Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.

Tommy gets off the Greyhound at Port Authority, the acrid stench of the Burgh settling on his skin like a second coat weighing him down. Being here, being back, feels so much worse than he thought it would. Someone knocks into his shoulder and he snarls, fear and anger clawing at his nerves. It’s a good thing he’s short on cash or he’d be in line to buy a ticket out of the city. Fleeing again, like they did all those years ago. But this time Tommy has to stay. He’s got one last fight in him and nowhere else to go.

He gets off the ‘T’ a little over halfway there, picking up two bottles of whiskey at a corner store. He cracks the cap on the cheaper one and swallows a couple of pills before he’s even out the door. The sun is going down and he’s going to need courage to retrace his steps to the house.

The porchlight is on, and Tommy falters on the sidewalk. Blood rushes in his ears and he swears he can hear the squeal of the tires on the day they left. He shakes himself. He’s not a scared 14-year-old kid anymore, and he’s made damn sure nothing in that house can ever hurt him again.

He almost kicks in the door when no one answers his knocking. Instead, he drops his bag, pulls his cap lower over his ears, and sits his ass down on the cold steps to wait. His bottle is two thirds gone and the wind doesn’t bother him as much as before. He shakes out two more pills as headlights appear at the end of the street. By the time he’s chased them with the whiskey, the car has stopped in front of the house.

Paddy doesn’t see him at first. It’s another few seconds before he realizes who Tommy is, and that’s fine. Tommy’s waited fourteen years for this, another minute or two doesn’t change anything.

“Tommy?”

Paddy’s face is blurry, but the shape of him hasn’t changed. Just hearing the man’s voice makes Tommy tense up. His smile hurts his face but Paddy doesn’t seem to notice.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I was just passing through. Figured why not have a belt with the old man.” Tommy’s words cut like glass as they spill out of his mouth. He has to get in the house. Can’t do what he wants to out here in the street. This neighbourhood will only avert its eyes if your sins stay behind closed doors.

Tommy can’t help but remark on the car, spite lacing his tone. It looks exactly as it did back when it was the second most important thing in Paddy Conlon’s life. He offers Paddy the bottle, barely wincing at the mention of his mother. He stumbles a little when Paddy declines. Things aren’t going to plan, but the pills have softened his focus too much to change course.

Stepping into the house steals his breath in a way he’s not prepared for, a quiet sob punching out of his chest at how much nothing has changed. A sense of deja vu hits him hard enough that for a moment he swears he can smell his mother’s perfume.

Paddy’s making noise in the kitchen, giving Tommy a chance to collect himself and get back on track.

“There’s not much of a woman’s touch around here.” Except hers , his mind whispers. His eyes land on the Bible set beside the phone. Figures. Paddy never did make things easy for Tommy.

“No more women for me, Tommy.”

“Yeah? Must be hard to find a girl who can take a punch nowadays.” The words leave something heavy and sour in Tommy’s gut so he takes another drink. He eyes the photographs lining the walls, gaze falling on the nicks and repairs rather than the images in

the frames. The crack in the glass of a wedding photo makes him seethe. He remembers telling the ER doctor he left his shoes at the bottom of the stairs and his mother had tripped, fracturing her cheekbone. Yes, sir, I swear that’s what happened. No, sir, I can’t explain the burn marks on her arms. She’s clumsy. She’s fragile. She’s tired.

Tommy declines Paddy’s offer of coffee, taking another pull from the bottle and turning pointedly back to the pictures. They hurt. He didn’t expect that. Even with the whiskey and the vicodin there’s a sting behind his eyes at the smiling faces on the wall. He remembers now that it wasn’t all bad. They had good days. Trips to the lake and National Parks. Wrestling competitions and birthdays that didn’t end in flipped tables and black eyes. Tommy finds himself hating the good times the most. At least on the bad days you knew what was coming. Paddy Conlon was predictable when in a rage, his violence had a pattern. It was sober Paddy you had to watch out for. He was the one with the sharp eyes, picking up on every little nuance and slip. Storing it away for later when you were backed into a corner, desperate to get out alive.

He almost feels nothing when Paddy tells him Brendan’s a teacher. If he didn’t know his old man better, he’d say it was pride in his voice. Tommy tells himself there’s no need to be jealous of a man who would abandon his family as easily as Brendan did. It’s harder to believe when his brother looks like he got everything he ever wanted in the end.

He moves on, familiar with his own childhood moments frozen forever in their frames. Tommy wishes he felt frozen right now. His insides are on fire at the normality of this meeting. How the house is the same, and the people are the same, except everyone but him seems to have moved on. He doesn’t get to do that, because everything he loves turns to shit.

When he and his mother ran they thought they could start over. Build a life out of the ashes. But the memories and the horror of Paddy haunted them, and his mother got sick. All Tommy ever wanted was to break away and be happy, to have something of his own. But Paddy cursed him. Tommy watched, day after day, until the face in the mirror became his worst nightmare, and he had to look away.

“So you found God, huh? That’s awesome. Mom kept calling out for him, but he wasn’t around. I guess Jesus was down at the mill forgiving all the drunks,” Tommy hasn’t looked himself in the eye in years and he sure as hell isn’t going to start tonight. “Who knew?”

There are tears in his eyes and he can’t help but ask. “So, you gonna ask about her, or you just gonna sit there all sober?”

