Chapter Text
6”2 male walks into Mon Chéri and immediately grabs the attention of the whole bar. He’s wearing a timeless outfit of a white t-shirt, blue jeans and a thin, black leather jacket over his broad shoulders. His hair is dark, swept back with some gel and his crows feet make his otherwise very carved, masculine face kinder and milder.
Buck straightens up from the bar stool, noticing how the attention at the bar shifts, how people turn their heads to look at him. Buck can’t see much of the guy; he’s not one of those demons that can sense insecurities or fear. Perhaps a lie, if he focuses, and dwindling willpower particularly. But he can sense energies, particularly sexual ones, and he just knows that the guy would make a good meal.
“That one?” Sayyirah, the bartender, suggests a little desperately and sends a pointed look in the man’s direction.
Buck sighs. He has told Sayyirah that he doesn’t do men, but he feels like she will make fun of him if she realizes that he was being serious. Incubuses are known for fucking everything with a pulse and besides, she’s just trying to help out. “You know I don’t go older,” he chooses to say instead.
Sayyirah sips her water hidden neatly behind the bartender counter. She really is beautiful. Her side-cut has been covered with glitter today and the false lashes she’s wearing are cobalt blue, as well as her eyeliner. As always she looks mesmerizing and even though it’s a shame she found Michael, he’s also kind of happy being able to preserve this solidarity with her.
At the prospect, a heavy pressure drops onto his chest and his muscles twitch. “I gotta go.”
“Buck,” she says, a little distressed. “It’s the fifth night in a row you left without eating. I know him, he’s nice.”
“Thanks, Sayyirah, but I’m good,” he says and takes out his wallet, passing her some bills. “I’m just going to a different bar.”
She takes the money, biting her lip and shoots the man a considering look.
He gives her a smile and a peck on her cheek before she can delay him and heads for the bathroom, intending to drive home after. Alone. Again. Fuck.
He wishes he knew where this funk came from. He was so freaking hungry that he was sore with it. But no matter who he looked at, whose lustrous eyes he met, he always felt his appetite leaving him.
It’s not like he’s longing for someone, is heartbroken like he was after Abby even though his relationship with Natalia recently ended. He just doesn’t care for hooking up. He’s tired of the whole she-bang. He just wants to do whatever he wants and kissing, fucking and leaving isn’t that.
Going out every night back before Abby had been fun. The desire, the chase and the release were sugar sweet, addicting, fun. But as he had moved through girlfriends, the meaningless hookups became more and more bleak. Felt empty.
After having used the bathroom, Buck goes to the sink to wash his hands. To his surprise the man from before is leaning against one of the doors of the bathroom stalls, eyes nonchalantly checking out Buck.
The tug in his stomach is involuntary and his instincts kick in. Within a second, Buck sees the tell-tale energy around the man, veil-like rays surveilling Buck curiously but carefully. Usually attraction is much more spontaneous, but the man keeps it expertly controlled. And the attraction towards Buck isn’t the little ray that all people have towards their own sex; it’s stronger, more intentional. Gay then and a past of being in the closet.
“Hey,” the man says. His voice is smooth, deep. He’s not unaffected by Buck, but there’s a relaxed look in his eyes; the perfect balance of easy flirtation. “I’m Tommy.”
“Hey Tommy,” Buck says and smiles weakly at Tommy through the mirror. His entire eye area is faintly pink and his birthmark looks like a bruise, so there isn’t really any point in trying to look his best right now, even if it’s only for his vanity. “Let me guess. Sayyirah sent you?”
Tommy sends him an amused look, a small smile on his lips as he nods with a tilted head. “I can take you for a ride. You probably already know I’m interested,” he says, which is nice. Buck wouldn’t want a pity fuck anyway. “But if I’m not your cup of tea, I can wingman you.” Now, that’s definitely pity. “I’m meeting up with a group of friends later, I was just dropping by to say hello to Sayyirah. I can bring you.”
Buck looks down at his hands, which he is for some reason still drying in the paper towel. He is wearing his red bracelet that identifies him as an incubus and he can get into most places with it. He doesn’t really want to go, but he should join and perhaps having Tommy as a wingman would make everything easier tonight.
