Tommy Kinard In Bear Form ❤️ Loving His Henley

EVAN BUCKLEY | 🫦

Buck likes the weather in LA.

Endless summers, mild winter months; what’s not to love? Sometimes he misses snow, or the way the air feels on a truly crisp autumn morning, but all in all he prefers warmth and sunshine.

But summer is only fun until a heat wave makes the city feel like everybody’s trapped under a glass dome and slowly going insane. 

Buck needs to get some sleep before his next shift, but the blackout curtains in Tommy’s bedroom don’t do much against the suffocating heat. The whole house feels like an oven at this point, and the best he managed so far was a short fifteen minute nap.

With a sigh he flops over and snuggles closer to Tommy, who immediately pushes him away.

“Too hot,” Tommy grumbles next to him in the dark.

“You’re too hot,” Buck counters. “I'm a cuddler; you didn’t have a problem with it until now.”

“It wasn’t 99 degrees until now. Just stay on your side of the bed, please.”

Buck tries to find a comfortable sleeping position and closes his eyes. It is too hot, and yet he almost itches to feel Tommy’s skin under his hands.

~

When Buck wakes up again it’s barely ten minutes later, at least according to the alarm clock on the nightstand. Maybe it’s broken? He watches the bright green numbers change and silently counts along until the clock hits a new minute. Alright, so the clock isn’t the problem. 

Buck shifts onto his back, his skin prickling with sweat in the humid air. He’d love to get up and stand in front of the open freezer for a while, but he wouldn’t do that to Tommy’s energy bill. 

“We could go to the loft to sleep,” he suggests instead.

There's no immediate reply, and for a moment he wonders if Tommy actually managed to fall asleep.

But finally Tommy says: “You have high ceilings, huge windows and a tiny AC unit. I don’t think we need to drive all the way to the loft to check if it’s less hot over there.”

Buck pouts a little bit, even if Tommy can’t see it. “I rent my place. What's your excuse for not having better air conditioning?”

“It worked fine last summer. And I don't usually have a 220 pound guy trying to sleep on top of me during a heat wave.”

Tommy’s voice is light and teasing, but Buck can hear the truth underneath the words nonetheless. Neither of them is very comfortable in their own skin right now, and if Buck was a simple hook-up or a short-term boyfriend, Tommy wouldn’t want him in his bed right now Not after a long shift, and certainly not in this heat.

But here they are. The knowledge warms Buck in a very different way than the summer heat.

~

“Sex usually helps me fall asleep,” Buck points out after he catches himself staring at the alarm clock again. He’s pretty sure the glowing numbers are mocking him.

Tommy chuckles. “Subtle. Very subtle.”

“It’s science. Do you need me to find you an article about brain chemistry and happy hormones?”

“No, thank you,” Tommy replies drily. “You know what else is science? We’ll sweat even more. The sheets will be disgusting, and we’ll have to get up and remake the bed, and by the time we’re done, all the ‘happy hormones’ will be gone.”

Buck sighs and snuffles closer to the middle of the bed so he can press his face against Tommy’s shoulder at least. “No snuggling, no sex, no science, no sweat… Do you hate everything that starts with the letter S now?” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Somehow Tommy makes the words sound warm and fond.

Neither of them is any closer to falling asleep.

~

“Did you know the phrase ‘sweating like a pig’ is nonsense?” Buck asks. “Pigs don't sweat at all.”

“Lucky pigs,” Tommy replies and lets out a long yawn.

“They cool down by taking mud baths.”

Tommy nudges Buck’s calf with his foot. “If you rip out my basil to roll around in wet dirt you're sleeping on the porch.”

“At least I’d be sleeping. Totally worth it.”

For a moment both of them stay quiet, just resting next to each other until Tommy breaks the silence: “I guess we could just turn the basil into pesto.” 

~

“I can't sleep when you're all the way over there,” Buck admits very quietly, just in case Tommy is finally asleep.

