Chapter Text
PHASE I: NON-GENITAL TOUCHING
“The receiving partner should primarily focus on their own sensations while being touched. For the moment, they are not to reciprocate touching. Instead, the receiver should simply notice the sensations—not in terms of evaluating or analyzing them, but experiencing the touch fully.”
In true Eddie fashion, the topic has to steep for a while before he brings it up. He’s not ashamed of it, and he doesn’t think Buck or Tommy will be weirded out, he just needs a minute to sit with it.
Still, it’s a surprise when the words tumble out of his mouth during a quiet evening in, where Buck and Tommy are curled up together on the couch and Eddie’s returning with three mugs of milk tea for them to split. Tommy’s the one who got them hooked on it, and Buck’s the one who found the chai blend they can all agree on.
Eddie sets Buck and Tommy’s mugs on the coffee table. Tommy is halfway through a pulp sci-fi novel, and Buck is scrolling mindlessly on his phone.
Maybe that’s why they’re so caught off-guard when Eddie says, “Frank thinks we should do sex therapy.”
Two pairs of eyes blink up at him. “Huh?” Tommy asks.
“Well, he thinks I should do sex therapy,” Eddie elaborates, “But the therapist does individual and group sessions, and I think. I don’t know. It might be good for us.”
“Is—is something not satisfying you?” Buck asks, immediately concerned, “Is there something we could be doing better?”
“No!” Eddie says, huffing out an awkward laugh, “No—the sex is… really good.”
Mind melting. Life changing. Addictive. Whatever, it’s not like Eddie’s keeping score.
“I’m not opposed,” Tommy considers, “I’m just not sure what the purpose is, if you’re getting as much out of sex as we are.”
Eddie sighs, sits in the armchair he’d claimed as his own a while ago, and takes a sip of his tea. “I just—I want to avoid this thing I tend to do with my partners. Buck, you remember how it was with Shannon. There was a while where the only things we did were argue and fuck. Frank thinks maybe it has something to do with the way I approach sex itself. He wants to talk me through the other stuff, but he referred me to a sex therapist for specifics.”
Buck looks thoughtful, sitting up fully so he can drink from his own mug. “Well, I’ll try anything twice. And if it helps you, I’ll do it.”
“Me too,” Tommy agrees, with a dashing little grin. Eddie, unfortunately, is completely gone on them.
Their first appointment with Lily is on one of their days off. Buck is all for telehealth, and in fact he prefers to take his therapy appointments from the comfort of his own home, but Eddie has always connected more in-person, and, well. It’s his therapy.
So they drive forty minutes away to a little bungalow that’s been repurposed into a therapy clinic and walk into what used to be the entryway to check in.
They’re called back and directed to the second office on the right, where a petite woman in a motorized wheelchair is waiting for them. She gives them a bright smile and introduces herself, “Hi! I’m Lily, you must be Eddie, Buck, and Tommy.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, and Lily backs her chair up to allow them room to walk in. She positions herself more towards the middle of the room and gives them a look that’s probably meant to seem thoughtful, but ends up somewhere closer to scrutinizing.
“How do you know Frank?” Eddie asks, for lack of anything better to say.
Lily laughs. “We were the only two wheelchair users at a therapy conference about eight years back, right when I got out of school. We sat together in every conference room for three days straight. I like to talk, and he likes to listen. We’ve been close friends ever since.”
“Oh, neat,” Eddie says, flashing her a smile he hopes isn’t awkward.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, then,” Lily says, “My name is Lily Torrez, I’m a licensed therapist who specializes in sex and sexual dysfunction. The goal of today’s session is to get to know the three of you and the problems you’re facing, together and individually. The easiest way to tackle this first session is to do three individual mini-sessions. Let’s start with you, Eddie. Buck, Tommy, if you could wait in the chairs in the hallway, I would appreciate it.”
The two of them shrug and file out. Buck gives Eddie a quick, reassuring shoulder squeeze on the way. Lily turns to look more directly at Eddie, assessing, and says, “What brings you in today?”
Eddie’s face goes bright red. He knew this was coming, but it still takes him by surprise, and he really meant it when he said he hates introducing himself to new therapists. “Uh, I have a bad habit of having sex with my partners instead of communicating. It started with my late wife, Shannon, and I… I really don’t want it to happen with Buck and Tommy. They mean a lot to me.”
“That’s completely understandable, Eddie,” Lily says, “And more common than you’d think. Sex is a form of communication, and often when we feel like other areas of communication are lacking, we can rely on the ones we know will always help us to recover that sense of connection and intimacy. Are you having an problems during sex that you’d like to address?”
“Not especially,” Eddie says, with a self-deprecating laugh, “Sex has always been the easiest part of a relationship for me.”
They talk a little more about Shannon (uncomfortable, but Eddie knew it would happen sooner or later), and his relationship with sexuality (bad), and his parents’ relationship with sexuality (worse). All in all, it takes about fifteen very direct, very intense minutes of discussion before Eddie’s wrung out most of his problems with sex.