Turns out Paddy hired a guy. Tommy doesn’t know what he was hoping to find, but Paddy seems content to know his wife is dead and his kid joined the Marines. That was enough, he says. Enough for what? Tommy wonders. Enough to leave it alone? Enough to go on with life feeling like you did right by us?

Tommy wants to scream, but the drugs and the booze are dragging him down. He sits, his mouth no longer in tune with his mind. He needs to paint Paddy a picture of what life was like. Of the hole he drove his family into by being a terrible son of a bitch.

“You could’ve heard about her coughing up blood on her knees in a shit box with no heat. Having me rub her down with holy water, because she didn’t have no insurance. All the while waiting for your pal Jesus to save her. Did your man tell you that?”

Tommy doesn’t know what the look on Paddy face is, but it doesn’t look like regret. Resignation, maybe. Tommy’s too tired to care.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“It’s good to know you’re sorry, Pop. Goes a long way.” He needs to close his eyes, just for a minute. Everything feels so heavy. Paddy shifts in his chair, but Tommy’s too close to sleep to stir.

Chapter Text

2.

It takes Tommy a minute to remember where he is when he wakes. Then a few more to fight down the suffocating panic he feels at being back in the house. Paddy is gone, but at some point he threw an afghan over Tommy and emptied the second bottle of whiskey down the kitchen sink.

The urge to start throwing shit is strong in the face of his hangover. He’d come here needing to finish this. To close the book on the horrors he’d endured in this house. To finally fight back. Yet somehow, even after all these years, Paddy had gotten the drop on him. He has no clue what to do with the man his father has become.

He stumbles out of the house and back onto the “T”, checking into the cheapest motel he can find. He stands under the tepid water in the shower until it runs cold, then falls asleep to the sound of yelling and transactional sex. He takes his bag with him to the diner down the street when his stomach starts growling.

It’s nearly six p.m., but there are still a few empty tables. Tommy eyes the counter, but the men seated there look churlish and nosy. He puts on a scowl and slides into a booth, keeping an eye on the door. A middle aged woman calls him sweetheart and brings him coffee and an omelet, returning only to refill his cup. Tommy watches her work the room, clearly comfortable with the regulars that populate the diner. She brings pie to the kids in the corner, textbooks spread over the table.

Two of the guys at the counter turn in their seats every time the cook comes out front to eyeball Tommy. He’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. Big and rough usually means dangerous, but all Tommy wants to do is drink his coffee and put off going back to that shit hole motel.

The cook pulls the waitress aside, watching Tommy over her shoulder. She waves him off, but the guy doesn’t retreat to the kitchen. Instead he starts whispering to the men at the counter. Tommy shifts in his seat, feeling boxed in and on display. It’s not a feeling he enjoys. Just as the cook starts around the counter, the front door slams open, drawing attention away from Tommy.

A young man is standing in the doorway, half covered in mud and dripping on the linoleum. He swears under his breath and takes off his helmet, revealing a shock of dark hair.

“Jesus, Arthur, what happened to you?” The woman laughs.

The man, frowns. “Fucking early spring. Cold as shit out there, but somehow it’s wet enough for mud. Damn cement truck blew past me doin’ at least fifty-five, sent up a wall of this shit. Took my bike right out from under me.”

He accepts a towel from the busboy and wipes his shoes before stepping further over the threshold.

The cook points at the floor with his spatula. “You’re cleaning that up.”

“No shit.” Arthur mutters.

When the waitress appears with the coffee pot, Tommy realizes he’s been staring at the new arrival. He nods at his cup, tearing his eyes away from the man. Tommy fiddles with his napkin, only looking up again when Arthur stalks past his table. His dark eyes take in Tommy’s form quickly, one eyebrow rising above the mud line before he disappears into the back room.

The men at the counter seem to have forgotten about Tommy’s hulking presence and he figures now is a good time to slip out. He empties his cup, leaves cash on the table, and shoulders his bag. He’s rounding the corner of the building when a spray of water stops him.

“Sorry, man. Just try’na clean off my bike.” It’s Arthur again, hosing mud off the frame of a beat up twelve speed.

Tommy watches him, unsure of what’s piqued his interest.

“You new around here?” Arthur asks, eyes on the bike.

“Nah,” Tommy shrugs, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“You going to be coming back?” Arthur’s eyes flick to Tommy.

“What’s it to you?” Tommy widens his stance.

Arthur shuts off the hose. “Hey, man, I’m not prying. Only I’ve been here all of five minutes and already three different people have mentioned you. Guy like you gets noticed, know what I mean?”

Tommy knows. He knows all too well. “Why should I give a fuck?”

“You shouldn’t. People around here are just bored, you know? They’ll find drama wherever they can.” Arthur holds his hands up as if surrendering. “If you’re planning on coming back around, though, you should come in the evenings, after the dinner rush.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because that’s when my shift starts.” Arthur smirks.

Tommy frowns. What the fuck is this guy on about? Arthur’s smile falters and he clears his throat.

“Nevermind, it was just a thought. There are fewer customers in the evening. Might be more your tempo.”

“You don’t know me.” Tommy spits. Who does this punk think he is? Tommy’s twice his size and this guy doesn’t even blink.

“Nope, I don’t.” Arthur turns the hose on and goes back to the bike. Tommy stands there watching until he remembers he doesn’t care and walks away.

