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There’s beeping. A gentle rhythm echoes around Tommy, which is odd ... He swears the sounds were loud and frantic just a few seconds ago, a lot like his heart as it tried to beat out of his chest when his life flashed before him.
When Tommy finally opens his eyes, he’s staring at a white tile ceiling instead of the front dash of the helicopter. That subtle beeping damn near soothes him while his mind spins, kind of like how the chopper had spun out of control amid a nasty storm as he attempted to land on the hospital’s helipad.
He blinks a few times in quick succession, now in sync with the beeping. The rhythm quickens; so does his breath. He slowly picks up his head – so slowly, like slagging through mud, it’s almost too heavy to move – and then alarms fire just like they had in the heli and he lets out a raspy fuck before he’s out again.
*
“Mr. Kinard?” a woman asks.
Who?, Tommy thinks, maybe even garbles out. He rocks his head on the pillow a little, trying to wake up, open his eyes, and face the voice.
“Mr. Kinard,” she repeats, this time a statement, no-nonsense. Or maybe bored. Tommy’s pretty bored of the beeping.
“No Kinard,” he grumbles. “S’ts m’dad.” And fuck, does he hate being compared to that man …
“Thomas,” she corrects. “Or Tom?”
“Tommy,” he says as he finally blinks away the grogginess and keeps his eyes open longer than two seconds at a time. He even manages to tip his head in the direction of the voice. Things are a bit blurry, but he can make out the machines he’s hooked up to, little lines squiggling his heart rate, numbers counting his blood pressure and oxygen.
He sure hopes they’re good, because he can’t read them well enough right now.
“Okay, Tommy,” she sighs, nudging his chin so he can finally see her. Mint green scrubs, hair in a high bun, boxy black glasses. This nurse clearly means business. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Sunday?” he tries.
She purses her lips. “No, it’s not.”
“But it’s so sunny,” he offers with a point to the windows behind her. He’s surprised by how sluggish he sounds, almost confused.
He can definitely read her face now and she is not amused.
“You were in an accident,” she reports as she checks the IV jabbing the inside of his elbow. “Do you remember?”
“Oww,” he whines, suddenly realizing it hurts. Now that he’s gaining more awareness, he feels a dull ache all around his head and when he tries to sit up, there’s a spike of pain to his forehead.
“Yeah, you’re gonna hurt for a bit.” She helps him into a seated position with the bed’s remote and some fairly impressive skills to tug his torso up the mattress. “You got quite banged up.”
“Calvin,” he worries immediately. Images flip past him and the beeping machines echo in his ears as he recalls his co-pilot while he was trying to land on the helipad. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, Calvin is okay. Beat up like you, but he’s at least aware it’s Wednesday.”
“And the woman, with the, uh …” he trails off because there’s a spot of memory missing. He knows there was a car crash in the Palisades with a woman damn near hanging over a cliff’s edge with a faint heartbeat … but he doesn’t remember much else about her.
“She went straight into surgery.”
He holds his breath, nearly afraid to ask, “Did she sustain any injuries … when we … when I …?”
The nurse purses her lips. “She’s in good hands now.”
That wasn’t what he was hoping to hear.
“The important thing is that she got here in time.”
Tommy nods with a grateful sigh.
She pats his shoulder and offers him a smile, the first real one since he woke up. “Thanks to you.”
“What did I do? Almost kill us trying to land?”
“The good news is you did eventually land and all parties are accounted for. Try to relax and know you’re a real hero.”
He rolls his eyes at that … a hundred shoulda-woulda-couldas run through his mind because he knows it was anything but heroic.
He’s still trying to piece together the bits of the storm and how he’d pulled up short then tried to land at another angle but the sky was too dark, rain coming in sideways, and thunder cracked in the sky. He went into sensory overload and couldn’t see up from down until he felt – then heard – the hard crash of whatever happened next. He’s not entirely sure, but he knows he’s pretty damn sore and should probably check in with his Captain.
The nurse wheels a table next to the hospital bed with a Styrofoam cup and straw for water, Kleenex, and a rather large puke pan that she nudges closer to him.
He eyes it and her, and she pats his shoulder. “You’ve got a nasty concussion. Better safe than sorry.” She sets a few more things on the table, like a small pitcher of water, Saltines, and a cell phone that looks like it took a nosedive from the top of the Capitol Records building.
Tommy frowns. “Don’t tell me that’s mine.”
“I won’t,” she says with a sly smirk.
“Look who’s got jokes now,” he mumbles as he grabs his phone and inspects it.
