Chapter Text
They’ve only been in the air for a handful of minutes before Tommy gets back on the intercom. “Anyone know the frequency for Harbor station?”
Eddie and Chimney make negative noises, but Buck had snooped it out pretty early on in their relationship, when he was visiting Maddie at dispatch. Sometimes, when things at the 118 are slow, he likes to tune in to Harbor and listen to the pilots chatting their familiar flyboy banter and pretend like Tommy’s going to jump on at any moment. He misses his husband when they’re apart - even when they were only newly dating, Buck wanted to be around Tommy all the time. Sue him. Or maybe don’t. He’s not sure if they actually could. He rattles the frequency off.
“Thanks, babe.” Tommy replies, and immediately switches off the sound from the backseat headsets so he can’t hear the kissy noises Eddie and Chim make back. Buck shoves Chim again, hard enough this time that he digs an elbow into Eddie’s side.
“This is helicopter N67TV, entering into Harbor station airspace.” Tommy says into his own headset, clear and calm and not giving any hint of the jostling happening behind him. “I’m hoping to put in an emergency request with air traffic control.”
The helicopter holds its collective breath for a tense moment, before a new voice crackles over the radio. “Helicopter N67TV, this is Harbor air traffic control. What can the Los Angeles Fire Department do for you, pilot?”
Tommy lets out a relived sigh that is only half-affected. “Thank you, tower. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. My buddy who lent me this bird assured me that he was on top of maintenance, but I just felt a wobble. Requesting permission to make an emergency landing on your tarmac?”
There’s another beat of silence. “N67TV, you are cleared for emergency landing. Please stay on the line until touchdown in case of further updated.”
“Can do. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Tommy makes a quick and confident entry into Harbor
Eddie is the first to speak. “Tommy.” He says, with very clear glee. “Did you just lie to the LAFD?”
“Prove it, Diaz.”
Giggles pop the nervous bubble of the helicopter; against all logic they are executing a plan that is, so far, working out. It’s crazy that they’ve even gotten this far. Surely, at some point, this rescue mission has to be taken over by more official channels than three firefighters faking food poisoning and an ex-army pilot volunteering his time. And Hen: who is probably out there right now, also lying to their employer. What a team they make.
“Alright.” Tommy interrupts, through an oversized grin. “Be quiet, the lot of you.”
"Yes, dad.” The back seats parrot, start up the relieved giggles again.
Tommy turns back around to survey the hanger. “Stay out of sight, if you can.” He warns. “We don’t want any questions. I’m going to find Hen.” He jumps out of the helicopter, and ambles off towards the milling firefighters. Buck watches him go; sighs.
Beside him, Chimney sighs too. “Tommy’s so cool.” Which, yeah, he is. Buck knows all his dumb little hobbies, and what he looks like half-asleep because he stayed up all night in an eBay bidding war over a custom coloured side mirror for some car he was restoring, with what was probably some 22 year old douchebag with too much money; and he still thinks Tommy’s cool. But Chim doesn’t need to sound quite so dreamy about it. Tommy’s Buck’s dream guy.
Chim’ll stick to sighing about Maddie, if he knows what’s good for him.
*****************
Tommy’s gone barely any time at all before he comes trotting back into view, Hen in tow. His voice carries easily across the space between them and the chopper. “Thanks for the help, Wilson.” He says, peppy, so clearly telegraphed for an audience that it’s a wonder no one pulls them aside to ask what’s really going on. “I just need some extra hands to hold a button or two.”
Eddie and Chim turn their heads to give Buck twin looks of incredulity at just how bad Tommy is at this. Buck beams back at them. That’s his idiot.
Let’s see Chimney think he’s cool now.
Hen at least waits until they’re closer to the helicopter before she starts hissing at him.
“What are you doing here, Tommy? I specifically didn’t call you because I do not want to deal with Buck’s little pout when he figures out what I dragged you into.”
Tommy snickers. “I happen to like his little pout. It's very cute.”
Hen groans. “Boy, I will turn around right now.”
“And miss your present?”
Tommy pops the passenger door, and Buck and Eddie squish up close to Chim so they can all look at Hen through the gap between the front seats.
“You shouldn’t have.” She deadpans.
“I do not pout.” Buck absolutely doesn’t pout back.