“We’ll definitely continue these discussions more in-depth,” Lily says, “I usually like to have some individual sessions with the partners I’m seeing. Is it okay if I send my notes to Frank, so you can further discuss these things in your normal talk therapy sessions too?”
“Honestly, it would be such a relief not to have to go over everything myself with him,” Eddie laughs.
“Good,” Lily says, with a smile that feels placating, “Alright, you’re free to go out and send in one of your partners.”
Eddie breathes a heavy sigh of relief as he steps through the threshold to find Buck and Tommy sitting in the hall chairs. They actually look pretty comfortable—armchairs nestled into a corner, with magazines on the side table between them.
“Next victim,” Eddie says, nodding towards the open door. Tommy stands, looking faintly nervous, and wipes his hands on his jeans. The door closes behind him, leaving Buck and Eddie alone.
“What did she talk about?” Buck asks curiously.
“Mostly what I wanted out of therapy,” Eddie shrugs, taking Tommy’s spot in an armchair, “My history with sex, that sort of thing.”
For some reason, Buck looks a little disquieted. He’s frowning, and jostling his leg in a way that speaks more to nervousness than pent-up energy.
“Everything okay?” Eddie checks.
“Yeah,” Buck says, flashing Eddie what’s probably supposed to be a reassuring smile, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Eddie frowns, but chooses not to poke the bear. Buck’s probably anxious enough without explaining whatever’s going on twice. Instead, Eddie reaches across the gap between chairs and takes Buck’s hand, which is shaking in time with how his leg is bouncing.
Tommy emerges after fifteen minutes, looking a little worse for wear. “Alright, Evan. Your turn.”
Buck stands and looks like he’s considering his words. Instead of stepping fully into the room, he stands at the threshold and asks, “Is it okay if one of them sits with me?”
From within the room, Lily speaks, “I prefer to do these intake sessions privately. Is there a reason you feel uncomfortable speaking to me one-on-one?”
Buck takes a deep breath, and in the exhale, he mumbles something completely unintelligible. His shoulders are hunched, and Eddie can’t see his face, but he’d put money on it being bright red.
“Say that again?” Lily asks.
“The last time I was alone with a therapist I slept with her!” Buck repeats, just a little too loud. Eddie feels a little punched in the gut. He hurries to continue that with, “Not that I think I wouldn’t—wouldn’t be able to control myself around you, or—or something. Not—not that you’re not very pretty! I just—just—”
“Hey,” Lily interrupts, “Buck, let’s take a deep breath. I completely understand why that would make you hesitant to speak to me alone. If you feel comfortable being honest in front of your partners, you can bring them in to observe. I just ask that they don’t weigh in on anything.”
“Thank you,” Buck says, letting out a tense breath. Eddie stands, and obediently follows Buck and Tommy back into the room.
Lily is looking at Buck with open concern when he sits on the couch. Eddie and Tommy sandwich him between them, and Eddie loops an arm around his back.
“So, I think we have a very good place to start, unless you have somewhere better?” Lily says, not unkindly.
“I—actually, I feel like it’s something that makes more sense in—in context,” Buck sighs, “And—this is the thing I’ve been in therapy for for years, s—so it’s been dissected to death. I was kind of a—a slut in my late teens and—and early twenties.”
“I would prefer not to call you a slut,” Lily frowns.
“I—I mean,” Buck says, chagrined, “Let’s call a spade a sp—spade. I became sexually active when I was th—thirteen. I was on all the dating apps except Grindr. My username was firehose. It—it was a way for me to ex—experience intimacy that I was missing in my family life. My parents didn’t give—give me enough attention, so I st—started looking for it in other places. I’ve had probably close to—to a hundred sexual partners.”
And that’s… wow. Eddie would never judge Buck for his past, but hearing it said out loud boggles the mind. It also kind of hurts, to imagine Buck begging and begging for someone to stay a hundred times. He keeps his face carefully neutral, though. They promised to be observers, nothing more.
“How do you feel about your sexual history?” Lily asks consideringly.
“Embarrassed,” Buck admits, “I’m not—I’m sex positive. But my—my Captain s—said once that I was dis—disrespecting the women I slept with. When I was swinging my dick around. And h—he’s kind of my dad. The one who—who cared, anyway. I—I care what he thinks.”
Eddie frowns. He doesn’t remember Bobby ever saying that. In fact, he doesn’t remember Bobby passing judgment on Buck’s choice in partners at all, even privately. Even when it was Taylor.
“It was before you were there,” Buck says softly in response to Eddie’s face. “Also before I slept with—with my therapist.”
“Can you say more about that?” Lily pries.
Buck swallows once before continuing. “It—it was just after my first loss on the job. All three of us are firefighters. Well—Tommy’s a firefighter pilot. Anyway. I was having a—a hard time, s—so my Captain sent me to a department th—therapist. A—and,” a breath, like it’s painful to recount, “I guess th—the incident got some news coverage. Pretty e—extensive. I w—was interviewed. And sh—she saw the interview. F—friended me on Face—Facebook. And—and when I—I—I—” Buck takes another breath, and focuses through each word carefully. “I didn’t get very far into the story before she sat in front of me and asked if she could do something to make me feel better. And I wanted to feel better. I never told anyone the details. She—she got fired, later, for the same thing. But I didn’t w—want anyone to think.” He stops there, letting out a ragged breath. “It doesn’t matter. I only saw her once. She—she cleared me to go back to work after and—and told me to delete the friend request.”
