tags: mentioned buck/abby, spitting, frottage, fellatio, come eating, boots, touch of brat!buck



The door’s open but someone taps on it, quick and sharp, and Bobby waves them in without a glance up.

It’s a relatively busy night, for Valentine’s Day – or well, any holiday really. They’re in a dry spell now, the swirling lights of red and pink fireworks fizzling out enough for everyone to turn off their destroy-public-property and endanger-my-life-for-poon tendencies and go back to the classics. Heat seeking missile hours, if you will, and Bobby’s going to soak up every second he can get to complete these reports.

The person at the door clears their throat. Bobby grips his pen a little tighter and bares his teeth towards his desk. One breath in, one breath –

“So I’m sitting at this restraunts, right, and it’s so…” Buck trails off with a little laugh. Bobby looks up to find his mouth twisted in a wry way. “I dunno. I pulled a lot of strings to get into this place and I got all…dolled up.” He tugs at his collar, ambling into the room with a sharp draw.
Bobby’s eyes follow the motion. Probie’s got these stubby hands, a chronic case of nail-biting in his youth that doesn’t seem to be going away. They linger on the tie Bobby did up for him just hours before, sliding against the silk before trailing down his front and to his side. He’s got his jacket slung over his shoulder with the other hand.

One step further into the office and he slides it off his shoulder, running a thumb against the lapel with a small, quirked up smile.

“I was thinking about how you said some women don’t like Valentine’s Day. Abby didn’t…” the smile wanes, and Bobby’s heart goes out to the kid – it really does. He knows how long it took to get the reservation so last minute, frantic phone calls and lots of “dude – but – no, I swear” echoing in the changing room after their little party. Abby seemed nice, but he knew it was incompatible the moment she graced the doors to the station. “I dunno, she didn’t seem like she was really into it. Felt like I was trying to…to make her be my something special.”

Bobby watches Buck glance shyly up to him then back down to the jacket, discarding it on the couch. “I’m sorry to hear that, Buck. She seems really nice, despite that.”

Maybe now he can go home to whatever frat house he’s in, imagines a place somehow dumpier than the four padded walls of his own self-inserted hell. Buck’s looking pensive still, a hesitation in his movements as he puts a hand against the door and starts closing it – like he’s surprised at himself for doing it, confused at the way his limb moves. Bobby sighs low and quiet, pushing back the paperwork in front of him to clear a spot for his elbows to rest when he inevitably has to impart wisdom on this kid.

He likes Buck, even though he’s a cock-eyed little shit who gets ahead of himself too often. Maybe tomorrow, when the holiday’s curse is lifted, they can share a couple sparkling waters about the whole thing. Whatever…this thing is.

The door snaps close and Buck takes a step forward. “But I want to celebrate Valentine’s Day. You like Valentine’s Day.”

Bobby arcs an eyebrow. “I’ve been known to enjoy it.”

Buck hums, deep in his throat, takes another step forward without breaking eye contact with Bobby. Fingers back to his collar, he undoes the bow and tosses it behind him, working quickly to undo the first handful of buttons on his short.

Something twists inside Bobby. Mouth runs dry, his fingers flex where they rest on his thighs, and his cock stirs. “What are you doing, Buckley?”

He stops, halfway down his top. His obnoxious tattoo is poking out where it’s fallen open. “I want to spend Valentine’s Day with you.”

Bobby shakes his head and blinks, Buck closer when he focuses back on the world around them. The air in the room’s different, stifled, even with the low hum of the A/C. Scoffs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

At the moniker, Buck drops to his knees without taking his eyes off Bobby. He makes a small motion with his hands like he’s going to drop on all fours but stops himself and pulls them behind his back, arching forward a bit as he scoots on his knee towards Bobby. “I do, Bobby. I spent all this time – “ left knee forward, right shoulder twisted to stay level, “ – and all this, like, so much time worrying. Would she like me? did I do the right thing? And then,” right knee forward, the fabric of his overpriced slacks pulling against the motion, “we got to know each other, really get to know each other. She’s – “ he lets off in a displeased hum. “I realized I liked being told to get to know her more than really getting to know her.”

So he’s playing a game.

If he wants instructions so bad…

“Hands and knees.”