“Do you have an emergency contact we can call for when you’re discharged?”
He waves his phone and deadpans, “Yeah, in this.”
“How about we start with where they work? I’ll make some calls.”
Now Tommy has to think, because he doesn’t have family around here. Not like they’d bother to come to the hospital or even answer his calls anyway. His circle is small – there’s work, but Calvin was in the heli with him and clearly anyone else is on shift or not important enough to show their faces at the hospital. Then there’s … no.
Well. Mayyyyyyyyyyybe? he considers.
If he called me, I’d show up. No problem.
Still, it takes Tommy a few moments to muster up the courage to say, “Yeah, LAFD 118.”
She patiently waits for a name and Tommy finally spits out, “Eddie Diaz.”
*
Hospital TV is shit. There are twenty-some channels, but it’s the middle of the day and the only halfway palatable shows are Dr. Phil, Paternity Court, and some trash reality show with police officers trying to fill their ticket quota. One officer is surprisingly passionate about handicapped parking and writes five tickets in the fifteen minutes Tommy can stand to watch.
He’d much prefer to sleep, but with the concussion, nurses and patient assistants are constantly dropping in to keep him wide awake.
Every twenty minutes or so, he picks up his phone to scroll Facebook, try a crossword, or even check for messages, and every time he rolls his eyes and tosses it back on the table, only to curse himself like the phone could break more.
Dr. Phil turns into the early evening news, opening with updates on the hard rains along the coast and a daring rescue in the Palisades in the wee hours of the morning. They cut to video of the dark, wet sky, rain pelting a helicopter approaching a hospital and Tommy turns the TV off with a huff.
“It was just getting to the good part.”
Tommy turns to the door and his breath catches at all six-plus feet of Evan Buckley crowding the doorway. It’s been a bit now – a little over four weeks, but who’s counting, not Tommy, shut up – and looking at Evan can still take his breath away. Especially when Tommy had purposely asked for Eddie to avoid Evan seeing him in this sorry state of a paper-thin hospital gown and the nasty bruise starting to form over his eye.
Not to mention his bruised ego at having to be picked up like a kid from school.
“I get it,” Evan shrugs as he takes slow steps into the room. “I kinda hate seeing myself on TV, too.”
“I asked for Eddie,” Tommy says, dumb and slow, kind of like his brain. Thanks to the pain meds, thinking is like swimming in Jell-O. He’s not sure what to say to himself or aloud.
“Uh, yeah, I know,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. His awkward tone and pigeon-toed stroll to the bed makes him seem like a kid. A hurt kid, and fuck, Tommy wishes he could think faster to amend his statement. But Evan continues talking before Tommy can open his mouth. “They called the station, but Eddie has to pick up Christopher at school, so he asked me to help out. Which, yeah, I was happy to. Especially for you. Of course, I’d help.”
Tommy lets out a long breath and mumbles, “I know you would.”
Evan’s fingers curl around the bedrails, his shoulders up and in. “But you didn’t want me to?”
Fuck, he doesn’t know how to answer, especially when the real question is how bad does he have it for Evan? Because his stomach bottoms out with guilt spiraling all around for making the situation even worse when Evan now looks like a kicked puppy, waiting for pets.
Tommy finally gets some energy – and his wits about him, really, that’s what helps – and puts a hand on Evan’s. “It’s not like that.”
“No, yeah, of course. It’s only been a couple weeks that we, you and me, have been, you know, and I –”
“Evan,” Tommy says more calmly, sure and with reverence. Because damn, Evan’s really Tommy’s heart in a vice grip, especially when he sheds his big kid bravado and shows this vulnerability. “I didn’t want to be a bother to you. This one’s on me.”
“Why not?” Evan asks, voice open and curious. “I kinda like being bothered about stuff like this. Especially if I’m getting bothered by you.”
Tommy looks away, as if that’ll hide the blush that must color his cheeks because, wow, his face is suddenly very hot.
“You know, I just mean,” Evan suddenly stops, and Tommy has to chuckle.
“Evan, it’s fine.” He tucks his fingers into Evan’s palm and squeezes. “You’re fine. This is all on me and this big dumb head.”
“And that big dumb bump,” Evan adds with a point. “That looks like it hurts.”
“Oh, you think so?” he jokes.
“Maybe a little,” Evan shoots back with a smirk. “It could be worse, though.”
“How’s that?”
“You could have two, one on each side like devil horns.”
Tommy chuckles from the chest up, his body rocking a little, and then he winces with the quick jaunt of his head. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, kid.”