********************
Locating the cruise ship is a tense race against both time and the dwindling fuel supplies of the helicopter, through the sheet-like rain on the outskirts of a category five hurricane. Landing the chopper is even worse - the downpour, the wind, the bobbing, uneven surface of the capsized ship that has to act as a landing point. The helicopter wobbles, and the hull of the ship wobbles, but Tommy brings them down with a steady hand and as little fanfare as possible. There's a scary moment, the first attempt at touchdown, when a rogue wave rears up from nowhere. But Tommy pays attention, always, and he shoots them back up so fast that the the only things left behind to be swept up and sunk to the bottom of the ocean are their stomachs. The second attempt is as seamless as could be hoped for - no need for a third time’s the charm.
The actual rescue is relatively simple, in comparison. Cap and Athena have already done most of the work, gathering the remaining victims near the hole in the hull. All that’s left for Buck and Eddie to do is a quick jaunt below, to pick up Bobby and the kid. Buck thinks he could be really jealous that Tommy got to do all the cool hero stuff: flying the helicopter, battling the elements, lying to the authorities, even getting called in last minute while on another job and coming through for them. He would be really jealous, if it was anyone else. But it’s Tommy, so he’s just really fucking hot about it instead. He’s so glad that Chim went ahead in the rescue boat with Hen and Athena and the others, so there’s no one to keep him from calling shotgun for the ride back. Bobby and Eddie both want good things for him. More fool them.
And he’ll never admit it, but Chimney was right, calling Tommy up for this. Buck would never have been able to spend the all that time scanning the ocean if anyone else had been flying. He would’ve spent most of it watching their pilot, waiting for them to make a mistake and send the helicopter careening down into the water. Wishing that they were Tommy.
It’s just that Tommy always looks so good when he’s flying. So calm and in control, and that makes Buck calm, too. If Tommy’s not worried about it, he’s not worried about it. Buck heard it said once that pilots are always in a fight against gravity. It’s especially true in a helicopter, where the only thing keeping you from plummeting back to the ground is a carefully maintained downdraft. And Buck loves watching him do it: Tommy getting in the ring against an undeniable constant of the universe, and it not even landing a punch. That’s his man.
If only Buck could convince him to wear those tiny Muay Tai shorts here, too.
Chim was also probably right that Buck shouldn’t be sitting up front. He’s feeling very…distracted.
He tilts his mic up, leans across a little towards the pilot seat so Tommy can hear him without it. “You think you can bring the headset home with you?” He asks, voice pitched low. “I’m feeling sorta light-headed. Might be in need of a rescue. Maybe a little mouth-to-mouth action.”
“Damnit, Buck.” Eddie’s voice groans through the intercom, ringed by Bobby’s laughter.
“Whoops.” Buck says, still leant in. “Guess I didn’t move this far enough out of the way.” Tommy keeps on staring stone-faced at the horizon, but Buck can see the way his eyes sparkle. He’s not fooled.
He flicks the microphone back down. “That’s your limit, Eddie?” He asks, cheerfully incredulous. “That’s too much for you? That’s nothing. At this point I just feel bad for Marisol.” Bobby laughs again, but Tommy still doesn’t crack.
The problem is, it’s basically impossible to embarrass Tommy with anything to do with sex. He says that it’s leftovers from being an army boy - that they all used to sit around as deployment stretched out to months and then years, and tell each other exactly what they’d do with their girls when they got home. It all sounded a little, well, gay to Buck; but what did he know? He wasn’t there. And it certainly hadn’t sounded gay to Tommy - it had sounded like they were sniffing around for guys who had nothing to tell, and that he had to get more lurid than most in desperate overcompensation. He’s not proud of it - like so many things from his past - but Buck does reap some rewards. Even now, over a decade later, Tommy’s dirty talk is phenomenally filthy.
Buck honestly doesn’t know where other-army-boy Eddie went wrong and got so squeamish about it all. Maybe they just teach medics differently. Maybe it was just that Eddie had nothing to hide or to prove. He was already married with a kid, after all, so maybe no one had felt the need to test him out.
Still. At least it means that Buck gets to have the fun of making someone squirm.
“Evan.” Tommy says, calm, anticipating where Buck’s instincts are pulling him. “Don’t forget this is an open channel.”
Which; yeah. Of course it is. That’s sort of the entire point. And Tommy knows that. Unless– “does the kid have a headset?”
“Nope. Didn’t have one that fit.” And oh. Okay. So this isn’t a stop. It’s a “go ahead”. It’s a “be as lewd as you want.”
“Great.” Buck says, brightly. “Because I was thinking, right, that I could be stranded on a boat. And you could be that guy, you know? The one from the movie? With the tentacles…”
Eddie squawks. Bobby grinds out a warning “Buck.” Buck twists around in his seat, beaming. Eddie’s got his hands slapped over the kid’s ears, even though he’s not wired in to hear anything. Buck turns again to face forward, catches Tommy’s matching smirk on the way.