Buck shifts his arms around on command and slaps his palms against the tile. They don’t break eye contact and his back arches, slowly, then slopes down until Bobby can see his ass poke out from behind him. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Obviously.”

Buck whimpers, breathe deep and shuffles closer. He’s almost there, one more long stride.

“What is this, Buck?” It’s his captain in front of him, hardening through his pants and barely able to hide it. Buck’s mouth waters. “Abby wouldn’t use you for that quick, meaningless sex you’ve been begging for?” He ends on a soft gasp, hips bucking.

“She would,” comes out cold like the tile under his palms, “use me, I mean. She’d lay on her back and tell me what to do.” Shuffles just shy of a full step until his chin is propped on Bobby’s knee. For all he’s showing off, he doesn’t stare at the bulge he’s aiming for. “Not really what I’m looking for these days.”

“Tell me what you’re looking for, then.”

Buck surges forward the last of the space between them and buries his nose in Bobby’s crotch through his pants, inhaling deeply against the fabric and shuttering out a shakey breath. When he looks back up at Bobby his eyes are blown, a little red on the corners to match the hot flush blossomed on his cheeks and peeking down his shirt. “Real intimacy,” a callback to their earlier conversation. He licks at the fabric and Bobby bites back a moan, gasping short breathes when Buck nips at it with his teeth. “I like being told what to do, for the record.”

“Never would have guessed,” Bobby shoots out with a snort. His hand reaches out like he’s going to wrap his fingers in Buck’s hair but it bounces against the well-gelled coif and he grimaces, pulls it back to rest on his knee. If he puts his thumb out it would rest on the back of Buck’s neck and he – doesn’t do that. “Did you even try to be chivalrous like I said?”

The kid hauls his body in place, knees coming to a bend under him and a hand coming to rest under Bobby’s knee. His fingers are cold from the floor still but burn through the fabric.

“Opened the door for her,” he squeezes the underside of Bobby’s thigh, “complimented her dress and took her jacket,” probably a shawl Bobby thinks as the probie turns his head, tongue nearly lolling out of his mouth as he presses ever closer to his bulge. The hand not on Bobby snakes down his body and the meat of his palm presses against his hard-on, trapped and pushing against his pants. “Buttered her rolls,” his breath is wet, “bought her a shitty bottle of expensive wine.”

He suctions his mouth right where Bobby can feel a wet patch forming, under and over and spreading on the fabric of his pants. Bobby can’t help the moan when Buck lays his tongue flat on the spot and it’s reciprocal, Buck fluttering his eyelashes through a groan. Doesn’t break eye contact while he swirls his tongue on the spot and opens his jaw wide, stuffs the bulge in his mouth until he can only smell the musky, dark eau de Bobby Nash against his skin and sucks the fabric like he can pull the taste of him from there.

When he pulls off, there’s a string of thick saliva connecting him them.

“And the whole time I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands on my ass and your cock in my mouth.”

Bobby’s growing into a better man, these days.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, kid.”

Buck bites his lip, flutters his eyelashes. He starts to say something but his little groan-breath gets caught in his throat and his hip rolls. “I don’t think I’m asking, Captain.” His hips stutter and he slides his hand from under Bobby’s thigh and to the wet swelling heat between his thighs. “You said there’s always someone else out there that would…” he trails off with a bite to his lips, already red and spit-slick, ragged breathes puffing in and out from the corners.

Throws it all to the wind.

Bobby slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck, grasping at the small tuft of hair his gel didn’t hit. The kid’s head flops back at the motion like he’s boneless, a hot, hurt sound slipping from his lips as they part. “Anyone in the world and you’re here?” Buck moves to push his head against Bobby’s thigh but the older man holds him there, hand sliding up and breaking up a piece of the hard shape of hair behind his head. He can’t help a low chuckle at the way Buck’s eyes stutter, how his birthmark flushes deep as a target when he gets a fresh handle on the boy.

“I chose you,” Buck breathes, ragged, pulling his other hand away from his clothed cock to trail up Bobby’s leg.