But Tommy laughs, low and soft. “How do you sleep when I'm not around?”

“Badly.” 

It’s not even a joke; Buck really likes sharing a bed with Tommy. Even now, despite being hot and uncomfortable, he wants to be closer, put his head on Tommy’s chest and let the sound of his heartbeat lull him to sleep.

“I sleep better with you too,” Tommy tells him. After a brief pause he adds: “When we’re actually sleeping.”

“We should do more of that,” Buck decides.

“What? Sleeping?”

Buck hums in confirmation. “Sleeping together.”

“Yeah, I’d like —” Tommy pauses mid-sentence when Buck plasters himself against his side. “Evan, we’ll stick together.”

“Sleep,” Buck mumbles.

Tommy sighs, but he pulls Buck firmly against him. “What am I going to do with you?”

~

The next time Buck wakes up when his alarm buzzes. Tommy is fast asleep, curled around his back.

Them 🫠🫠🫠

ok i see you

tommy saving bobby's life 8 years ago

His eyes aren't the right shade of blue, but he opens up for Buck like a dream, lips wide and wet and -

"Fuck," Buck says, and when he digs his hand in the man's - Henry? Harry? - hair it's too fine, too straight.

Henry-Harry hums around him and Buck sort of just wants to fuck his face but that's rude, that's so fucking rude, he doesn't even remember the guys name -

Henry-Harry swallows and Buck's hips jut forward, but the lines around his eyes aren't groove-deep and heavy with warmth.

"Hank," Buck says, and the man's eyes dart up, his brow raises, his lips tip up and his tongue swirls and he never knows that Buck had only just remembered his name seconds before he came.

---

The date goes... fine. Kelsey is sweet and delicate and when her hand scratches at his stubble the tips of her fingers don't catch - soft, smooth, the hands of someone who spends eight hours a day behind a keyboard. She kisses like a dream, but the angle is all wrong.

She fucks like a dream too, but afterwards, when Buck shifts to curl around her she rolls her shoulder and gives him a confused look and Buck remembers that she's more than a foot shorter than him and her shoulders aren't really wide enough for -

Buck rolls and tucks her head under his chin and he thinks Tommy Kinard didn't really know shit about firsts and lasts.

---

The music is loud and the beat is heavy and the man with a thigh between Buck's legs is dark - twisting dreads that catch silver in the strobe light, deep brown skin, cheekbones Buck would break an ankle for.

Buck considers asking him if he wants to take this somewhere more private. Buck considers asking him if he wants to come home with him. Buck considers the heft of the thigh between his legs and remembers the first time Tommy had gotten him off, dick barely even out of his jeans because they'd been grinding like horny teenagers and -

His voice is deep and low when he tips his head to whisper in Buck's ear, the tenor all wrong.

Buck lets him tangle their fingers together as he heads towards the single stall bathrooms down the hall

---

"Ex... boyfriend?" Heather asks, and there's a wrinkle around the shape of her mouth that sets Buck's teeth on edge, because hadn't the whole point of this been that Buck needed to play the field? He likes men. He likes women. He can't pick a number on the Kinsey scale because all he can think about is -

"I'm bi," Buck says, and her expression withers. That seems to be the default - men think he's waiting for the woman who will give him a picture perfect family, women think he's - "It was right there at the top of my profile. With a flag and everything."

Her nose scrunches. She's trying to play it off. She's clearly not one of the women who think it's hot. "Sometimes men do that just to like, seem less intimidating."

Buck's already reaching for his wallet. "And sometimes men just like dick as much as -."

Her hand draws over her heart and it reminds Buck of his mom and not in the teasing way he'd always told Tommy the same thing.

He apologizes to his server and hands her a twenty in his way out the door.

---

Jack is two weeks younger than Buck to the day.