And Buck’s just joking, alright. He knows the whole tentacle fantasy is, like, a thing, but it’s not his thing. Although. He doesn’t remember a whole lot about the movie that isn’t Kiera Knightly looking so gorgeous, but there is that scene where the guy is playing the organ with his tentacles, and they’re very dexterous and very close to his mouth and…and oh, yeah? Okay? Yeah. Maybe Buck could get on board with that, actually. He rearranges himself in his seat.
Tommy reaches across, flips the two of them over to a private channel. “Evan.” He growls, not at all selling the idea he’s in any way upset. “You’re at work.”
“No I’m not.” Buck’s happy to remind him. “I called out sick.”
The smile lines around Tommy’s eyes deepen. “Still. Bobby is your boss.”
“And? You should hear some of the stuff he and Athena have been caught doing.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Hey. You should be thanking him. I’ve been taking notes.”
Not even a peep from Tommy. There was a time that Buck could get a whole fire engine cringing from one well-timed disclosure. Maybe he’s just losing his edge, in his wedded bliss.
“Okay.” Tommy says. “How about this? Bobby’s also sort of like your dad. And he doesn’t want to hear about how I’m gonna take you home after this, and stuff you full in every pretty little hole you have.”
Buck shifts further into his seat. “Oh- oh yeah?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I might not have the tentacles but I do have my fingers, and my tongue, and a whole box of toys that never get as much use as you deserve.”
“And your cock.” Buck squeezes out, a little dazed that they’re discussing this right here and now. “Want that in me, too. Fills me up just right.”
“I don’t know, Evan.” Tommy tells him, cool, and with just a hint of arrogant skepticism. “Davy Jones is some kind of octopus. Do octopuses even have dicks? I wouldn’t want to be unrealistic.”
“Only his head is an octopus.” Buck points out and this- this should not be sexy, but Tommy’s dedication to the anatomical accuracy of their shared fantasy is honestly really hot. “The rest of him is all man.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I- I don’t know.” He whines. “I’m sure they do. How else do they have baby octopuses?”
“It could be like coral. Where they just, like, a release a cloud into the ocean.”
And the thing is, okay, Tommy knows about coral reproduction because Buck did all the bookings for their honeymoon and he wanted it to be perfect, and a few of the blogs he read said to avoid the days after a full moon in case they caught a coral spawn and snorkelling visibility was affected. Afterwards he’d read some more scientifically rigorous articles that said corals spawned at night so it didn’t really matter, but it was interesting and he’d still read it all out to Tommy as he went along. And then he got sucked down a YouTube rabbit hole that ended at the bottom of the Mariana Trench and somehow managed to avoid both Nazis and Tradwives along the way, although Tommy reckoned that he could’ve gotten there eventually: via the “what else lives in the deep?” conspiracy videos that lurked at the bottom of the recommended up next list, and then onto Lovecraft and racism in Lovecraft and then, voila, alt-right YouTube. Tommy has a very cynical view of the algorithm.
But now Buck’s thinking about “Tommy” and “honeymoon”. And then it’s only a short hop, skip and a jump from that to “Tommy” and “wet” and “tiny Speedo” for the second time today and maybe they should’ve let the kid ride shotgun, actually. After all, when was he going to be in a helicopter again?
“I can’t believe this is doing it for me.” Buck huffs, with an almost nervous giggle.
“I can.” Tommy tells him, dry, and Buck laughs again.
“But listen.” He pivots. “Maybe you could look it up? Come up with a plan for later? Because I really do have to be on the open channel just in case something goes wrong back there, but I really don’t need Eddie trying to kick me in the balls next time we spar just so he won’t have to hear any of that again.”
Buck heaves a put-upon sigh. “Fine.” He agrees. “For your balls’ sake.” Since they’re getting him all riled up for nothing, otherwise. “I’ll be good.”
“Oh you’re always so good for me, baby.” And Buck fishes and fumbles his phone out of his pocket with a half-swallowed down squeak before Tommy puts them back on with Bobby and Eddie.
“Sorry about that, everyone.” Tommy says into his mic, sounding every bit the smooth and stoic guy that everyone else seems to believe he is even after knowing him for years.
Bobby snorts quietly, lesson learnt. Eddie - despite all the time he has spent with Buck, and with Tommy, and with Buck and Tommy as a unit - is inexplicably less cautious. “You talk him down, Tommy?”