Bobby’s breathes are coming out ragged, his chest heaving, and he brings his other hand to Buck’s cheek. Buck’s hand makes it back to his dick and he’s – well, he chose Bobby, did he not? He wants this, twisted as it may be, wants his probie in every way he’s offering. Spread, open, moving in a delicious sin. The legs on the tile floor are solid, not a hint of tremble from his feet to his back to the hands rubbing his thighs and grazing where his cock is filling out his inseam. Head relaxed in Bobby’s hold, eyes solid on his face as his Captain explores his own.

His thumb brushes the corner of Buck’s red lips and Buck sucks it in without a second thought, flutters his eyelashes as his eyes momentarily roll back then resume their solid, questioning stare.
“Fuck, you want it so bad, don’t you?”

Buck nods, his tongue going flat against the thumb rubbing against the back of his teeth and suckling. One of his hands goes to the older man’s crotch and rubs, his own thumb stationary on the growing wet patch and grinding into the spot while his other fingers explore the fabric pulled taught between his groin and leg. Bobby pulls the digit out and Buck chases the digit, already cock-drunk, before Bobby’s fisting his hair harder, batting his hand away, and smashing his face against his cock.

Hips shutter on both of their ends and Bobby can feel rather than hear the harsh inhale of air Buck takes, nose squished against his cockhead and mouth panting through open mouth kisses – more nudging, the seam over his zipper catching against the pull of his teeth. “Hungry for it,” he chuckles dark, heat spearing his gut at the responding moan.

Buck’s hands come up to his face, rooting around for his Captain’s fly and starting on the buttons while his face stays in place, pulling in another long sniff as he pops the first button. “Starving, Cap fuck,” chokes on a gasping breath and gives his bulge one last thick swipe with his tongue before Bobby’s pulling him back and tilting his face upward. “I wanna suck your cock so bad, Cap, please,” he keeps a string of incomprehensible, begging babbling as he gets Bobby’s pants unbuttoned.

Shuttering at the air on the skin of his belly, a sliver freed from his belt by Buck’s rushed hands, he lets go of Buck’s hair and leans back in his seat, lifting his hips as Buck pulls down his pants and underwear and frees his aching cock. He’ll get the chair cleaned. Might have Buck clean it with his mouth when this is all over. He seems rather…oral fixated.

As if reading his mind, Buck swallows. “Spit in my mouth,” he opens his jaw wide, his tongue out.
Bobby huffs. “Think you’re in a position to tell me what to do?”

“Think we’d be here if I didn’t?”

Bobby leans up at that quickly, grabbing Buck’s jaw in one hand, fingers flexing not unkindly on his ruddy skin. He tilts Buck’s head to the side and spits on his face, saliva hitting his cheekbone and fanning out to his eyelashes, his lips, and trailing down his cheek. Lets go with a rough push, then gives Buck a smack on his wet cheek, rather light but loud with the saliva between their skin.
Buck looks shocked at the action, drunk in the way his eyes widen and darken in one motion. “Fuck,” he breathes, hand on Bobby’s thighs flexing. He’s not looking between them despite working so hard to get here, with Bobby’s thick cock bouncing between them, red and angry and hot enough it’s radiating outward, sucking in all the air Buck’s rasping.

They’re staring at each other – not a fight for dominance in their gazes but something softer. I chose you, Buck said. He can’t mean it, Bobby knows, can’t say those words with feeling when he doesn’t know what brought Bobby here in the first place. To LA, burdened with a grief still incomprehensible to himself much less to the inexperienced gaze trying to open him wide. To the 118, shrouded in lies and disgrace. To this office, here, now, can’t comprehend the guilt swelling in his belly, deep in his gut, hovering just over his crotch where his dick bounces in a wet, sloppy anticipation.

I chose you, Buck said…despite it.

Maybe Bobby’s mask is so solid it’s breaking the space-time continuum, thrown him into a parallel world. That Bobby’s supposed to be here, filling out these long forgotten forms, while that Buck lays over Abby like a blanket and fucks her with all the ferocity of an over-worked, under-played young gazelle. That’s where this one is supposed to be – buried in Abby until her strawberry pubes are tickling his skin and he’s crying into her ear about love and shit. But –

I chose you.

Well, he’s already here.

Leans back in his spot and breathes the alternate versions of them away.

“Suck my cock already, Buckley.”