“Where?” he asks.
“Lawndale,” Tommy replies.
Buck smiles at him, partly apologetic and partly relieved. “The bars in Lawndale aren’t demon-friendly. But thank you for the offer. That’s really nice of you, man.”
“I see,” Tommy says, frowning as if he hadn’t thought of that. “You’re welcome I guess.”
“Nice meeting you though,” Buck says and smiles at Tommy, before sauntering out of the bar.
—-
It's yet another night where Buck comes home, happy to be alone and anxious about the missed meal. He tries to compensate for his hunger with snacks (caramelized popcorn, sour patch candy and ginger chews) while he binge-watches Grey’s Anatomy, but it tastes like sand in his mouth.
He should probably hit the hay soon. He needs to be up at 5 AM, so he can continue his latest stint which is construction work, an occupation he’s surprisingly content with. It’s simple work and because of his invulnerability he gets a lot of freedom while working on assignments. Outside his loft, LA is mild with fall approaching and bright with the city lights. He half-heartedly swipes through Tinder, closes the app once he gets a few matches and shuts off the notifications. He tells himself that he basically did his homework, even if that meant missing his exam.
At some point later in the night, he walks out on the balcony where he slowly breathes in the night air. He really needs to get out of this funk; it’s not sustainable. ‘Bitch needs to eat’ as Sayyirah once said. Dragging his feet isn’t going to make it easier for him, it’ll just make him hangry. He needs to stop acting like a child and just swallow down his medicine.
But everything felt wrong when he was out. The lights, the sticky floors, the smell of hard liquor, syrups and beer. The music blasting everything between rock songs or pop hits, depending on what bar or club he’s hanging out in. And everyone felt wrong. He doesn’t want to look at them; he doesn’t want to be looked at.
Despite the hole in Buck’s metaphorical stomach, he just feels full.
—-
The next day, Buck barhops again. He avoids Mon Chérie because he doesn’t want Sayyirah to try and set him up again, so he treads into other bars damn well knowing that he’s not intending on picking someone up tonight. He’s just out for semantics; pretend that he’s putting an effort into this, just like Tinder, so he doesn’t feel like he’s doing outright self-harm.
Still, resentment has been growing these past days. He hates that he needs people to function. He thinks perhaps that if he had the time to be by himself, then he would actually want to meet people. But he’s tired of his flings and he’s still angry at Abby for making him fall in love for the first time, because sex after that never felt the same. Before her, Buck used to fuck people. Now he just fucks bodies.
It’s actually really, really easy getting laid, so he doesn’t know why he keeps acting like it’s a great obstacle. It’s not even like he always has to be the one to make the first move. Women are bolder than when he presented but as soon as he sees them approaching, he skirts or he says he’s waiting for someone or he says he has a girlfriend, even though the bracelet is loud and makes the purpose of his presence clear.
After having left the third bar, Buck departs from the streets lined up with bars and clubs. The fresh air does him well, but he feels woozy, too woozy to drive. With a mumbled curse he finds his phone and tries to enter the Lyft-app with trembling fingers. He’s so cold. Everything is so muted around him.
“Hey,” someone calls out. “Are you alright?”
Buck looks up, squinting and he thinks he recognizes the guy from yesterday at the smokers’ sidewalk. “Y-yeah,” he says, vision flickering in and out of predator mood again. This time the man’s rays are far from interested, tucked tightly against his figure like a straight-jacket. If Buck wasn’t feeling this terrible, he would be a little insulted. “Thanks for asking.”
“Hey, easy, easy,” Tommy says, suddenly sounding way closer, and Buck doesn’t understand why he’s saying that until he realizes he is lying on his back now, which he definitely wasn’t before.
“F-fuck,” Buck says, people’s rays flickering off and on in his vision. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Tommy says gently, taking Buck’s hand and pressing his fingers against Buck's wrist.
For some reason Buck actually believes him. But then again Tommy is a very believable person. If he told Buck that the city was renaming Los Angeles to Death’s Angels, Buck bets he would believe him.