Evan has a lopsided grin, clearly trying to tamper it down yet failing because one thing Tommy learned after one date is that Evan Buckley wears joy on his face and his heart on his sleeve.
Which is why, when Tommy’s finally discharged with a full bottle of pain killers and Evan has helped him into his house and into clean clothes, there’s no hesitation to ask Evan stay for a while.
“Besides,” Tommy says gravely, with a barely hidden smile. “Doc said I need to be checked on every hour or so. Make sure there’s no serious injury.” And now he’s feeling the pain meds kicking in, his brain a little loopy and his hands too big for his skin. “If you don’t mind hanging for a bit?”
Evan nods, firm and quick. “Yeah, of course, I don’t mind. I’m here for whatever you need. Even if there’s no funny business.”
Tommy snorts and somehow that makes his vision swim. Still, he insists, “Hey now, I didn’t say that.”
With a coy smile, Evan directs Tommy to the bedroom. “Let’s get you vertical and see how your head is.”
“I’ve never had any complaints,” Tommy quickly slips in as he tries to throw a smirk over his shoulder and instead runs into the doorway. Wow, not only are the meds making him trip over his own feet, but they’ve also eliminated his filter?
“We’ve got a comedian here!” Evan crows helps him clear the doorway.
Tommy hip-checks him, or at least tries to with his balance now going wonky. “You surely haven’t complained about my head.”
“No, I haven’t.” Evan sounds breathy, probably thinking about the last time they hung out at Evan’s place and Evan came with Tommy’s mouth on him.
Or maybe it’s because he’s hauling all of Tommy into bed, getting his shoes off and the comforter thrown over him just before Tommy’s eyelids droop.
“These drugs are potent,” Tommy says and then laughs at himself.
“Yeah, I bet you’re feeling pretty good right now.”
Tommy feels a hand on his head, fingers slowly combing through his hair, and he smiles as he reaches out for Evan. He ends up twisting his fingers into Evan’s sweater and tugging. Mumbles, “Don’t let me sleep too long.”
“I got you.”
“Know you do, Evan,” he trails off and then it’s dark behind his eyelids.
*
Tommy is getting tired of waking to alarms. It’s the third time Evan’s phone has buzzed its alert and then Tommy’s being nudged to sit up in bed, leaning back on the wooden headboard.
With the doctor’s orders, Evan has been checking on Tommy like clockwork to make sure he shows no bad signs from the concussion.
“I just fell asleep,” Tommy grumbles.
“Your snoring says otherwise.”
He gives Evan a look as his stomach turns at the thought of how loud he could’ve been.
“You’re a real chainsaw, Kinard,” Evan says lightly. He lands a playful slap to Tommy’s leg. “But don’t worry about it. The drooling was probably worse.”
“Nuh-uh,” Tommy argues just before he sees the dark spots on Evan’s sweater. He rubs at one and grimaces because that incredibly soft fabric feels amazing under his fingertips except for the fact that it’s his saliva, and he’s wholly embarrassed.
“And I never would’ve pegged you for a cuddler.” Evan’s voice is bright and airy, along with his smile, and Tommy’s comforted that it’s not a red flag nor is Evan running for the hills.
Tommy shifts back when Evan pulls the sweater off, leaving him in a t-shirt that’s fighting against the mold of Evan’s chest. Tommy’s breath catches as he tries to say, “I told you, those drugs were strong.”
For all that Evan is new to this, still a young in the grand scheme of things, and following Tommy’s lead as they navigate whatever is happening between them, Tommy sometimes forgets that the kid is built like a truck.
Heat builds just beneath his skin and Tommy knows his eyes are almost crossing as he takes in Evan’s pecs. His voice, too, is affected when he asks, “I drooled and cuddled, too?”
Evan nudges Tommy’s jaw to make him meet Evan’s eyes. “I consider it an honor, with a hero like you.”
Tommy scoffs at the words as well as Evan’s eyes, so big and clear and focused right on Tommy. “I’m no hero.”
“What you did—”
“Crash the heli?” he scoffs again.
“Maybe you did crash. But your recovery meant that you saved a wo—”
“And nearly killed her in the process,” Tommy complains.
“But she didn’t die.”
“The only saving grace is I crashed into the hospital. Really ironic.”
“But she’s okay. And so are you.”
Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s all my fault that it happe—"
In the blink of an eye, Evan’s hand is slipped around Tommy’s neck and he’s pulling them together for a kiss. Firm and warm, the press of Evan’s mouth is distracting, easing Tommy’s mind from doing any more damage.