When he gets back to the motel he dry swallows three pills and hopes they’ll keep out the noises from the rooms around him. Right before he falls asleep he thinks about wild, dark hair and dimples.

Chapter Text

3.

Colt’s gym is a slightly cleaner version of what Fitzy’s used to be. It still smells of old sweat and rubber, but the equipment is newer and someone’s hung photographs of MMA and UFC fights on the walls. There’s a cooler of energy drinks and a wall advertising upcoming events just inside the front door. Tommy eyes the poster for Sparta every time he goes in. It doesn’t take him long to suss out who’s qualified and who isn’, and he doesn’t waste his time talking to anyone or asking for pointers. If there’s one thing Paddy taught him, it’s how to fight, and Tommy has no doubts about his ability to win.

For the next week, Tommy gets up, goes for a run, hits the gym, then heads to the diner. He tries to spend as little time at the motel as he can. By now the working girls all know he hasn’t got cash to spare, but a few have noticed the hitch of the pills in his pocket.

He catches Arthur’s smirk the first time he comes in after the dinner rush, but Tommy takes the same booth as before and keeps his head down. He gives one word answers to Arthur’s questions and tries not to get caught watching him.

“Colin still thinks you’re going to rob the place.” Arthur informs him once he’s delivered Tommy’s burger and fries.

Tommy grunts. He’s known guys like the cook before. Big head with a small amount of power. The service is full of them.

“He just can’t figure out why you keep coming back. Or why you stay so long.”

Tommy glances up at Arthur and bites into his burger, aware that he’s been staying later and later every night. Arthur grins, stealing a fry and walking off. A sharp thrill goes through Tommy’s gut when Arthur glances at him over his shoulder.

Tommy comes in later than usual the next night, his duffel on his shoulder. His scans the room for Arthur and finds him pouring coffee for the bum in the corner, blatantly ignoring the dog under the table. Tommy takes his usual seat, tossing his bag down with more force than necessary and grabbing Arthur’s attention.

“Bad day?” Arthur says when he comes over, flipping Tommy’s mug over to fill it.

Tommy stares at him, examining all the little parts of Arthur he’s caught in the short glimpses he’s allowed himself over the past week. He has had a bad day and knowing he’d see Arthur is pretty much the only thing that’s kept him from getting himself in trouble. Arthur stills under his gaze, watching Tommy just as closely.

Once he’s had his fill, Tommy nods. “Yes.”

“Okay then,” a crease appears between Arthur’s brows. “Is there anything I can do?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Nah, it’s under control,” It’s not. He got kicked out of the motel for starting a fight. He’s low on cash and seriously considering knocking over a convenience store if it means he doesn’t have to turn to Paddy for a place to crash. “Just need to figure a few things out.”

“Well, in the meantime, you should eat. Brain food and all that.” Arthur slides the menu to him.

Tommy clears his throat. He barely has enough money in his pocket for the coffee and he’s going to have to short Arthur on the tip. “Not hungry.”

“Bullshit,” Arthur snorts. “A guy your size? Probably always fucking hungry.”

He’s right, Tommy’s starving. He’d put in six hours at the gym before coming back to two junkies searching what few belongings he keeps at the hotel. Anything of worth, he leaves in his locker at the gym because at least they have an alarm, but it’s after eleven now and the gym doesn’t open until seven a.m., so he’s shit out of luck.

“I lost my wallet.” He lies.

“Wow, a wallet. I figured a guy like you just kept his cash rolled up in his sock.”

Tommy glares until Arthur laughs, and the sound makes Tommy relax a little. He doesn’t want to look too closely at why.

“I’ll bring you a burger.” Arthur taps his finger on the table.

“I can’t pay for it.” Tommy grinds out, shame chasing away the good feeling that had sparked in him.

“You can owe me,” Arthur leans closer. “Can’t be a bad thing, can it? Having you owe me a favour.”

Arthur’s voice is low and his eyes are bright. They’ve never been this close to each other and Tommy can feel the heat of Arthur’s hand where it rests next to his arm. Something in Arthur’s gaze is challenging and Tommy’s having a hard time not responding to it. Arthur jumps when the busboy drops something behind the counter, the sound shattering the heat between them.

Tommy gives him a curt nod and gulps his coffee. Arthur keeps his distance except to drop off the food and refill his coffee. At one a.m. Arthur drops off a newspaper, shrugging and telling Tommy he thought he might be bored. Tommy’s usually left by now and he doesn’t know how to tell Arthur he has nowhere to go.

At two thirty, Arthur kicks out the guy with the dog and mops the floor. Tommy watches him from behind the paper. Arthur’s body is slim, but strong, the muscles in his arms and shoulders working as he guides the mop across the floor. Tommy lifts his feet when Arthur gets to his table, staring hard at the thick veins trailing up the other man’s forearms.

A few minutes past three, Arthur stops to stare down at Tommy, head tilted to the side. “You coming?”

Confused, Tommy peeks out from behind the paper he’s read five times now.

“You have nowhere to stay, right? That’s why you’re still here.”

Tommy glances around the diner, but no one is looking at them. The new shift is prepping for the morning rush and he’s the only customer.

“Look, Jean is a nice enough lady, but she won’t let you sit here nursing the coffee you paid for four hours ago. I’m headed home. You can crash on my couch.” Arthur’s fiddling with his keys, not looking directly at Tommy.