And look. Buck’s distracted, okay; buried in his password protected “Tommy” folder, just to remind himself exactly what he’s doing it all for before he Googles 'octopus reproduction' and probably, if he’s left with too much time on his hands, 'Davy Jones dick'. Only to make sure he has all the facts, of course. So he doesn’t think he can be blamed, actually, when he replies, absentmindedly: “not even a little.”
Tommy laughs so hard he has to turn his microphone off.
********************
Buck doesn’t jump Tommy as soon as they land. The articles on cephalopod reproduction had done their job in getting him fit for being out in public again, especially when he got to the part that said that most male octopuses died after mating. Decidedly not sexy, although there are worse to go. The female gets cannibalised by her own babies. Total boner killer. But also sort of poetic, in a way. That’s the circle of life, baby.
He watches Bobby and Athena reunite and he’s in awe, honestly, at how excited and relieved they are to see each other, even though they’ve only been apart for a couple of hours at most. Buck’s own parents have never really been the kind of people that he looks up to, but he always has Cap and Athena to know what real love looks like. Bobby and Athena. Hen and Karen. Maddie and Chimney. Buck’s surrounded by love.
And speaking of…
Tommy rounds the nose of the helicopter, positively beaming in delight. And Tommy loves love. Obviously everyone loves love, but Tommy is especially weak for it. If Buck’s parents aren’t exactly his heroes, then Tommy’s did everything that could in the short time they had him to show him that there are a hundred little things you can do every day to make your life fucking miserable in a million different ways. So he always gets a little misty-eyed when people are openly happy and affectionate. It’s so sweet. And it lets Buck be as clingy and as dramatic as he wants, so it works out well for him, too.
And Tommy...he made all this happen. None of them would be here, without him. He’s the hero of the day, and he’s grinning over the scene like a kindly made-for-TV movie mentor figure, watching the team he coached to winning the big game celebrate their victory; and quite frankly Buck couldn’t be prouder or hornier about it. Tommy deserves a reward. Maybe he could call Taylor, get her to interview him, get Tommy on the TV so everyone could celebrate him. But him up in lights and have everyone admire him the way he deserves and…maybe not, actually. Buck knows he’d just get jealous. Maybe–
Buck gets a hand on Tommy’s chest, palm flat, his fingers spread wide as he walks him backwards, back behind the helicopter, out of view, crowds him up against the cold metal and kisses that smiling face. It’s slow. Deliberate. Tommy’s face is cold under Bucks’s hand, but his mouth is warm when Buck licks into it; a teasing, barely-there graze along the ticklish surface of his hard palate, a flick against the back of his teeth and Tommy shivers, his hand sneaking into Buck’s open turnout coat to snap his suspenders in retaliation. Buck wears the non-stretch kind because he prefers the better weight distribution they offer - and because they don’t give him a wedgie when the elastic tries to shrink back down to its original length - so it doesn’t quite have the intended effect.
Instead, Buck moves with it, the unexpected pressure between his shoulder blades where the braces cross over jerking him forward with a gasp. The hand still resting on Tommy’s chest curls up into a fist, bunching the soft flannel up between his fingers, and Buck lets his jaw drop as Tommy nips gently at his lip. He fills his lungs with a shuddering, steadying breath of cool ocean air and dives back in, presses his tongue flat to the cleft in Tommy’s chin and licks a hot line up until it slides underneath Tommy’s bottom lip, guides it in between his teeth; bites back, harder. Tommy yanks his suspenders again, and lets out a little groan so quiet that Buck feels it rumbling through Tommy’s chest under his fist more than he hears it. Tommy’s a force of nature, the earth trembling beneath Buck’s touch, and Buck–
Well, Buck’s brain had moved on from their little semi-explicit tête-à-tête in the sky, but his body is very ready to be back up there, so to speak. He can feel himself getting hard, although considering the thickness of his turnouts there’s no way for Tommy to know. That doesn’t seem fair. God knows how much Tommy appreciates the guy. And after all, Buck’s a public servant: he’s got to do his part, providing for the people. He steps one foot out and forward, slips Tommy’s thigh between his legs and presses in close and heavy. At this distance, nothing can be hidden. Feels like they’re on the same page.
Still. This is a fairly public place. And even if he and Tommy have fucked in and against this helicopter many times, usually any potential audience is further away and isn’t made up a large majority of their family and friends. Not that Buck’s envisioning anything more than maybe some light grinding, but mistakes do happen. So he should probably check in. In just a minute. Right now Tommy seems very open to letting Buck use his tongue to try and scoop out any air he has left in his lungs, and Buck’s not going to call pause on the chance to kiss him breathless.