Tommy rests his palm to Evan’s shoulder as they hold the kiss, no more, but no less, thankfully. He softens to the touch of Evan’s fingers sliding up the back of his head and keeping Tommy in place. Pausing only to suck in a breath, Tommy nudges his forehead to Evan’s, because damn, the kid has caught on to kissing impressively quick.
Evan’s breath is hot and fast against Tommy’s mouth, and Tommy is sure Evan’s eyes are doing that hazy, unfocused thing. Tommy, too, for a few moments, until he tries to joke, “Guess we know a good way to shut each other up.”
Evan huffs. “And I’ll do it again if you keep arguing that it’s your fault.”
“But I—” A finger covers his mouth, which is as effective as a kiss, but not nearly as fun. Still, he goes on, mumbling through his excuse: “Should’ve gone to another hospital.”
“You made a call,” Evan says, surprisingly sure and encouraging. He drops his hand to rest it over the center of Tommy’s chest. Tommy thinks it’ll leave a heavy, warm imprint on his skin. “To the best of your ability, in one hell of a storm, you thought you were making the right call.”
“The orders were go to –”
“Mercy General and you called an audible because you didn’t wanna pass through the lightning.”
Tommy blinks at Evan, wondering how he knows. Maybe from the news reports, or word of mouth, or hell, maybe Tommy’s been talking in his sleep when not drooling all over Evan.
“Calvin told me,” Evan answers simply.
That makes Tommy smile … That Evan went to see Calvin in the hospital, that he cares enough to check in on Tommy’s copilot. Not to mention how hard Evan is fighting him on the details, trying his best to ease Tommy’s dark thoughts. His dad always beat up on him, no matter how hard he tried or what good he accomplished; even when Tommy gave up on the old man, he couldn’t let this part of him go … He just hasn’t shown this side to Evan and the only way he can give himself some grace is because Evan is good at convincing him.
“So, stop blaming yourself when you were a big damn hero in the end.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well, you are big,” Evan says, sliding his palm over Tommy’s chest with a tiny smirk. “And you’re a hero to me.”
Tommy nearly goes cross-eyed as he stares at Evan’s mouth, so pink and tempting. “It’s really not fair to hit on me after a lecture like that.”
“That was hardly a lecture,” Evan teases. “If you wanna continue beating yourself up, I can go harder.”
The innuendo is clear in his tone and Tommy feels a little breathless. He manages to steady himself even when there’s a gradual shift of their bodies inching closer. “You can’t seduce me when I’ve got a head injury.”
“You think that’s seducing you?”
After a beat, Evan leans in so there’s barely a sliver of air between their mouths, his nose slowly rubbing alongside Tommy’s. Then Evan’s hand drops to Tommy’s waist and fiddles with the drawstring on Tommy’s sweatpants.
Tommy looks at Evan’s fingers with the string wound around them as he makes a fist and back up to Evan’s face. There’s a soft blush growing and his tongue peeking out from the corner of those plump lips, and Tommy’s sure his whole body is heating up with how warm the room suddenly feels.
Especially when Evan noses at Tommy’s cheek, breath wet and hot when he asks, “So, do you think I could celebrate you being a big damn hero or are you still throwing a pity party?”
So many possibilities race through Tommy’s head, especially as he considers how slowly they’ve been moving thus far. Some over the clothes action, a hand job or two, and the first time Tommy got his mouth on Evan just last weekend.
Now, Evan is initiating, which doesn’t happen often. How the hell is Tommy supposed to survive a helicopter crash and Evan Buckley in one day?
“Although the doctor did say no strenuous activity,” Evan teases as he walks his fingers to Tommy’s waistband.
Tommy groans and shuts his eyes. “You’re killing me, kid.”
He lets out an even deeper groan when Evan reaches inside, hand warm and firm as it closes around Tommy’s dick. Evan shifts closer, pressing against Tommy’s side where he’s still slumped against the headboard. His hand is surprisingly confident, starting a steady rhythm, and he mouths along Tommy’s jaw and down his neck when Tommy leans away to make room for Evan to get his fill.
Tommy’s breath is thready as he grabs hold of Evan’s forearm to feel the muscles bulging with each stroke of that firm fist. And even when he can’t see anything past his sweatpants, he thinks it’s filthier to watch the bulge of Evan’s big hand as it strokes up and down, and up and down, stretching the fabric high and low, Tommy’s hard dick tenting the sweats when Evan takes a detour south.