“When did you last feed?” Tommy asks.
“I-I’m not hungry,” Buck says, his teeth chattering so loud his brain is trying to escape.
“Okay,” Tommy says. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”
“No!” Buck says, cringing away from Tommy. “I don’t have insurance. I’ll be fine.”
“LA has a basic health package for all demon citizens,” Tommy says.
“It doesn’t cover hunger,” Buck says. Well, that lie didn’t last long.
Everything is turning dark. Buck squints his eyes, noticing the stars beyond the dome of light pollution.
“The stars are so fucking dim in LA, man,” Buck heaves.
“Hen!” Tommy yells.
—-
When Buck wakes up, he finds himself on a stretcher in what appears to be a huge garage. The air is pretty cold in there and there’s some background noise of people buzzing around.
Swallowing, he looks around and sees a fire engine on one side of him, neatly keeping him out of sight, but that means he can’t really see what’s going on around him. His eyes are burning and his lips are so dry he feels like dunking them in a tub of vaseline.
There’s a pinching pain in his arm and he looks to the side to see his arm extended on the stretcher. A needle has pierced his skin and at the end of the drop is a bag with whiskey-brown liquid. He really hopes that it’s the good stuff he’s getting and he really hopes that it’s free. His stretcher is neatly pressed to the side of an ambulance, the door slid open and the IV hanging from inside it.
He does feel better. His head is still ringing and feels too heavy for his shoulders, but his hunger is not trying to make him implode as badly anymore.
Sitting up, random impressions start to flood in. He finds his jacket slung over the railing of the stretcher, scarlet red and a blood stain against the metal. It smells like Thai food in the distance. He senses a gym nearby; people sweating, their adrenaline rushing, their endorphins pumping. Someone is accusing another person of cheating in a video game. The leather underneath his arms is sticky with sweat.
Looking back at the IV, he realizes it’s a D-IV.
Carefully he pulls out the needle and the wound heals slower than he would like. The stretcher creaks as he sits up. He picks up his jacket and decides that he’s going to make a run for it in case they want to charge him. He doesn’t feel bad about it. The American healthcare system is a scam anyway and he’s not paying 200$ for the demon equivalent of a Red Bull.
Besides, it’s over. This is a new low. He wanted to stay in LA because he liked the city, because he made friends, but it’s time for him to move on. He hasn’t been in New York yet, not for very long anyway, but a lot of succu-and incubi get paid to feed over there. Perhaps he will be more motivated to feed if he gets to buy a 115” tv or something.
The D-IV has given him a few days to work with and the Jeep can get him to New York in 45 hours without traffic. He’ll really have to acquire insurance over there, especially if he’s getting into sex work, but he has a friend who lives comfortably and he has offered to set things up for Buck several times in case Buck wanted to leave town. Sure, he has his lease, but he can terminate it, empty out his fridge, bring the essentials and return in three months to get everything packed up.
Putting his jacket on, he jumps off the stretcher. The night is black and soundless in front of him, which means his car hasn’t been towed yet.
“And where do you think you’re going?” someone asks behind him.
It’s a tall man in his late fifties, who somehow pulls off the boy scout and strict dad-look at the same time. He’s holding a newspaper and has been sitting behind Buck the entire time.
“Uh,” Buck says. “I was going to find you first. Say thanks. Hey. I’m Buck.”
“Hey Buck,” the man says and smiles gently, which abruptly changes his entire face to something soft and trustworthy. “I’m Bobby.”
“Thank you for this,” Buck says, waving at the D-IV.
“On the house,” Bobby smiles, which makes Buck’s shoulders drop with relief. “As a favor to a friend.”
“Is he awake?” Tommy’s voice is asking as feet bound down a staircase, before he comes into view. He’s wearing the same leather jacket as yesterday and Buck wonders what a guy like him was doing two nights out in a row. He really doesn’t seem like the type. Like, Tommy isn’t a guy. He’s like. A man.
On top of the stairs stands three people who look very at home, but wearing civvies. He thinks the bald woman with glasses looks familiar, but he ain’t quite sure.