“Gonna owe you another favour for that, aren’t I?” Tommy wonders if this is headed where he thinks it is.

“I may or may not have some furniture I need moved.” Arthur shrugs, his smile tired but genuine.

Tommy thinks about it for a few more seconds before grabbing his bag and following Arthur out the door. They walk in silence for a few blocks, Arthur’s bike between them, ticking out the distance. Tommy’s hands are stuffed in his pockets, muffling the sounds of the pill bottles.

Arthur has his key in the front door and Tommy can’t take the silence anymore. “Look, you got a death wish, or somthin’?”

Arthur looks at his arm where Tommy’s hand is gripping it, just above the elbow. His eyes slide up Tommy’s torso to his face. “Why, are you going to fulfil it for me?”

Tommy is getting agitated. What is he doing here? Why did he agree to this, and why does going upstairs feel like such a big risk? Arthur’s waiting calmly for an answer and the look he’s giving Tommy is an open challenge.

“No.” Tommy says, stepping into his space.

Arthur smirks and opens the door. “Good, follow me.”

Tommy grabs the bike before Arthur can, hoisting it onto his shoulder. The wheels threaten to dislodge his bag, but the heat in Arthur’s gaze is worth the effort it takes to keep them both in place.

Up three flights and down the hall, until Arthur is ushering him into a shoebox bachelor suite. He asks Tommy to hang the bike from the hooks in the ceiling and locks the door. By the time he’s kicked off his shoes and unravelled his scarf, Tommy is standing in front of him.

He’s breathing heavy and Arthur leaning toward him is all the incentive he needs to drop to his knees and tear open the other man’s pants.

“Whoa, you don’t have to-FUCK!” Arthur gasps as Tommy takes him into his mouth.

Tommy makes it tight and wet, relishing the feel of Arthur’s cock hardening on his tongue. He moans loudly when Arthur’s hand threads through his hair, scratching against his scalp and making him regret the pills he took before they left the diner. Arthur’s other hand is shoving at his jeans, trying to free more of his cock. He presses his palms to Arthur’s thighs, pinning him to the door as Tommy pulls off to mouth at the head. His eyes are open and he’s staring at the mole on Arthur’s hip.

Arthur swears under his breath and takes Tommy’s head in both his hands, fighting against Tommy’s strength to thrust his cock in deeper. Tommy groans, letting his hands fall to his sides so Arthur can fuck his mouth as hard as he likes. Tommy doesn’t mind, he’s had years of experience at getting guys off, and the quickest way is usually to let them take the lead. He gags a little, coughing as his eyes water.

“Shit, sorry,” Arthur whispers before plunging back in, just as deep. His fingers are pressed firmly to Tommy’s scalp, keeping him in place. “Is this okay?”

Tommy groans his approval. He already wants to do this again and they’re not even done yet. Next time he’ll plan ahead, not take so many pills so he can jerk off while Arthur feeds him his cock. Or maybe he’ll wait until Arthur’s finished, then come on his spent dick. The thought jolts Tommy, and he accidentally drags his teeth over Arthur.

“Careful,” Arthur hisses, not slowing down. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Tommy wants to palm Arthur’s ass, press him in further until he’s all Tommy can taste, and feel, and smell. Instead he sucks hard, making Arthur buck, and then the salty flood of Arthur’s spunk is filling his mouth. He waits to swallow until Arthur pulls out, trying not to choke.

Arthur hauls him up, panting into his neck. “Jesus Christ, that was insane.”

Tommy stops Arthur’s roving hands before he discovers that Tommy’s not hard. He steps away, making for the small couch at the end of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Arthur frowns, scrambling to get his clothes off.

“S’alright, I’m just tired.” Tommy waves him off and collapses onto the couch.

“At least let me get you off first.” Arthur reaches for him, so Tommy curls up.

“Don’t worry about it, I owed you.” He tries not to see the offended look that crosses Arthur’s face, but he doesn’t turn away quick enough.

“Right.” Arthur says and it sounds sharp, his voice distant now that Tommy’s eyes are closed. He feels like an ass, but a small part of him can’t help but be thrilled by the disappointment in Arthur’s tone.

Chapter Text

Arthur shakes Tommy awake. He’s showered and dressed, helmet already on his head. “I have class.”

Tommy blinks at him, bleary and disoriented, noting Arthur’s frown. He rolls off the couch, stretching until his back cracks. He catches Arthur looking, before the other man turns away.

There are things Tommy wants to say. To explain, but Arthur won’t let him carry his bike down the stairs and as soon as they’re on the street, he climbs on and rides away. Tommy sits on the stair for a while, thinking Arthur will come back and yell at him. When he doesn’t Tommy swallows his embarrassment and heads to the gym.

Thoughts of Arthur haunt him, so he takes out his frustrations on the heavy bag. As silent as he is, Tommy is uncomfortable receiving the same from someone in his life. After last night, he can’t deny that he wants Arthur to be a someone. His mother had been quiet, but that was more out of self preservation than because of her actual personality. He remembers after they left, how she blossomed like a flower, always nattering on about one thing or another, like she’d suddenly remembered that she had things to say. He also remembers the oppressive silence that fell when she died. He never thought he’d find his way past it, not even in the Marines, where there was someone to scream in his face nearly twenty-four hours a day.

