but. Maybe scales had more pleasure receptors than he realized. Or they could coil their tails together and like… rub. Fin massage. Or have some tongue action around the urogenital opening—
"Mmm. Evan? You okay?"
"I wasn't, uh." Buck clears his throat and nudges Tommy back. "I-I wasn't thinking about—" He stops, because he definitely was, but that's not what Tommy cared about, not really. He grins and sinks down further into the couch cushions, subtly spreading his legs until he's pressed against Tommy. They'd been so, so careful not to touch when they sat down, but after the first movie when they'd gotten up to refill drinks and snacks they'd moved closer. And a little closer with each shift and readjustment after. "Hey," Buck says instead. He turns his head to look at Tommy, leaning his cheek against the top of the cushion. "I'm not drifting. It's just. This is nice."
Tommy smiles back at him, soft and fond. "Yeah?"
Buck nods and touches the back of Tommy's hand. It's just for a moment—he doesn't tangle their fingers together like he would have when they were together, doesn't let his touch linger. "Yeah," he says.
Then Tommy yawns and tries to pretend he doesn't, turning away and pressing his knuckles to his mouth. "Guess it's getting late," he says.
It definitely is. "Nah," Buck says. He gestures to the TV. "Besides, the… the show's not even over."
Tommy looks away then back to him, like he can't keep his eyes off Buck for too long. He gives him a big, scrunchy smile and Buck doesn't care if the documentary's moved on to sharks, merpeople dickless or otherwise, or anything else in the sixty million square miles of Pacific Ocean. All he cares about is Tommy. "Sure," Tommy says. And it's so indulgent Buck feels his insides fold like warm taffy. "It's not so late."
Buck shifts a little closer. He pretends he doesn't notice when Tommy does, too. The episode they were watching ends and the next starts to autoplay. Tommy fidgets but makes no move to get up and Buck isn't about to draw attention to the time. Tommy yawns again and it's contagious. Buck stretches his arms out as he yawns, too, and lets himself fall into Tommy's side.
There's a moment of hesitation. Then Tommy clears his throat. "Is this a… platonic cuddle?" he asks. "Because we're—"
"Friends, yeah." He looks up from where he's got his head pillowed on Tommy's shoulder. "Right?"
"Right, of course." Tommy nods. "Friends."
"I mean unless…"
He doesn't finish the thought and Tommy doesn't, either. They fall silent and watch. Only a few minutes pass before one big arm is settling around Buck. He wiggles in closer and yawns again. He presses his face into Tommy, yawning wide against the soft cotton of his shirt.
"I'm not sleepy," he says, which is a lie. "It's too early to go to bed." Tommy hums, doubtful and Buck tugs on the lobe of his ear. "Too early for you to leave, too."
"Of course." Tommy strokes his arm with his fingers, a touch that's electric and soothing at the same time. "Why don't you just rest your eyes, huh? Hard work to watch all this."
"Hmm." Buck snorts, insinuating himself further under Tommy's arm. He's maybe too big to be tucked up neatly, but Tommy's strong. He can take it. He would stretch out and cover all of Buck if he asked him to. "And thinking about merman dicks."
Tommy laughs and lightly pinches him. "I knew you were."
"Can't help it," he says, because he's curious. Because sometimes his brain gets an itch and he has to think it out. Because Tommy would make a hot merman. He wants to tell him that. He thinks maybe he does, mumbling it out as he starts to drift off. But then there's a hand in his hair and suddenly getting that out seems less important. Tommy will be hot tomorrow. Tommy will be a hot merman all the time, in any world Buck can dream up. He'll tell him later.
It's still early, after all. They've got time.