“Hey,” Buck says and swallows, awkwardly. “Thank you for this. Sorry for the ruckus.”
“It’s okay,” Tommy says, checking his phone. “Alright, ready to leave?”
Buck blinks at him. “Where?”
“To my place,” Tommy says. He pauses. “Like we talked about?”
Buck pauses, feeling his arms break into goosebumps. Did he promise to…? He must have. Why else would he agree to go to Tommy’s place?
Buck shoots Bobby a look. Bobby doesn’t seem like the type to let something go on that isn’t right. Buck must have agreed to it. God, how out of it has he been? But it’s kind of the least that he can do. Right? Tommy doesn’t seem like the type of guy to expect sexual favors for his own sake. If this is heading where Buck thinks it is, it’s probably some kind of Samaritan act.
Buck checks Tommy’s aura. Yep. Tommy totally isn’t in it for the orgasms, which Buck doesn’t know how to feel about. Still, the guy is hot. Buck does find himself wanting to impress him. People probably feel that way around Tommy a lot. Tall, handsome and chivalrous in a sexy way. Buck hasn’t been with a man before, but he will make it worth Tommy’s while.
“I never got your name,” Tommy says as he helps Buck off the stretcher. Okay, if he’s going to arouse Tommy in any kind of way, he has to stop acting like an anorexic demon (which yikes he sort of is). Get his game face on.
“Uh, Buck,” Buck introduces himself. Sure, most demons would scoff about him freely handing out his name, but he’s never claimed to be a smart demon and Tommy deserves it. He thinks. He really needs to find out what he agreed to.
“Nice to meet you, Buck. Thanks, Bobby, for helping,” Tommy calls out as he heads towards the parking lot.
“Anytime,” Bobby calls back warmly. “Buck, if you ever want a warm meal, you’re free to drop by sometime.”
“Uh, thanks,” Buck replies.
—--
Tommy owns a truck and it drives as smoothly as butter along the LA freeways.
The silence is stifling and Buck is still wondering about what it is he agreed to during his blackout. Is there anything specific Tommy wants? Like, Buck has been pegged before and he really liked it. Or maybe just a blowjob? Maybe Tommy didn’t want to do too much work. Nah, Tommy seemed too much of a gentleman to ask for something like that for the first time. Not that there had to be a second time. Or anything. Buck doesn’t even like men that way and besides, Tommy is clearly out of his league.
They arrive at Tommy's house at Echo Park way faster than Buck thought. He isn’t familiar with the neighborhood but it seems like a quiet place mostly catered to families.
At a modest, light-blue bungalow, a garage door starts sliding open and Tommy parks into the crampy space with confidence. They get out of the car, Tommy locks the car and while they wait for the garage door to slide all the way down, Buck takes in the scenery.
The lawn is small and not really a lawn; Tommy has clearly taken inspiration from those people who decided to care for their gardens with native plants, so the lawn is more like a garden with bushes, cactuses and wildflowers. It kind of shields the windows from view and probably from the sunlight as well, but it makes sense that Tommy wouldn’t mind the privacy.
“No shoes inside,” Tommy says as he opens the front door.
“Firefighter?” Buck guesses, because he’s been meaning to ask ever since they left the station.
“LAFD pilot,” Tommy says, turning on the light and the foyer of his house is small, but has several jacket racks, even though they’re empty for now. He probably gets visitors often. “The people there were my former colleagues. Would you like something to drink?”
Tommy hangs up his jacket, takes off his shoes and heads into the house.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Buck says. “Water is fine.”
In what must be the kitchen, Buck hears the sound of a fridge being opened and water being poured into a glass.
Tommy walks into the hallway holding the water, when he realizes that Buck is still just awkwardly standing there.
“Come in,” he says gently, understanding changing his face into something gentle.
“I,” Buck says, deciding to come clean. “I’ve never been with a man before.”
“What?” Tommy says and looks at him with a frown. “Wait. Why do you think you’re here?”
Buck shrugs sheepishly. “I guess I promised I would repay you?”