Manny, though, Manny never shut the fuck up, not even in his sleep. He’d talk to Pilar and the kids in his dreams, narrating it all for Tommy as he lay silent in the darkness. Manny always had something to say, especially when Tommy didn’t want to hear it. Maybe that’s why they got along so well; Manny needed someone to listen, and Tommy needed someone to speak for him.

Tommy thinks Arthur may be one of those people who wields silence as a weapon, only bringing it out when he doesn’t think you’re worth the breath needed for the words. That Arthur may now think that of Tommy, hurts.

Brash cheering draws his attention to the ring where a couple of Colt’s MMA boys are suited up to spar. The big one, the punk with the mohawk and the ego, is grinning at his partner around his mouthguard. Tommy can already tell how this is going to go down. He keeps his eye on the ring as he works the bag, watching the smaller man dance around, trying to stay out of range. It’s no use, Mohawk is the superior fighter and clearly not intimidated by his opponent.

In an impressive show of technique, the partner gets a few blows in, but just as Tommy predicted, Mohawk takes him down hard. The poor kid is limp on the mat and the entourage are braying like jackasses.

Tommy’s watched Mohawk for a while, seen how he gets all the attention, all the promotion. He’s the guy to beat if Tommy wants into Sparta, but Colt’s kept any real competition at bay, not wanting his best fighter distracted or hurt this close to the selection.

When they can’t find anyone else to spar, Tommy offers to get in the ring. Colt waves him off, and Tommy doesn’t miss Mohawk’s smirk. He let’s the guy’s remarks roll off his back. If he seems too eager there’s no way Colt will let him in the ring, and Tommy’s itching to beat the cocky grin off Mohawk’s face. He’s still angry at himself for last night with Arthur, and his failure to fix things this morning. Expelling some of that negative energy into beating this son of a bitch might help him breathe a little easier. The money Colt’s offering won’t hurt, either.

“All I’m saying is if you need somebody to help you, I’m happy to keep your boy warm for you.” Tommy leans on the ropes.

“You ever fought before?” Colt eyes him up, still unsure.

Struggling to keep the smirk off his face and look innocent while Colt looks him over, he nods. “Yeah.”

Within minutes his hands are taped and they shove a guard in his mouth. Apparently the guy’s name is Mad Dog. Buncha zoomorphic bullshit, if you ask Tommy. He delivers a powerful front kick to Mad Dog’s chest, sending him into the ropes. It’s the only warning he’s going to give.

Tommy tunes out, focusing on the movements of his opponent, channeling his irritation into delivering hits and keeping Mad Dog within range. They’re supposed to be sparring, but both fighters quickly acknowledge this is a fight to the finish.

Tommy knows the beating is brutal by the shocked silence in the gym when Mad Dog hits the floor. He spits out his mouthguard and tells Colt he owes him two hundred bucks. He can practically see the wheels spinning in Colt’s head as he looks from Tommy to his unconscious champion, and back again.

Tommy gets his money and his bag, and walks out, not eager to deal with any shit from Mad Dog’s entourage. He has a few hours before Arthur’s shift starts, but he doesn’t want to show up at his apartment without an invite, so he heads to the nearest library.

He signs up for a library card, once again using Paddy’s address because using Arthur’s feels too much like crossing a line. He piles books into his arms and isolates himself at a table in the back corner, near an emergency exit.

When his mother first got sick, before they knew what was wrong, Tommy took over preparing their meals. He could do uncomplicated things like grilled cheese and heating up cans of soup. When they got the results from the hospital, his mother told him he would need to take care of himself and set out to teach him the basics. Cooking was the first thing besides fighting Tommy ever excelled at. Felt proud of.

When his mother died he joined the Marines and there was no need for him to cook for himself. He’s missed it. He wonders quietly if one day he’ll get the chance to cook for Arthur.

Tommy reads until the library closes at 10 p.m., then he heads to the diner, heart in his throat, but hopeful that he can get things right this time. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s walking through the door that he didn’t reach for any pills today. That thought, as much as the sight of Arthur behind the counter, stops him in his tracks, pulse quickening. Arthur glances up from his conversation with the woman seated at the counter, and even from across the room, Tommy can see him tense up.

Arthur doesn’t ignore Tommy, but when he finally makes his way over, he’s curt like he was this morning.

“I hope you found your wallet.” He slaps a menu onto the table.

Tommy fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket. “I told you I was good for it.”

Arthur snorts and walks away, bringing back a Coke and taking Tommy’s order. Before he can walk away again, Tommy grabs his wrist, thumb rubbing over the thin skin.

“When you get a break you come sit with me, yeah?”

Arthur twists out of his grip and walks away, returning only to deliver Tommy’s food and refill his pop. Tommy watches Arthur work, worry eating at him until midnight when Arthur comes over with two pieces of pie and sits down across the booth.

“You’re kind of a dick.” Arthur picks at his napkin.

Tommy nods.

“I wasn’t-I didn’t mean. You didn’t have to do that.” Arthur leans across the table, voice a harsh whisper.

“I know.”

“Then why?” Arthur hisses.

“Because I wanted to.” Tommy says plainly, staring Arthur in the eye.

Arthur sits back. “And you didn’t want me to…”

“No.”

“So, it that, like, a thing with you?”

“No.”

“Jesus, Tommy, work with me a little. How would you feel if you took a guy home and he blew you but wouldn’t let you touch him?”