The floor feels like it’s falling away from under Eddie’s feet. To his surprise, when he tears his eyes away from Buck’s face, Lily is wiping at her eyes with her knuckles. “Sorry. I just—Buck, thank you for telling me. Many survivors of—”
“W—woah!” Buck interjects, “C’mon, Lily, I’m not a survivor of anything.”
“Therapists have a duty of care to their patients,” Lily says, more firm than she ever was with Eddie, “You were emotionally vulnerable, and you said—she was responsible for clearing you to go back to work? That creates a power imbalance, and the potential for a quid-pro-quo. She should not have slept with you. You could not have meaningfully consented.”
Buck’s jaw ticks. He looks down and whispers, as if in desperate plea, “But I wanted it.”
“How did it make you feel?” Lily asks, gentle again.
“It—it made me feel good,” Buck says, but it’s not very convincing, “In the moment. After, I felt… dirty. I was trying not to sleep around anymore.”
“Did you ever feel that way after future sexual encounters?” Lily follows.
“Not like that,” Buck sighs, “Is it still sexual assault if it made me feel good?”
“Sexual assault is about consent, not emotion,” Lily says, “You don’t have to be some traumatized shell of a person to have experienced sexual assault. What she did to you was wrong. It was a violation of our code of ethics as therapists, and it was a violation of your bodily autonomy.”
“I don’t—” Buck laughs wetly, “I don’t know I ever had bodily autonomy. I was a savior baby—my older brother had pediatric leukemia and I was born so my bone marrow could be used as a graft. I was a match, he died anyway, my parents couldn’t—couldn’t look at me without seeing him. I think I had the surgery when I was three or four months old.”
“I’m sorry you were used in that way, but you always have bodily autonomy,” Lily counters, “Buck, have you ever felt like you could turn someone down for sex?”
“O—of course!” Buck blinks, “I mean, I haven’t ever wanted to. But I—I could.”
Something turns sourly in Eddie’s stomach, but Tommy beats him to the punch. “Evan—”
“Sweetheart,” Buck says, turning to Tommy, “You have never made me feel anything but safe. If I ever didn’t want to have sex with you or Eddie, I would tell you. But you know me—if I could be having sex with you all the time, I would.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Tommy gripes, but presses a gentle kiss to Buck’s shoulder anyway. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Buck says softly.
“I think this is a good segue into the group discussion,” Lily says, “Buck, we can switch to telehealth visits for our one-on-ones later.”
“Thank you,” Buck says gratefully.
“I do want to continue individually with all three of you,” Lily continues, “Probably just a few sessions each, and then we can tie that into group sessions. For now, I want to go over the first, and probably longest, exercise I’m going to have the three of you do.”
She pushes her chair over to a shelf, picks up a folder with some papers in it, sets it on her lap, and rolls back over to them. The paper gets handed to Tommy, who takes it and opens it to find three packets.
“This is one of the most popular exercises in sex therapy, and there are very few cases where I don’t recommend it,” Lily says, “It’s called sensate focus. It’s designed to help you become reacquainted with your partners’ bodies in a nonsexual setting. There are three phases. In every phase, you’ll each get thirty minutes of uninterrupted time to touch your partner’s body. I would recommend doing this in pairs at first, and then as a trio, with two givers and one recipient.”
Eddie tries to listen. He really does. But as soon as Lily starts talking, he gets overwhelmed. Beside him, Buck is humming like he’s about to ask a million questions anyway, so Eddie doesn’t especially bother trying to sort through the thoughts in his head.
“Can we still have sex?” is the first question out of Buck’s mouth, which startles a bark of laughter out of Tommy.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, “You’re insatiable.”
Buck flushes, and this time it’s the pretty red color he gets when he’s being teased.
Lily smiles, but takes it in stride. “Yes, you can still have sex outside of the exercise. You can even decide to have sex once the exercise ends. But try not to let them devolve into sex within the thirty minute timeframes.”
Buck nods thoughtfully. “What do we do if we get hard or close to an orgasm during the sessions?”
Eddie zones out. He officially reaches his feelings and questions limit for the day and starts staring at the corner of Lily’s office, decorated with some oddly suggestive abstract art.
“Eddie? Do you have any questions? Thoughts, concerns?” Lily asks, jolting him out of his thoughts.
“Sorry,” Eddie says bashfully, “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“It’s okay, I have a list,” Buck says, to which Eddie groans and Tommy laughs again.
“Well, it sounds like at least one of you has it handled,” Lily says, “I think that’s a good stopping point for today, then. Feel free to start on the first phase of sensate focus at home this week. Eddie, I’ll be in contact to schedule our first individual session.”
With that, they leave, packets in hand and exercises assigned.
As it turns out, sex therapists have a way of taking a deeply sexy idea and turning it into the driest, least appetizing read of the century. At least, to Eddie.
Buck seems to like it.