Tommy raises his brows. “No, Buck,” he says. “I told you that I had boosters at my house and you agreed to come so you could feel better and drive to New York. We were talking about it while you were getting the drop, remember?”
Buck hesitantly shakes his head.
Tommy carefully puts the water on the hallway table. “Do you want me to drive you home?” he asks, voice completely lacking in judgment, which is impressive considering how much of a waste of time Buck must have been for him tonight.
Buck wrings his shoulders, staring at the floor. His eyes are getting embarrassingly misty. “I don’t know,” he says. “Did I promise you something for the boosters?”
Smiling, Tommy shakes his head. “No. My sister gives me potions for all sorts of random scenarios. I freely offered you them and to crash on my couch after.”
“O-okay,” Buck says, because the tell-tale shivers of hunger are already tingling underneath his skin. The idea of getting a D-IV and now also boosters? It’s not just changing Buck’s day, it’s changing his entire week. “I would like that.”
“Good,” Tommy says and picks up the glass again. “Hang up your jacket. Do you have an Iphone?”
“Uh, yeah?” Buck says and Tommy nods.
“I will show you to my couch and give you a charger,” he says. “That way you have your phone beside you in all cases. Sounds good?”
“Yeah,” Buck says.
He takes off his jacket and shoes and follows Tommy to a big living room with bookshelves hanging on the walls, shelves adorned with well-cared for plants and a fluffy couch. Tommy puts the water on the table, gets an adapter, plugs it into an outlet next to the couch and silently passes Buck the wire.
Buck plugs in his phone and it vibrates as it starts to charge. He doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous. He’s been sleeping with queens of drug cartels surrounded by their bodyguards and this gentle giant makes him nervous?
Slowly he sits on the couch and Tommy goes back to the kitchen. He comes back with a wooden box and puts it on the table. After having removed the lid, Buck sees that it’s filled with hay and an organizer keeping in place small, brown bottles and pots.
“Here,” Tommy says and carefully picks a few of the pots out. “Give them a whiff to make sure a strange man isn’t giving you strange things.”
Buck laughs as he opens the lid of a pot, lifting it up to smell it first. Immediately his stomach growls and before he can think about it, he crushes the brown pot in his hand.
“Careful, careful,” Tommy says and holds back Buck’s hand as he’s about to shove both the booster pearls and the clay shards into his mouth.
Gingerly, he picks the two shards out of Buck’s hand and immediately Buck stuffs the pearls into his mouth. They’re tasteless and strong at the same time, quickly turning warm in his mouth. The warmth makes way to his veins and spreads into his entire body, easing every ache in his joints and any soreness in his muscles. Buck has had boosters before, but nothing like this.
“Don’t swallow them,” Tommy reminds him. “They’re supposed to be dissolved on your tongue.”
Buck growls and pulls the remaining pots on the table into his hands. Tommy utters a startled laugh and keeps laughing as Buck quickly opens all the pots and stuffs the pearls into his mouth before Tommy can change his mind.
Chuckling, Tommy takes back the empty pots. “I never think I’ve seen that strong display of defensive eating,” he says. “You should try and say chubby bunny.”
It makes Buck snort a laugh too. “‘’Ubby bu‘y,” he says through his teeth.
“Alright,” Tommy says and snaps the lid closed. Buck whines in protest. “There aren’t more boosters in there, Buck. Lie down and relax, okay? Here, a blanket.”
The realization that Buck is not only eating without eating, but also gets to have something warm that smells of a body that isn’t his own? It feels like a dream. He takes the blanket Tommy has offered him and snuggles into the couch, eagerly slurping at the boosters in his mouth as he wraps himself into a burrito.
Tommy goes back to the kitchen to put the box down and comes back again. He turns on the TV and Buck lazily turns his head towards it as he finally feels the cold fade.
“Don’t fall asleep with them in,” Tommy warns. “You might choke.”
Buck nods with the full intention of falling asleep. All of this almost feels like an afterglow except there's no wrongness now, no foreign body he's rolling off.