Tommy is uncomfortable, but he knows he owes Arthur the truth. “I’ve never taken a guy home.”

“You’ve never, oh .” Arthur frowns.

Tommy shovels pie into his mouth, not trusting himself not to get defensive.

“Okay, I get it,” Arthur picks up his fork and the tension eases a bit. “But it doesn’t feel great, okay?”

Tommy raises his head, worried.

“No, not that. That was fucking unbelievable. The other thing, the not being able to reciprocate and you passing out on my couch. I don’t wanna do that again.”

“Okay.” Tommy grips his fork, feeling the metal bend in his grip.

“So.”

“So?”

“So do you need a place to stay tonight?” Arthur drags his fork through what’s left of his pie, sneaking glances at Tommy.

Tommy nods, unable to keep a small smile off his face. “Yeah.”

Arthur fights his own smile, but ends up laughing. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”

Tommy’s face heats and he turns away.

“You just gonna sit here until I’m done?” Arthur gathers the plates and stands.

“I brought a book.” Tommy pulls a pastry cookbook out of his bag.

Arthur stops, staring at the book. “Huh.”

Tommy watches Arthur go and the smile on his face feels rusty, but bright.

Chapter Text

5.

The walk to Arthur’s apartment isn’t silent this time. Instead, Arthur fills Tommy in on the goings on at the diner. How the morning manager got caught stealing from the till last week, and the busboy on Arthur’s shift, Marky, is saving up to buy his girl a ring. Tommy’s not sure why he should care about these people, but he likes the sound of Arthur’s voice, so he doesn’t tell him to stop.

Arthur goes quiet as they climb the stairs, Tommy once again carrying the bike. Arthur takes Tommy’s jacket and hangs it up, then he kisses Tommy, slow and gentle against the wall. Tommy kisses back eagerly, gripping Arthur’s arms

“You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?” Arthur asks between kisses.

“Does it matter? As long as you get yours, right?”

Arthur presses his hands to Tommy’s chest, pushing back far enough to look him in the eye. “Yes, Tommy, it matters. It definitely fucking matters.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tommy bangs his head on the wall. “I don’t care if I get off.”

“But you like getting off?” Arthur hedges.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighs. “I just, I take medication, okay? Sometimes it doesn’t play well with, that stuff.

“Oh,” Arthur taps his fingers on Tommy’s chest, thoughtful. “But if you’re hard, you want to get off, right?”

“Can we not talk about this anymore? It really doesn’t matter to me.” Tommy’s face is hot. He knows he’s blushing and it’s making him squirm.

“I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since the first time I saw you, you know that?” Arthur runs his hands down Tommy’s chest.

Tommy lowers his head, very interested in the new line of conversation. “Yeah?”

Arthur nods, biting his bottom lip.

“God, yes. Have you seen you? You’re gorgeous.”

Tommy is a little overwhelmed by the heat in Arthur’s gaze and the sincerity of his words. No one’s ever said stuff like this to him before. In the service everything was quick and quiet. They barely made eye contact, much less talked about it. This all seems like too much to handle, but he wants it so bad and he has to do something to stop himself from running out the door.

“Can I use your shower?” Tommy gasps when Arthur trails a hand over the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Um, okay.” Arthur draws back, confused.

“I was at the gym and the showers weren’t working.” He lies, very conscious of Arthur’s hand on his erection.

“Oh, yeah, sure. It’s through there,” Arthur points to a door beside the kitchen. “There’s extra towels in the cupboard.”

Tommy nods, stopping to kiss Arthur quickly before pulling himself away. He shuts the bathroom door and tells himself he doesn’t need any pills to get through this. There’s a man on the other side of the door who wants him, and Tommy aches to give himself over.

His hands shake when he turns on the spray. He takes deep breaths, trying to relax under the scalding water. The problem is that Tommy has no idea how to do this. He’s never been with someone more than once. Never spent this much time with someone he’s had sex with. Arthur told him he can stay the night. Again. Only this time he’s expected to sleep beside Arthur, wake up next to him. Tommy’s never felt so thrilled and so terrified in his life.

He doesn’t deserve Arthur, he knows that. But maybe, if he can manage to balance all the rage, and pain, and failure inside him, he can fool Arthur into believing he might. Just for a little while.

Tommy showers quickly, using Arthur’s shampoo and bodywash because he left his bag behind in his haste. He scrubs himself dry and hangs the towel on the bar. When he opens the door, Arthur’s sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. The phone lands on the nightstand with a thunk as Arthur stands.

Tommy can’t remember the last time he felt this vulnerable, but Arthur’s touch soothes him. He’s eager and bold, but so gentle Tommy can barely stand it. No one’s touched him with kind hands in so long. Touch starved is what Manny called it. Being so far from his own family, he’d understood.

“What do you want?” Arthur runs his palms over Tommy’s hips, brushing against the hair at his groin.

Tommy’s throat constricts and he must look panicked because Arthur kisses him.

“You stop me if something doesn’t feel right, okay?”

Arthur steps back and pulls off his shirt. He’s lean, but muscular, strength hidden in his frame. Tommy is transfixed. He wants to touch, the memory of Arthur’s cock making his mouth water. Once Arthur is naked, he wraps his arms around Tommy, kissing him deeply. Just as Tommy gets up the nerve to put his hands on Arthur’s narrow hips, he’s pushed onto the bed. He perches on the edge while Arthur pulls out a condom and a bottle of lube.