Buck also makes them a schedule.
They’ve got three hour-long blocks put into their week marked Sensate Focus and their names, and one that says Sensate Focus Everyone that’s ninety minutes long.
Eddie tries not to feel left out during the Buck-and-Tommy hour, especially when—well.
When Tommy leaves for his shift the next morning, and Buck and Eddie are still on their off day, and Eddie wakes up from a nap to Buck straddling his waist, looming over him, pressing soft kisses to his face.
“This isn’t on the schedule,” Eddie breathes, as Buck runs his hands up Eddie’s sides.
“We have another free hour until we call Chris,” Buck replies, with a smile, “I want you.”
“How do you want me?” Eddie asks, because Buck doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to play, but they’re supposed to be openly communicating, or whatever.
“Just you,” Buck responds, with another saccharine kiss to Eddie’s cheek, “Want to make you feel good.”
“Fuck me,” Eddie gasps, rolling his hips up into Buck’s ass. Buck’s chest stutters, and his hands twitch against Eddie’s sides.
“So responsive, honey,” Buck coos, “I’m going to take such good care of you.”
Buck swings a leg back over Eddie’s hips, and makes quick work of his own clothes. Then, he peels Eddie’s sweats and boxers off, leaving his shirt on. Eddie’s far too sleep-lazy to remove it, and Buck seems content as they are, so all Eddie does is bend his knees and spread his legs.
“So pretty,” Buck murmurs, kneeling between Eddie’s spread thighs, as if in supplication, “Mmm, could live here, if you let me.”
“Oh,” Eddie groans, back arching as Buck licks a stripe up Eddie’s cock. Although Eddie never saw Buck grab the bottle of lube, he hears a distinct clicking noise, and then a few seconds later there are slick fingers at his hole.
“You’re so tight, honey,” Buck says, “Relax—there you go—” Eddie’s body goes slack against his own volition, “You’re always so tense after you wake up. I worry you don’t get enough real rest.”
Eddie wants to say something back, a snarky response to Buck’s genuine care, but then Buck’s fingers are curling up, up, up, and whatever Eddie had wanted to say comes out as a garbled moan.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Buck praises, “Giving me so many good noises. I wonder how many I can fuck out of you.”
Eddie keens, helpless against the gentle pulse of Buck’s fingers. He doesn’t know if it’s more the sleep or the way Buck’s stretching him so well that’s turning his brain to mush, but he’s not sure he’ll ever have a coherent thought again.
He’s immediately proven wrong, when Buck pulls his fingers out, and a real word manages to form in Eddie’s head and spill out of his mouth. “No,” he says, an embarrassing whine.
“No?” Buck teases, and Eddie can hear the noise of his hand over his cock, slicking himself up, “You don’t want me to take my fingers out?”
Eddie nods, and Buck sits up properly, shuffling forward on his knees so his cock—his massive, beautiful, leaking cock—is nudging up against Eddie’s hole. He leans forward to whisper in Eddie’s ear: “Sweetheart, if you want me to fuck you, I have to take my fingers out so I can fill up your tight little hole with other things.”
Eddie might die. He needs in a way that’s alarmingly potent for what little time he’s been awake. “Please,” he croaks.
“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” Buck soothes, as he begins to press into Eddie. The blunt head of his cock feels delicious as it slips in, slick and easy and filling. “It’s okay, you’re taking it so well, so pretty for me. I know, I know it feels so good.”
Eddie’s legs come up to cross over the small of Buck’s back, encouraging him in further. Buck leans down on his elbows, forearms sliding under Eddie’s shoulders to fully embrace him. Eddie can feel the warmth of Buck’s chest through the soft fabric of his sleep shirt, which is starting to ride up with the gentle rock of Buck’s hips.
Eventually, Eddie can feel Buck fully seat himself inside him, hips flush with hips. Buck buries his face in Eddie’s neck and lets out a long groan, before setting an easy, slow pace. It’s so much gentler than anything Eddie’s used to. Touching to touch. Fucking to be close more than to get off.
It’s so good, Eddie feels an embarrassing burn in his eyes.
“Oh, my baby feels so good,” Buck says, before a tender kiss finds its way to the bolt of Eddie’s jaw, “My baby takes my cock so well.”
Buck slowly pulls back, keeping his pace steady, but leaning back on his heels. “I want to try something.”
Eddie looks up at him and raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, now you have the ability to be sassy,” Buck laughs, hands reaching down to pet Eddie’s sides again. To Eddie’s surprise, one of them finds its way to Eddie’s stomach and rests over his abs, not pressing down, just touching.
“I want you to take a deep breath in. Move my hand,” Buck instructs. Eddie closes his eyes and does, filling his lungs with air so deeply his stomach moves, diaphragm inflating as full as it’ll go. As he breathes out, his body relaxes again, even as Buck continues that steady, sure thrusting. The sparks that fly up his spine are shivery and intense, a slow heat that builds in his gut.
“Beautiful,” Buck breathes, eyes wide and dark. “Do that again for me, sweetheart.”