“How are we doing, Buck?” Tommy says two episodes into some random sitcom Buck has been too dazed to really follow. Most of the pearls are dissolved at this point.
“Full,” Buck says sleepily. “Is it still okay if I sleep here?”
“I offered,” Tommy says. “So yes.”
And Buck is noticing how gentle Tommy's smile is in the flickering light of the tv, before he falls asleep.
—-
Buck wakes up with a headache and a throbbing behind his right eye. It's a big difference from yesterday night, where he had felt toasty and more comfortable than he has felt for months.
He hears movements in the kitchen and sluggishly raises himself from the couch. He fell asleep in his jeans and t-shirt and feels pretty uncomfortable in the stiff clothes.
Standing up he follows the sound and sees Tommy in the kitchen, doing the dishes. There are two plates on the table with glasses of orange juice, a plate with toast and jam and a big pan with bacon and eggs.
“Morning,” Buck says and Tommy jolts. “Is that for me?”
Tommy turns around, his cheeks a little flushed with a serious bedhead. “Figured you'd like the day to start off on a good note,” he says. “I will have to leave for work in an hour or so though.”
“Thanks,” Buck says. “You're such a gentleman.”
Tommy smiles crookedly. “How are you feeling?”
Buck shrugs. “A lot better,” he says. “How much are the potions? I'd like to repay your sister and perhaps find out how to get more of them.”
Putting some cutlery on the table, Tommy waves him to the table. “She doesn't want payment,” he says. “But she doesn't sell this stuff either.”
“Oh,” Buck says. It's not like he can't get boosters from other places but the boosters Tommy gave him were good .
Tommy stacks some bacon on Buck's plate. “You should be focusing on real food,” he points out. “I know a very nice couple who are looking for someone to join, no strings attached. They’re both women.”
“O-oh. Are they nice?” Buck asks, primarily to be polite.
“Very,” Tommy says and sends him a kind smile. “Martina and Line. Been together for a few years. They're both pan.”
Buck looks down at his plate. “Thanks,” he says.
Tommy cuts open a yolk and dips a piece of toast into the vividly golden fluid. “Boosters aren’t meals,” Tommy reminds him nonchalantly.
“Yeah, I just haven't gotten so lucky the past few times I've been out,” Buck says and when Tommy briefly looks up at him, he knows Tommy can tell it’s a lie.
“Look,” Tommy says. “I can't decide what you will do about your situation and I don't know why you don't want to feed. But as a first responder, I need to remind you to take better care of yourself.”
“I appreciate that,” Buck says, because he actually does. Hell, he’s even considering taking the offer just to make Tommy feel more at ease. “And really, thanks. And thank your friends too.”
“You already thanked them, but I suspect you don’t remember,” Tommy says, taking a bite of the bacon. Buck is envious. For people like Tommy, getting full is that easy. “I actually only recently reconnected with them.”
“Oh?” Buck says and when Tommy shoots his plate a glance, Buck picks up some toast.
“They asked for my help,” Tommy explains. “That capsized ship?”
“Damn,” Buck says, widening his eyes. “That’s crazy! I saw it in the news. Didn’t you get a medal or something?”
“Sure did,” Tommy says. “Not that those things mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It’s just a piece of metal.”
“Those lives meant something,” Buck says with admiration and when Tommy shoots his food another glance, Buck realizes he has just been sitting with his toast in his hands.
“Anything wrong with the food?” Tommy asks politely.
“Oh, no,” Buck says. “Sorry.”
Tommy raises a brow. “Don’t apologize. Would you like something else?”
Buck hates eating food when he’s hungry. “Uh no. I just.” He waves his toast, before putting it down on the plate again. “I don’t really eat when I need to feed. It makes me nauseous. Crossed wires or something, I think.”
“I thought incubi needed regular food too,” Tommy says but it’s not really a question. He already knows the answer. “How about drinking some juice?”
“Yeah,” Buck says. He can at least do that much.
—-
After having eaten in pleasant silence, Tommy offers to drive Buck home. Buck declines, instead asking if Tommy could drive him to his car.