He's beautiful. Auburn hair trimmed neatly, cow-brown eyes, a sharp jawline and scruff that never seems to go past six-pm shadow. He's sweet - not a mean bone in his body, and the first time he hangs out with Buck and Eddie he shoots Eddie a shocked look when he pokes fun at Buck.

He lasts two and a half months.

But Buck knows the game now. Buck isn't looking for forever. Buck is -

Buck is Buck. That's what he'd said in the end, anyway.

"I'm really sorry, Jack," Buck says, fingers drifting from their hold between Jack's.

Jack's smile is just a little sad, but far too understanding. "Hey, I've been an in-betweener before. It was fun while it lasted."

---

Either Tommy's blocked his number or he's really fucking good at swiping out of his notification previews.

Buck thinks about leaving a really shitty, incredibly mean hearted voicemail instead.

You're a coward sits Delivered for three months

---

Ashley's a nurse, and when she admits she's only ever dated women before Buck feels the sting of it, but he smiles all the same. He's chasing a feeling he hasn't been able to find since -

She stares at the sparse decoration of his loft and doesn't say a word.

"So, like -." Buck starts, but she tangles her fingers in his shirt and presses her lips to his and Buck realizes the stupidly large box of condoms he'd bought for his sex-a-thon the first four off after he'd finally convinced Tommy to fuck him is almost out.

Buck spends half an hour with his head between her legs before the tug in his curls gets insistent, and Buck tries not to think, for a while

---

"You're a firefighter?" Travis asks, head tilted excitedly, eyes on the LAFD tee hanging half out of his laundry basket. "Have you ever worked with the guys at Harbor?"

Five and a half months - nearly as long as they'd been together - and Buck considers asking Travis to leave instead of answering. He's got a heart shaped face and Buck can't detect a wrinkle on him. No smile lines around his eyes.

"Flew into a hurricane with them once."

Buck's not sure they ever left the eye.

---

Maddie gives birth on a Thursday. Miraculously they're all off shift except Eddie.

They name his nephew John Evan Buckley-Han and Buck spends an hour watching him sleep before he remembers exactly how long it's been since he'd last heard his name.

---

you haven't though, Buck sends, while Eddie presses him into the Uber and makes Buck promise to text him when he's home.

All the messages in the thread above have a Read receipt.

The dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

Haven't what?

seen me around, Buck sends back, and it shows as Delivered long after his Uber drops him off and he shoots off a message to Eddie once he's collapsed in bed. He's gonna regret that last shot in the morning.

He should have gone home with the redhead instead of letting Eddie convince him to stay and play another round of darts.

---

Greg presses a kiss to Buck's birthmark and Buck politely peels himself off Greg's very nice mattress and tugs on his briefs. "Here for a good time, not a long time, huh?" Greg asks, and Buck remembers that this had always been unsatisfying.

He thought he'd found something he could build on. Turns out he wasn't making shit.

"Sorry kid," he says, sparing a glance at Greg's slim shoulders and the washboard abs that he'd make it his mission to look a little less dehydrated, if this were something serious. Maybe some lasagna in the freezer, the gnocchi he'd learned to make once Tommy got tired of flicking flour in Buck's hair.

"I'm like, five years younger than you."

Buck's already searching for the shirt Greg has tossed off the side of the bed half an hour ago.

---

Did you want me to?

Buck stares at the message for a full five minutes. Glares at it, really.

No, he lies, and leaves it at that.

---

He's not even at work when it happens. He's on a fucking date, and the television over the bar switches to a breaking news story about a helicopter crashing just off the 405.

Whatever Yarrow is saying to him gets lost when he sees the numbers dashed across the side of the hunk of smoldering metal that had once been an LAFD chopper.

---

Bobby meets him at the bay doors.

Eddie's already there too.

It's not good news. It's not bad news, either.

Buck only met Tommy's captain once, and he can see now that there were cracks, walls Buck hadn't realized he hadn't yet climbed, but she recognizes him and pulls him off to the side.

"Do you not answer your phone, Buckley?"