He rolls his hips along Tommy’s thigh at the same time has he digs a thumb into the hinge of Tommy’s jaw, tries to pry his mouth open wider. It’s rougher than Buck expected to be when he started this, but Tommy knew what he’d be getting, working him up and leaving him hanging on their private intercom channel the way he had. Tommy grunts and unhooks his fingers from Buck’s suspenders, pushes his knuckles into Buck’s ribs until Buck curls back and lets their lips unstick. “You okay?” He asks, shaky.
Tommy nods, gone almost crosseyed with the way he can’t take them off Buck’s mouth, so close; he swallows hard. “Quick informal survey.” He murmurs into the space between them, satisfyingly strained. “Which part of all that did it the most for you? It’s only; I need to know if I have to learn an accent by tonight.”
Buck snorts a laugh, and ducks down to gently knock his forehead against Tommy’s cheekbone, the tip of his nose brushing against Tommy’s answering grin. He looks back up into dark, shining eyes. “Maybe?” He says. “At this point I think I just have, like, a Pavlovian response to being in a helicopter.”
“My heart will always belong to you.” Tommy tells him, solemn and serious and–
–And really not even close to the vicinity of the correct accent. “God, you’re so bad at that.” Buck whispers, reverently.
“Hey!” Tommy objects. “I’ll have you know I-” Buck gets his hand free from where it’s trapped between them and cups Tommy’s other cheek, squishes the both of them until Tommy has no choice but to shut up and purse his lips, and Buck drags his face forward into another kiss. It starts as dirty as the last had ended, Tommy’s lips spit-slick and easy to slip past, his tongue soft and wet when Buck slides his own over it, baits it into his mouth with teasing promise and sucks; determined and single-minded and very obvious: if this is the only way he’s going to get Tommy inside him for the moment - and it is for the next few hours at least, until they’re back home and likely in their bed, because Tommy will be 40 this year and he likes to be comfortable - he’s going to make it count.
Tommy’s spare arm winds around Buck’s waist and pulls him even closer, hoists him further up onto his thigh until Buck is forced to either scramble in an effort to hold himself up - just enough for it to be very slightly straining - or to lean into it. He relaxes, trusts Tommy to hold his weight and is rewarded with the warm, wide expanse of Tommy’s body pressed against him from his chest to his toes; from his palms that tingle where Tommy’s stubble catches on his calluses and little scars, down his arms, to his elbows bracketing Tommy’s ribs, his forearms practically moulded to fit along Tommy’s biceps, the shape he knows as well as his own.
Buck shifts his weight and Tommy shifts a his leg in answer, and Buck rides the movement - all the way up until his dick tucks up under the jut of Tommy’s hipbone, a sharp and steady pressure, and he tips forward onto his toes. It’s not enough to really push them along past making out, but maybe it could have gotten them to that light grinding he’d been promising himself if not for the way that Tommy’s thick arm holds him still and secure. It does give Buck some extra height, and he leverages the weight of gravity to practically crush them together; Tommy’s nose smushed against Buck’s cheek, his well-practised shoulders carrying Buck’s bulk bearing down on him. It can’t be the easiest position for him to breathe in, but Tommy seems happy enough to let Buck kiss him sloppy and hungry, like he could open his mouth wide and swallow him whole. And that’s a thing too, right? Not Buck’s thing but, well…
He pushes any thoughts of that aside. For now. He’s already learnt some stuff about himself today, and he’s got the rest of his life to think over the idea of getting Tommy so throughly inside of him that he lives alongside his thumping heart. Or the other way around; Buck’s not picky, just as long as there’s nothing in the world that could pull the two of them apart. But. No need to rush it. Right now he’d not going anywhere, and neither is Tommy.
From somewhere outside of their little two-man universe, Buck hears someone clear their throat.
“Come on, guys.” Eddie says, long-sufferingly. “Let’s at least try to keep it work appropriate.”
There’s a petty and pedantic part of Buck that wants to correct him - they’re not at work, actually - but it’s dwarfed by every other part of him that absolutely doesn’t want to stop kissing Tommy. Especially not for Eddie, who wouldn’t even appreciate the reminder. The hand splayed over Buck’s rib cage withdraws, and Tommy snakes it out of Buck’s coat and free from between them. Buck can’t see what he’s doing, but he does feel Tommy’s arm twitch as he makes what is probably an obscene gesture, if the way that Eddie snorts a loud laugh is anything to go by.
Buck presses them impossibly closer together. That’s his man. That’s his husband.