The jeep is still parked at the parking lot, now with a brand new parking ticket. Buck takes it off his windshield and heads home. It’s his off-day and he intends on taking a nice, long shower and crawling into clean bedsheets in his most comfy clothes.
But as soon as he comes home, he immediately feels the absence of life, of warmth. He doesn’t know what the difference is between his house and Tommy’s; it’s certainly just as cozy and Buck had his old roommates or colleagues over all the time.
But… at Tommy’s place he felt safe. Taken care of. Buck didn’t know that was something he needed until now.
—-
He wakes up from his nap feeling cold. Cursing he turns on his heating fan and stumbles downstairs to his shower, turning up the heat to compensate but it’s no avail. Coming down from the boosters makes the hunger worse than ever and looking for some solace, he goes to his freezer and finds some frozen fried chicken.
But when he consumes it the richness of the meat immediately makes him nauseous and after half an hour of stewing in his own desperation, he grabs his jacket.
—-
“Hey ladies,” Buck says and smiles. His arm is being cradled by a girl, brunette with a dominant kink and they had talked for a while, before she invited him over to the table. He has a good idea about what’s about to go on. He went into a kink club this time. Food was already on the plate once he stepped in. “Enjoying the party?”
The small group of women sitting together at the table smile and cheer with their drinks. He crooks his head.
“We were thinking,” the girl having brought him over giggles. “About that drinking game? Is that a real thing?”
Buck raises a brow. The Incubi/Succubi drinking game is basically crawling underneath a clothed table. The participants don’t wear underwear and he will find one of them randomly to eat her out. It’s a game much like police and robbers. The person he gives head is a robber and twenty minutes will be spent debating who the robber is while Buck takes them over and when the timer has rung, they do a vote. Twenty minutes is plenty of time to work with and the game is practically an easy buffet.
“You’re game?” Buck asks.
—-
He ends his lease. The drinking game is the last drop for him and he needs to get out of LA now . He doesn’t know what he’s going to do in New York and he doesn’t care, he just can’t stay in this freaking city anymore.
He was just supposed to stay here for a while but then he met Abby and in the meanwhile he started falling in love with the city and there was Ali that he met at a bar after the earthquake who dumped him when her job became too much. There was Taylor that he met at another bar looking for a good hot meal and it had led to some kind of cat and mouse game where they were chasing each other. Buck thought that when they finally winded up together, it meant that it was love. It wasn’t. He got tired of spending time warming their bed because of all of her work and while he was bartending, she was getting promoted. It ended pretty quickly from there. There had been Natalia and she loved meeting his eyes and actually listening to what he was saying and then they found out that a necromancer fucking a demon fucked up her mojo and that had been the end of that.
And well. After Natalia, everything had become so exhausting. He had really liked her.
The lease ends in three months and while Buck could just donate or trash his stuff and go right away, he wants to finish his contract with the construction company and enjoy his final time with these people.
—-
It doesn’t take long. After a week he’s no longer full. After two, he starts to get hungry. Week three, he’s getting cold. Week four he calls in sick and drags himself to a bar as far away from his apartment as possible. He doesn’t want to run into any of these people again.
When he invites a brunette into a dance and she says yes, his stomach drops. They dance and she’s having a good time, cheeks flushed and eyes glazy. He wants to ask her to go to the bathroom with him.
Instead, he balks. Drives to Tommy’s house and regrets everything as soon as he arrives. And here he thought he was going to show Tommy his most flattering side if they met again.
So Buck changes his mind and instead of knocking, he sits down beside the door and hides his face in his hands, because not even his pride can make him fully abandon his plan. He wants to go home. He doesn’t want to go home. He wants to feel safe like Tommy made him feel, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he's pathetic. He just wants Tommy to become his friend so Buck could drop by and they could have fun and Buck could feel safe, without being on his knees begging for boosters.
At the end of the day, Buck doesn’t get away with cowering at the door. The garage doors are lifting, probably from a remote button as Tommy's truck slides up the road, but then the truck halts unexpectedly and parks at the sidewalk.
Tommy is sauntering over to him and Buck looks up from his knees.
“Please?” he asks roughly.