“Have you done this before?” Arthur strokes Tommy’s shoulders, strong fingers digging into the muscles.

Tommy wants so much, but he can’t find any of the words he needs. He opens his mouth hoping the right combination comes out. “I’m clean.”

Arthur’s smile is amused, but not at all pitying. “I am too, I just hate sleeping in a wet spot.”

Arthur spreads lube onto his fingers and the knowledge that he can have this, have something new, and thrilling, and untainted, has Tommy stopping Arthur when he moves to prep himself. Tommy stills him, face aflame, and meets Arthur’s eyes before turning and climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees. Arthur’s breath catches and then he’s climbing up behind Tommy, petting him, running his hand down Tommy’s back and murmuring against his skin.

“Are you sure?” Arthur’s breath ghosts over his shoulder, ruffles his hair.

Unable to speak, Tommy nods and lowers himself onto his forearms. Arthur is slow, but not terribly gentle as he preps him, and Tommy appreciates it. He needs a bit of a sharp edge to keep him grounded.

Arthur enters Tommy quickly, whispering praise when Tommy pushes back into it. Tommy’s moans get stuck behind his teeth, too scared to be voiced lest he break the fragile magic of the moment. Arthur fucks Tommy hard, hands touching him constantly and making Tommy’s skin burn. It’s frantic, and it’s fast, and it feels so perfect he wants to cry, something inside feeling a little less broken as Arthur presses fevered kisses to the back of his neck.

Arthur comes quickly, leaving Tommy gasping for more until he pulls out and rolls Tommy over to suck him off, three fingers thrusting into his ass. Tommy grunts out his release, watching as Arthur swallows and lays grinning against Tommy’s belly. Arthur crawls up and kisses him before collapsing at his side and getting rid of the condom.

Tommy is hyper aware of where Arthur’s knee is pressed to his thigh, and how Arthur’s fingers are stroking his hip. Tommy tenses in the silence, agitated because they just had sex and Arthur’s still here. He hasn’t moved or asked Tommy to leave, and that’s never happened before. Tommy’s not sure what to do now.

Arthur presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Tommy nods, calmed a little by Arthur’s voice.

“Did you like it?”

Tommy turns his head to look at Arthur. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are tired. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he smells like sex and sweat and coffee from the diner. Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as Arthur is right now.

“Yeah, I did.” Tommy can’t stop his smile when Arthur lights up, leaning in to kiss him again.

Arthur talks after sex. He talks about his classes, about architecture, about the trip he took to the Grand Canyon after he graduated from high school. He goes on and on, and every word out of his mouth, every piece of himself that he shares, quiets the storm inside Tommy’s mind.

When Arthur falls silent, Tommy surprises them both by telling him about fighting. He talks about Sparta — not about the money, but about needing to feel like he’s finished something for once in his life — and he doesn’t realize the words are true until they’re out.

Arthur’s nodding like he understands. “It’s like, there’s only one thing in your life keeping your head above water, so you cling to it with everything you’ve got. I feel that way about getting my degree. Like all the night shifts, the exhaustion, the total lack of a social life, are worth it. Because in the end I’ll have something they can’t take away from me.”

Arthur’s face is sad, lost to memories Tommy knows nothing about so he picks up Arthur’s hand and traces the lines of his palm until Arthur comes back.

“Tommy, if Sparta is what you think will save you, you gotta do whatever it takes to win. No one is just going to hand it to you.” Arthur’s hand is gripping his and Tommy can’t see where this sudden ferocity came from.

Arthur shuts off the lights and tucks himself along Tommy’s body, one ankle hooked over Tommy’s calf. Tommy watches Arthur fall asleep, his hand twitching around Tommy’s bicep as he loses consciousness.

Chapter Text

6.

Tommy wakes to an alarm. Arthur groans, curling closer to Tommy and cursing the sun. After a few minutes of Tommy rubbing his back, Arthur shuts off the alarm, stretching across the bed and nearly smacking Tommy in the face.

“Sorry.” Arthur smiles softly, sleep in his eyes.

Tommy pulls him back down for a kiss, hoping maybe he can lay here with Arthur all day, ignoring the bad idea forming in the back of his mind.

“I gotta get to class,” Arthur swats Tommy’s ass and rolls out of bed. “I’m going to jump in the shower. You can go back to bed it you want.”

“Wake me when you’re done, yeah?” Tommy sprawls on his stomach, burying his head in the pillows.

“You’re making it really hard not to crawl back into bed, you know that?” Arthur closes the door while Tommy grins into the pillows.

Arthur comes out of the bathroom, squeezing Tommy’s calf where it peeks out from underneath the quilt. “It’s all yours as long as I can finish up while you’re in there.”

Tommy nods, grabbing his bathroom pack out of his duffle. The water runs cold every time Arthur turns on the tap at the sink, but the shower is refreshing. The two of them move around each other as they get ready for the day, Arthur sliding his hand over Tommy’s lower back as he goes past, Tommy leaning across the counter to rinse his razor while Arthur runs product through his hair; it all feels domestic and easy.

“I gotta run, are you ready to go, or?” Arthur snaps his helmet on.

“Yeah,” Tommy shoves his dirty clothes into his bag, zipping it closed.