He's got six missed calls. The moment he'd texted the group chat and left Yarrow with the tab for the terrible IPA he'd gotten a taste for in those six months when the future had been clearer, he'd forgotten phones actually existed.

"I - sorry, were you trying to reach me?"

"You're listed as his ICE, Buckley."

Buck can't remember them ever even having that conversation.

"He'll survive," she says, voice firm, eyes unyielding. "You can't wring his neck about it until he's out of the woods, and he's a glutton for punishment."

---

"I have some things to say," Buck says, and Tommy eyes him warily from the bed where he's propped. They'd only pulled tubes ten minutes ago, and technically Tommy isn't allowed to speak for a bit. "We're gonna circle back around to the fact that you made me your in case of after you broke up with me once you can talk, so don't forget that."

He looks - guilty. Annoyed. Clears his throat and winces, scowls when Buck hands him the cup of ice chips but still uses two meaty fingers to grab a handful that he tosses into his mouth and chews. Loudly.

Buck leans back in his chair and stares at the cast on Tommy's leg, the bruising around his eyes, the flat mess of his curls.

"And if you call me Buck again I'm telling Angie you asked to have the morphine drip removed." It's a joke, and a lame one at that, but Tommy's eyes twinkle.

---

It's almost a year to the day when Tommy snags his wrist and reels him in for a kiss, hand palming Buck's ass as he noses at Buck's cheek and nearly trips over the last of the boxes Buck had gotten distracted from moving out of the hallway.

"You have too much shit," Tommy tells him, and Buck mostly thinks he's pissed that he still hasn't fully regained the muscle mass in his leg yet. He's lopsided and a little clumsy but every time Buck brings it up he inevitably ends up with a video of himself slipping all over an ice rink in the group chat, so he keeps it to himself.

"You love it."

Tommy's eyes soften when Buck runs a hand through his curls, the grooves of his smile just right. "I tolerate it. You, though..."

Buck isn't ashamed to admit he still feels butterflies every time Tommy says it.

"You I don't mind."

Buck scowls just to watch Tommy's face brighten mischievously. The hands around his waist are wide and strong and the finger pads catch in the worn cotton.

sometimes I think I’m okay and then I see buck and tommy in that morning after scene and I’m like no I want it so fucking bad actually. I want them back together so badly my chest physically aches

WIP

Next chapter posted (4/6)!

Routine was Tommy’s anchor, and his athletic attire was no exception. Today, he wore his old PT shorts, black with the gold ARMY logo along the hem. Years of workouts, wear, and washes had softened the fabric, making them exceptionally comfortable.

Tucked in the back of his waistband, after being removed in the late morning sun as sweat clung to his chest, was a white tee he received as a gag gift from Chimney. It featured Max-D, his favorite monster truck, known for its aggressive design and flashy performances.

The bright, clear skies and idyllic views marked the start of the day, and Tommy eagerly anticipated reaching WeHo for an iced coffee, maybe even flirting with Nick, the barista, if he was around. His New Balance 990s carried him steadily along his path, the rhythmic patter of his footsteps a steady beat beneath the bright sky. He opted to forgo music today, finding solace in the quiet, peaceful streets and the vibrant hum of the city.

Adjusting to life with Captain Nash had taken time. Tommy was working on building relationships with his colleagues, grappling with vulnerability and openness. It was easier to handle the harsh expectations from his father and commanding officers by keeping his head down and sticking to the task at hand. Bobby was different; he was fostering a collaborative environment, creating a real team, and that unsettled Tommy.

Every time Bobby’s eyes fell on him in the kitchen after a tough call, he could feel the empathy and care behind them. He would ask “Doing okay, Tommy?” and Tommy would always say “Doing great, Cap.” He never meant it, not really.

Continue on Ao3

all in 5 days. could we really be so back

Lou Ferrigno Jr. as Tommy Kinard | 9-1-1 → 2x09