Eddie does. Buck guides him through deep, slow breaths, paired with the deep, slow movement of his hips. His hand stays resting on Eddie’s abs, like he’s checking to make sure Eddie stays compliant. As if he could do anything but obey.
Eddie’s orgasm is the just the same. Slow, deep. It starts in his gut and radiates outward, like a full-body spasm.
“One more deep breath for me, honey, I know you can,” Buck says, as Eddie feels the peak about to hit in his teeth. Eddie’s chest and stomach rise together, along with the high of the orgasm, and he loses himself to the tide.
He can feel his body clenching in rhythm, can feel Buck rocking through it, burying himself in Eddie until his hips still and he follows Eddie over the edge. Eddie’s aware of this happening, somewhere, but he’s floating in another reality entirely.
Buck pulls out, and it pulls Eddie back to earth a little. He feels that familiar sensation of a lube-and-cum-slick emptiness, and he must make some sort of embarrassing noise, because Buck is there with a t-shirt between Eddie’s legs, cleaning him off before he lays back down with Eddie, holding him in his arms.
“You were amazing,” Buck praises, kissing behind Eddie’s ear, “How was that?”
“No more questions,” Eddie begs, “Let my brain reboot.”
Buck does as he’s told, humming and burying his face in Eddie’s hair.
Of course, eventually Eddie’s faculties return enough for him to ask, “What was that?”
“Belly breathing,” Buck says, a hand skimming down over Eddie’s stomach, “Technique I picked up from my—uh. Yoga days.”
“Your yoga days?” Eddie snorts.
“When I was trying new jobs ever chance I got,” Buck says, “Yoga instructor was after SEALs training but before Peru. Mostly for the, you know. Other yoga instructors.”
There’s something there, but Eddie doesn’t know how to examine it. Instead, he picks up Buck’s hand from where it’s resting on his stomach and kisses the knuckles, pressing love and care and—okay, maybe a little possession—into the joints of his hand.
“We should get set up to call Chris,” Buck says, but he makes no move to get up. His chest is warm against Eddie’s back, and they’re tangled together, skin-on-skin from the waist down.
“I don’t even have to soak the shirt,” Eddie laughs as the last of the orgasm-high leaves him, “Didn’t know I could come dry like that.”
“Wait until I show you what it’s like to come multiple times in a row,” Buck purrs, “I think it made Tommy believe in God again.”
“Confident,” Eddie teases, but given recent events, he’s inclined to believe him.
Eddie and Tommy get their scheduled hour of alone time a few days later, when Buck babysits Jee-yun for Maddie and Chimney’s date night.
It’s actually kind of awkward, at first. Eddie’s not sure what to expect, and Tommy’s the one who actually knows what to do, so they start with Eddie stripped down to his boxers and sitting up against the headboard. They’re both freshly showered, and the candle warmer is the only light source in the room, a warm orange light positioned over a citrus scented wax melt.
Tommy kneels on the bed between Eddie’s legs, and for the first time, his hands hesitate on their way to his skin. “Is this okay?”
He looks nervous. Tommy Kinard looks nervous.
“I think this would have been a lot less awkward if Buck and I went first,” Eddie huffs out a laugh.
“That’s what I said,” Tommy confirms, with a little smile on his face, “He said the schedule wouldn’t work out if we switched the order around. I think he just thinks it’s funny to make us squirm.”
“Well, we can’t let him win,” Eddie says, “So, touch away.”
It’s not that he and Tommy don’t like each other. Eddie loves Tommy so very deeply. They’re just new. There’s something with Tommy that feels like bumbling around in the dark. Eddie and Buck had skipped that early relationship awkwardness and jumped straight into being almost-married, but Tommy…
Tommy doesn’t know what it’s like to have Eddie’s blood in his mouth. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel Buck’s ribs crack and give under his desperate hands. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe Buck and Eddie would never have gathered the courage to bridge the chasming gap between them without his warm, guiding hands.
More pressingly, Tommy and Eddie aren’t as familiar with each other in a romantic context. It’s always Tommy-and-Buck, or Buck-and-Eddie, or Tommy-and-Buck-and-Eddie. It’s kind of a strange thing to realize while there’s a timer running during a sex therapy exercise, but Eddie kind of aches for it.
“We should go on a date,” Eddie says. Tommy still hasn’t touched him. “Just the two of us.”
Tommy softens, and a hand finally makes its way to the side of Eddie’s face. It’s explicitly against the rules of the assignment, but Eddie turns to press a kiss to the palm. Easy affection. He’ll let himself have just a little.
“You’re misbehaving,” Tommy grins, but his voice is so fond it might make Eddie cry, “I’d love to go on a date with you, Eddie.”
“Please touch me,” Eddie tries again, and in reward he gets two broad, warm hands on the sides of his neck, thumbs sweeping up and down. Tommy is observing what his own hands are doing, but Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from Tommy’s face. His square jaw, aquiline nose, kind eyes. The cleft Buck is so obsessed with. Tommy is easily one of the most handsome men Eddie has ever laid eyes on.
“I’m so lucky to have you,” Eddie breathes. Tommy’s smile goes a little wobbly.