Tommy sighs. “Alright. Come in.”
He unlocks the door to his house and Buck slowly stands up to follow him.
“What happened to New York?” Tommy asks as he takes off his shoes.
“Uhm,” Buck stutters, taking off his shoes as well. Last time he was standing in this foyer, he felt nervous. Now he just feels guilty. “I have to stay until my lease is up. It's in two months.”
Tommy nods. “You've fed since last?”
Buck nods eagerly. “Yeah. I just need something to take the edge off.”
“Trying to prolong the periods between feedings?” Tommy drawls.
Buck’s eyes flicker to Tommy and the door to his living room. He doesn't bother doubling down. “I can leave. I can find something else, you don't have to help me.”
Tommy turns to look at him. “I’m not taking the chance of you getting worse stuff off the streets. Any reason you don't go to the doctor and get some prescribed?”
Buck twists in discomfort. “They're for when you're in recovery from a surgery and not for ordinary use. Please.”
Tommy sighs and waves Buck towards his living room. “Get settled,” he says and Buck silently walks to the living room. He hates being such a bother, a stray dog looking for any sort of pity it can get. He promises this is the last time he’ll beg for help.
Tommy comes back with the wooden box and this time Buck waits for Tommy to pour the boosting pearls into his own hand and pass them over to Buck.
These pearls are saltier, rougher like they’ve been made quicker than last time. Buck doesn't let himself relax this time. Fatigue had plagued him to another degree last time and he politely stays sitting up as the pearls start to dissolve in his mouth.
Tommy is moving around in the kitchen, probably getting a late night snack. Buck doesn't want Tommy to offer him any food this time. He wants it to be easy to leave, as he won't take too much of Tommy's time, so he can’t get comfortable. Tommy is probably annoyed with a stranger staying in his house for the second time; he’s probably worried that this might become a habit and Buck will be hard to get rid of. Buck is worried about the same.
Curiously enough he lets the wooden box stay on the table and Buck wonders if it's some kind of test to see how desperate he is. And albeit he is desperate he hasn't gotten to the point where he even considers stealing. Especially not from someone who is being kind.
By the time the pearls have dissolved in Buck’s mouth, Tommy has returned to the living room with two sandwiches. He points at the second plate, this time leaving no room for an argument.
“Eat,” he says.
The bread is oily and pleasantly crunchy. Buck chews carefully, but with the focaccia bread, the mayo and the cheese it quickly turns too rich on his tongue.
“Trying to fatten me up?” Buck asks.
“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Tommy says, not bothering to deny it. He doesn’t really look bothered. He looks bored if Buck had to put a finger on it.
“Thanks,” Buck says. He chews at the sandwich slowly, feeling like it’d be too impolite to just leave. At the end of the day, he does appreciate the effort and the good-will.
After he has forced himself through the sandwich, he asks: “Can I write my phone number into your phone?”
Tommy raises a brow. “For what?”
“If you ever need anything in return, I owe you a favor,” he says. “I won’t ask for your number and I promise I won’t come back again.”
Tommy carefully measures him with his eyes. “I don’t know about being offered a favor by a demon,” he says. “I heard that can quickly bring you into messes.”
Buck can’t help but smile. “Probably with other demons,” he says, “you would be right. But I’m just an incubus and I don’t know how to navigate trickery.”
“Your kind has always been very straight-forward,” Tommy admits. He passes over his phone and Buck writes in his number and saves it before Tommy can second-guess himself.
“Thank you for tonight,” he says as he stands. “You’re a really good guy.”
“Thanks,” Tommy says and follows him to the foyer.
Buck turns to look at him. “Tommy?”
Tommy pauses.
Buck reaches out for his hand and Tommy hesitantly takes it. “My name is Evan Buckley,” he says and the black ink of his name passes from his skin to Tommy.
They both tense as the power of his name cements a connection between them.
His name isn’t a secret, really. It’s in his drivers license, on his passport and on his social security card. But knowing a demon’s name means nothing, only if the name is given with intent and done voluntarily. Now Tommy has the power to summon him whenever and wherever he wants.