Everything is hot, their bodies pressed tight against each other, and Tommy’s nerves firing up and down his legs, his belly churning, not to mention Evan reaching even further into Tommy’s pants to palm his balls. Tommy can sneak a peek under the stretched waistband to where Evan’s hand disappears just beyond his dick resting against his abdomen and fuck, he can’t even see what Evan’s doing, but it makes his breath catch as he feels every touch and tug, especially when Evan presses fingers up and in to rub at the sensitive skin just behind his balls.
“Fucking hell,” Tommy gasps when the sensation runs hot into his belly and his toes curl.
“Not good?” Evan asks, like he isn’t sure himself, his fingers letting up on some pressure.
Tommy pants out a laugh. “No, it’s good, very good.”
“Yeah?” Evan does the move again, pushing two firm fingers up against Tommy and smiles as he watches for Tommy’s reaction.
A high-pitched whine is Tommy’s only response and Evan clearly has no plans to stop. He keeps massaging between his balls and then rubs a thumb across the base of Tommy’s dick. Tommy suddenly thinks of how Evan would finger a woman, how strong and confident, probably cocky, the kid is when he can get a girl off on just his hand, tearing her apart from the inside out just like this, writhing and moaning with the insistent press of two long, thick fingers.
He thinks it should weird him out or raise a red flag, but Tommy isn’t going to complain if it transfers well now. He gets to reap the benefits after all. And the benefits keep on … benefitting when Evan slides his knee over Tommy’s and drags his legs open wider, making room for Evan to get his other hand inside Tommy’s pants to grab hold of his dick and stroke him in tandem with the fingers tucked up tight against him. These two talented hands are far too much for Tommy to stand and it doesn’t take long for Evan to jerk Tommy off so he shoots in his sweatpants.
Tommy hasn’t done that in years. Decades, probably, back in his twenties when he was still figuring shit out, which is appropriate for how giddy and silly Evan makes him feel some days. And it’s ironic that for all Tommy’s been the one coaching Evan along the way that there’re some things Evan’s got up his sleeve.
As he comes down, Tommy slides against the headboard until he’s vertical. His limbs are jelly and his chest heaves, heart pumping wildly and breath catching every few seconds.
“Evan,” he sighs, blindly grabbing at him. When he gets a fist full of shirt, he tugs Evan into his side and tangles their legs together. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Here and there,” Evan answers as he settles in close. He rings an arm over Tommy’s chest and tucks his head just under Tommy’s chin, which is perfect for Tommy to drop a kiss to the top of Evan’s head. “But right now, I’m learning you really are a cuddler.”
Tommy chuckles. Evan, too, and it vibrates along his side in a way that makes Tommy’s chest feel warm and tight all over again. “And I’m learning you’re not adverse to it.” He flexes his thigh against Evan’s groin, feeling Evan’s hard-on just a moment before Evan’s groans against Tommy’s throat.
When Evan’s strong hips rock against Tommy’s thigh, Tommy pushes up between Evan’s legs so he can ride as long as he wants, even when Tommy just wants to get his hands and mouth all over that long body. But Evan’s panting and moving steadily, as if he doesn’t mind, as if he likes it, chasing after his own orgasm without any patience or dignity about it, and who’s Tommy to deny the kid what he likes?
Tommy tugs Evan’s face up and kisses him, going for a suave tongue and wet lips, but Evan is wet and messy as he rides Tommy’s thigh, as he clutches at Tommy’s shirt, his neck, his jaw, until he lets out a guttural moan and shudders against Tommy’s body.
They keep kissing, Evan clearly dazed and overwhelmed, while Tommy holds Evan’s cheek like a caress, feeling all fuzzy at how much he can turn Evan on, and so fast. Evan is draped half across him, arm flung up beside Tommy’s head to wrap around his neck, and Tommy breathes in all that Evan has to give him. They get slower, shallow, and sweeter until Tommy pulls back enough to drop a kiss to the bridge of Evan’s nose and settle in right there.
“That was …” Evan starts before taking a deep breath. “Quite the celebration.”
Tommy closes his eyes and smiles against his forehead. “Yes. Thank you. For celebrating.”
“Even if you didn’t want it.”
“Oh, I wanted it,” Tommy replies, voice low and dark. “And I’ll want it again.”
Evan rubs his fingers into the base of Tommy’s neck, dragging them up and down, clearly reminiscent of his hand in Tommy’s pants. “Anything for my big damn hero.”
Tommy clenches his eyes shut and prays to whatever gods are out there that he can handle this kid and all his celebrations. He can’t recover like he used to. But he sure as hell will try.