“You’re distracting me,” Tommy says, hands running down to Eddie’s shoulders. He takes one of Eddie’s arms in his hands, and his fingers tease up and down.
“There’s nothing in the rules that says we can’t talk during,” Eddie insists.
“Evan said it was against the spirit of the exercise,” Tommy says, a rumbling chuckle in his chest.
“Evan’s not here right now,” Eddie points out. Tommy switches over to his other arm. It feels so nice to be touched.
“I’m lucky to have you too, baby,” Tommy relents, hands wandering over to his collarbones, thumbs tracing where they sit above his chest.
Despite Eddie’s insistence on talking, they seem to run out of things to say. Or maybe Eddie just becomes so invested in the feeling of hands on his skin that whatever he wanted to say doesn’t matter.
“You have to tell me what feels good,” Tommy says eventually, “If you just lay there with your eyes closed I start to think you’re going to fall asleep.”
“Everything feels good,” Eddie says, blinking his eyes open. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. “Feels good to be touched.”
“We’ll have to cuddle more often then,” Tommy decides, “I didn’t realize it was something you were missing out on.”
“Haven’t really had any volunteers since the whole thing with Kim and Marisol,” Eddie winces.
Tommy looks genuinely a little upset, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Eddie, you deserve to be touched.”
“I’m being touched now, aren’t I?” Eddie argues, “You’re getting distracted again. You haven’t even gotten to my legs.”
Rolling his eyes, Tommy scoots over to get better access to Eddie’s legs, running his hands up Eddie’s calves. “Does anything feel especially good?”
“I liked when you were touching my neck,” Eddie says, embarrassed. “And my sides, but you already know I like to be touched there.”
“Mmm, you do like when we grab your sides,” Tommy smiles, and Eddie’s dick twitches where it’d been previously soft in his boxers. Tommy’s grin widens into something teasing and a little predatory. “You know we still have another thirty-five minutes before we can do anything.”
As he says it, his hand skates up the inside of Eddie’s thigh, slipping just under the hem of his boxers. “You’re an asshole,” Eddie grouches.
“You love my asshole,” Tommy winks. Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. It’s hard to be grumpy, even in pretense, when Tommy’s grin lights up the room, and his hands rub warm circles into Eddie’s thigh.
Tommy switches over to his other leg, the one with the old bullet wound right through the thigh. Tommy pauses over it, before looking up and asking, “Is it okay if I touch your scars?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, a little ragged. Tommy does, just as gentle as the others, although Eddie can only feel when he brushes around the edges of it. The scar tissue itself is numb, a little starfish of dead nerves and horrible memories.
“I know you were shot in the shoulder a few years ago,” Tommy murmurs, every ounce of humor vanished from his tone, “Tell me about this one?”
“Afghanistan,” Eddie says, in the detached way he told the story to Frank for the first time, “I was a medic. Riding in a bird when it went down in the desert. I got everyone out, even the body. They all died later. In country, car accident, overdosed. My buddy, Mills, she shot herself.”
Somewhere, distantly, the alarm for the end of their session is going off. But Tommy is sitting there, between Eddie’s legs, treating him with a tenderness that feels suddenly very unearned.
“I was shot in the wrist, too,” Eddie says, presenting his opposite wrist for Tommy to see. The scar on his wrist is less prominent—Shannon had gotten him scar gel and said it might help with the PTSD if he didn’t have to look at the reminder all the time. But he can still see the faded pink reminder. He knows Tommy does too, for the way he takes his hand in his own and presses a kiss right over the scar.
“You’re not supposed to kiss,” Eddie says, with an alarming wobble to his voice.
“Time’s up,” Tommy points out, “I can do whatever I want, now.”
As if to prove his point, Tommy leans forward and kisses Eddie’s temple, long and soft and warm. “There’s nothing I can say to make it hurt less,” Tommy murmurs, “But I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s not your fault. I’m so glad you’re here, and I get to know you. You’re one of my favorite people.”
Eddie’s next breath in is a wet gasp. He sniffles, and Tommy wipes tears out from under his eyes. “You flew choppers in the military, didn’t you?” Eddie asks, voice thick and unsteady.
“I did,” Tommy says, “Iraq. Honorably discharged after I somehow picked up malaria. Only flew a handful of times, actually.”
“What a consolation prize,” Eddie laughs, a little hysterically, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Tommy smiles, “It is kind of funny.”
Tommy lets Eddie sit for a few moments, thumbs caressing over his cheeks even after the tears stop. He’s looking at Eddie with something awe-struck and wonderful. Eddie tilts his head curiously, and Tommy says, “You let me fly you twice.”
“I trust you,” Eddie says, simply. It’s true. “The first time, I trusted that Hen and Chim knew their pilots. The second time—I, uh. I think I’d already started falling for you by the second time.”
Honestly, he’d been so enamored with Tommy it hadn’t really occurred to him to be scared. He’d go up again in an instant, if Tommy offered. He wouldn’t even need the fancy dinner, or the fight, or the hotel room afterwards. He’d go up just to watch Tommy in his element, to see the city from a new perspective, to feel small and big and significant in his insignificance. He’d go pretty much anywhere, actually, as long as it was with Tommy or Buck.
“You’re something else,” Tommy says, sounding awestruck. He kisses Eddie properly, and Eddie leans up to meet him. It’s not a kiss meant to go anywhere, but Eddie enjoys it all the same.
“You still have to go,” Tommy says after they finally pull apart, “Evan would be extremely disappointed if he came home and we hadn’t finished the exercise.”
“What do you think he’d do?” Eddie breathes, leaning up into Tommy’s space again, “Think he’d spank us?”
It’s mostly a joke, but Tommy’s eyes go dark. “Eddie. Dangerous waters.”
“Clipboard Buck, huh?” Eddie grins, “What if he walked in and saw me riding you? He’d probably make us regret it.”
Tommy’s face does something complicated before he speaks again. “Eddie, do you want to touch me?”
Eddie’s a little caught off-guard. “Huh?”
“It’s totally okay if you don’t,” Tommy says, raising his hands in faux-surrender and leaning back on his heels. “We can stop here for today if you want.”
Tommy’s voice is neutral. Carefully so. In a way that Eddie thinks is hiding bone-deep disappointment. “Well, I don’t. Get situated, Kinard.”
When Tommy settles against the headboard, and Eddie takes his spot between his legs, he looks… tense. “Relax,” Eddie says, starting the timer on his phone and reaching forward to run his hands over Tommy’s shoulders. They’re smooth, the hair on his chest doesn’t quite reach them. Tan lines from his sleeveless hoodie decorate the skin. Tommy takes a deep breath, and exhales. It doesn’t help.
Eddie frowns. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this out of obligation,” Tommy says, “It’s really okay if you just want me to be the giver, I promise. We don’t have to tell Evan.”
“First of all, we agreed not to keep secrets,” Eddie says, wry, “And second of all, I’m a grown man capable of making my own decisions. If I didn’t want to touch you, you would know.”
Tommy nods, seemingly unsure. Eddie continues down his biceps, indulging in a little squeeze that gets a laugh out of Tommy.
“You know, I was under the impression that we were supposed to keep the touches light and sensual,” Tommy says.
“Maybe squeezing your big strong arms is sensual to me,” Eddie huffs, grinning, “You’re lucky I’m not biting them.”
“Oh God, not you too,” Tommy says, faux-dismayed, “Evan is obsessed with biting my arms.”
“I think he just likes biting,” Eddie counters, thinking fondly back on the shoulder bite he’d gotten the first time the three of them slept together. Eddie hums, turning back to the task at hand. Tommy’s upper arms are mostly smooth, but his forearms are decorated with coarse little hairs that feel different under Eddie’s fingers. As he moves to run his fingers over the back of Tommy’s hands, noting the tendons and calluses, he catches a shudder running through Tommy’s body.
“Yeah? Your hands?” Eddie asks, finding himself honing in on the sharp angles of the tendons running up the back of his hand. The ones that looks so good when he’s working on something.
“Feels nice,” Tommy says, and when Eddie looks back at him, his eyes are blown dark.
“Now who’s distracting?” Eddie teases, moving on to Tommy’s chest, his abs, his sides. It makes Tommy look like some sort of Adonis. He’s not perfect—his skin is covered in dimples, old acne scars and nicks from the job. He has a large scar blooming up his side, faded and mostly skin-toned now.
“Got that one on the job,” Tommy says, looking rather pleased with himself, “Chicks dig it.”
“Oh, so I’m a chick now?” Eddie says wryly, fingers tracing up and down the curved line of it.
“You dig scars, Edmundo?” Tommy fires back.
“They make you look tough,” Eddie says, “Like you’ve lived and hurt and kept living. Your scars are what brought you here. That’s what Frank says. All my mistakes, all my suffering has brought me to the good things. They didn’t cause the good things, but I had to endure them to get here. I think—for you and Buck, it’s worth it.”
Tommy’s eyes soften. “You sap.”
“If I hadn’t gone on that horrible bender after Chris left, I wouldn’t have slept with you two, and then we’d be stuck with me thinking you were wining and dining me in a bro way, and you thinking I was letting you down easy,” Eddie says, hands falling down over Tommy’s clothed hips.
“I don’t think I can be glad you had that horrible bender, but I’m so, so happy you made it to us,” Tommy says.
Eddie settles down between Tommy’s legs, observing the way his skin softens in some places—the inside of his thighs, the outside of his hips. The hair gets thinner, gossamer and soft.
Eddie notices a faint scar just below where Tommy’s thighs disappear into his boxers that he’s never noticed before. It’s long, and thin, and straight. He frowns, rucking up Tommy’s boxers a little to see more. They’d be hard to find, unless you were looking. But now that Eddie is, he can see dozens of near-faded scars running in parallel lines up the outside of Tommy’s thighs and to his hips.
“And these?” Eddie asks softly, unsure how to say it, “You don’t get these from the job.”
“Yeah,” Tommy confesses, a little choked, “Sorry.”
Eddie glances up to see Tommy’s eyes, much less turned on than before, wet and—scared. Tommy is afraid of how Eddie will react.
“Woah, hey,” Eddie says, “I’m safewording. We’re stopping the exercise here. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
Tommy sniffs, looking for all the world like he’s already resigned himself to this fate. “It’s okay. They usually freak people out, anyway. You don’t have to touch them if you don’t want to.”
“I want to touch every part of you,” Eddie insists, “Even these.”
His hand drifts lower. He’s not touching to touch, he rubs deeply into Tommy’s thigh, trying to press warmth into the skin. He can’t help but notice it anyway—the slight texture of raised skin. It’s like noticing isn’t a conscious choice any more. The scars are old enough to be soft. An annoying, clinical voice in Eddie’s mind puts them at about half a decade old.
“If you’re going to stop, we should stop,” Tommy insists. Eddie sighs and sits back, not far enough for Tommy to go anywhere, just to give them some space. Tommy looks miserable for it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie pries.
Tommy glances away. Whatever he’s going to say next, it isn’t the truth. “No.”
“Hey, T,” Eddie says softly, “Look at me.” Blue eyes catch his. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’re weird, I’m not going to be scared off. I love you. It hurts that you were hurting. I want to be able to help if it happens again.”
“It won’t,” Tommy says gruffly, with shiny eyes, “I wouldn’t do that to you or Evan. Make you worry about my shit. They’re old. I haven’t… in years.”
“That’s okay,” Eddie assures him, reaching down to pick up his hands and hold them. A line of connection. “It’s okay if it happens again, too. I’ve taken care of strangers who cut themselves more times than I can count. I’d happily take care of you.”
A slow tear tracks down the side of Tommy’s face. Eddie drops one of his hands and reaches forward, cupping the side of his face, wiping his cheekbone with a thumb.
“You don’t have to,” Tommy repeats, a sad little protest, like Eddie’s waiting for permission to never care for Tommy again. Eddie wonders how many people have taken the out, before.
“I want to,” Eddie says easily. “Right before we actually started dating, I told Buck I didn’t deserve the two of you, and he said I should let you love me anyway. Not because you deserve it, even though I think you do. Because I want it.”
“He can be an eloquent bastard when he wants to be,” Tommy says, with a wet laugh.
“Will you tell me about them?” Eddie asks, “If it hurts too much, you don’t have to, but please don’t hold back because you think it’ll hurt me.”
Tommy seems hesitant, again, so Eddie takes the moment to coax him further down into their bed, so he can lay on Tommy’s stomach, head resting on his chest. He hopes it takes the pressure off Tommy, now that he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “There. Better.”
“Yeah, I can tell you,” Tommy says eventually. “My dad was a real piece of shit when I was little. He used to get so mad at me for doing kid stuff. Being loud. Taking up space. Having opinions. He didn’t beat me—but he wanted to. He used to tell me as much. I started, I guess, doing his dirty work for him. He would yell at me, I’d stalk off and beat the crap out of my legs. My mom caught me once, when I was five or six. I don’t think it was the whole reason for their divorce, but it was certainly part of it. She got full custody of me, but this was back in the eighties, so she didn’t really believe in therapy.
“She passed away when I was about twelve. Lung cancer. She was a pretty hardcore smoker. It was slow. Dad was my next of kin, so back to his house I went. He resented me for the divorce, I think. Hardly talked to me unless he wanted something to yell at. Made it easy to fall back into old habits.”
Eddie wants to take Tommy up into his arms and hold him. He thinks of someone hurting Chris like that, thinks of ever yelling at his son, and it makes him sick to his stomach. One of Tommy’s hands, broad and warm, wanders to Eddie’s side, stroking him in a way that Eddie thinks is meant to soothe Tommy more than him.
“I never did anything back then that could leave scars. The military was happy to have me. I was happy to go. And then—all my drill sergeants were just like him. Being in country was the first time I felt like I wasn’t one wrong move away from getting screamed at. I always thought—at least it would just be physical pain, if someone shot my bird down. But nobody did. I got sick. I went home. I went to the Fire Academy. I met Gerrard.
“The funny thing is, once I was here in LA, working a real job away from my dad, he got… better,” Tommy admits, “He even apologized for treating me so harshly as a kid. We don’t talk very much now, but I know he regrets it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Eddie frowns, looking up at Tommy.
“I know,” Tommy says, a choked whisper, “And I know I shouldn’t have let it get to me. Especially into my thirties. I just… never really got over it. Especially when I was working at the 118. Hurting myself was a useful crutch. It’s embarrassing.”
“I don’t think so,” Eddie says, picking up Tommy’s free hand to kiss his knuckles, “I think you were in pain. You were trying to put that pain somewhere, and you didn’t have anywhere else to put it. I’m sorry.”
“I really love you, you know that?” Tommy says, wiping at his face.
“I really love you too, handsome,” Eddie smiles, wiggling into Tommy’s hold. He plays with Tommy’s hand absentmindedly. “I don’t think this is how the exercise was supposed to go.”
“It made me feel good,” Tommy shrugs, “I think that’s the whole point, right? Make each other feel good?”
“I can think of a few ways to make you feel good,” Eddie says, but the mood has long since died, and Eddie would much rather just lay in Tommy’s arms and hold him.