“You, um. You could leave that here, if you want,” Arthur jiggles the doorknob. “I don’t have a spare key, so you won’t be able to get back in until I get home at four, but…”

Tommy drops his bag and crowds Arthur against the door, kissing him soundly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Arthur chuckles when Tommy steps back.

Tommy ducks his head, taking Arthur’s bike off its hooks.

They split up at the bottom of the stairs, Tommy watching Arthur until he turns the corner towards his campus. He heads in the opposite direction, trudging toward the nearest ‘T’ station in the weak sunshine. He stops to buy a coffee and a protein bar at the shop outside the station, his breath fogging in front of him.

He gets off three stations early and jogs the rest of the way to the gym. He leaves his wallet in his locker and tapes up his hands, heading for the heavy bag. Mad Dog and his crew are nowhere to be seen, but the other guys in the gym give him a wide berth, only stopping to whisper when they think Tommy isn’t looking.

It doesn’t take long for Colt to find him. He watches Tommy work the bag for a few minutes, not speaking until Tommy backs off and acknowledges him.

“Where’d you come from, Riordan?” Colt leans against the post, arms crossed.

Tommy sniffs, lifting his shoulder in a shrug.

“Mad Dog’s pretty pissed at you. No one’s ever taken him out like that before.”

“Guess he had it coming then.” Tommy eyes Colt, squirting water into his mouth.

“Yeah, he did,” Colt chuckles, rubbing his neck. “Look, he’s not going to touch you. He’d rather kick your ass in the ring.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at Colt’s lie.

“I’ve told him, he wants to keep fighting here, he keeps his hands to himself unless I tell him different. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m wasn’t.” Tommy steps back up to the bag, throwing controlled punches.

“You and your old man don’t waste words, do you?”

Tommy’s fist slips off the bag. “What?”

“I went to the address you put on your info card. You didn’t list a number, what was I supposed to do after you knocked out my top fighter?” Colt holds up his hands.

“You don’t talk to him again. He doesn’t speak for me.” Tommy puts more force behind his punches, rocking the bag.

“That’s pretty much what he said. Look, Tommy, what’s it gonna take for you to train with me? I’ve never seen anyone fight like you do. You’re vicious, but your technique is flawless. You could be huge with the right management.”

“And that’s you, huh?” Tommy backs off the bag, wiping his arm across his brow.

“Yeah, it is. So, what do you want?”

“I already got a trainer.”

“Then let me manage you. What’s it gonna take?”

“Sparta.”

Colt scoffs. “What else?”

“Nothin’.” Tommy turns his back, striking the bag with renewed force.

“I can’t get you that. There’s only so many spots and Mad Dog’s already got one.” Colt raises his voice over the thudding of Tommy’s fists on the bag.

Tommy shrugs, silently pleased when Colt swears and walks away, calling out before slamming the door to his office. “Buy a fucking phone!”

Tommy finishes his workout uninterrupted, then showers and changes into clean clothes. He’ll need to do laundry again soon and he makes a mental note to ask Arthur if there are machines in his building. He heads to the library, stopping on the way to buy a little notebook and a pen. He found a few recipes he’d like to try one day and he can’t carry the books around until then.

By the time he heads back to the apartment the little book is half full of recipes, the margin crammed with notes and alterations he thinks will work. Arthur is late getting back, apologizing as he lets them in. Tommy trails behind him, carrying the bike and admiring the view. He doesn’t understand why Arthur bikes nearly everywhere, but he appreciates the results.

Arthur throws down his bag. “Man, I’m starving. I was late for class and didn’t have time to grab anything.”

“Yeah?” Tommy perks up.

“Are you hungry? We could go out.”

“I could make you something, if you want.” Tommy mutters, glancing at what passes for a kitchen in Arthur’s apartment.

“God, no, that’s too much work. There’s a Thai place a few blocks down, that good?” Arthur moves his books from his bag to the coffee table.

“Sure, whatever.” Tommy shrugs, flush with disappointment. It was stupid to think Arthur would let Tommy do that for him, anyway.

Arthur pauses, frowning. “Honestly, I’m not even sure the stove works. I’ve never used it.”

“It doesn’t matter, let’s go.” Tommy pulls his cap lower over his ears.

“Hey, no, hold on,” Arthur steps up to him, taking Tommy by the hips. “Did you want to cook? For me?”

“Whatever.” Tommy leans away.

“Fuck you, you do. I didn’t know you could actually make the things in those books you read.” Arthur grins.

“What, you think I only look at the pictures?” Tommy knocks Arthur’s hands away.

“No, Tommy, stop. I didn’t know, okay? I’m sorry,” Arthur presses a quick kiss to his cheek when Tommy won’t look at him.

“Are we going?”

“Yeah, I just gotta piss first,” Arthur leans into his space, his lips gliding over Tommy’s throat. “If you want, you could check to see if the stove works while I’m in there. If it does we can pick up some groceries on the way back. You can make me breakfast in the morning.”

Tommy’s dick twitches with the prospect of another night in Arthur’s bed, another morning waking up with him.

“I need to do laundry.” Tommy concedes.

“Bring your stuff. We’ll get take out and eat at the laundromat.”

Tommy nods, letting Arthur kiss him before he goes into the bathroom.

Tommy’s courage starts to fade while they wait for their food. “You don’t have to stay while I wash my stuff, should only take one load anyway. What time do you work?”

Arthur smiles, studying the pictures on the wall of the restaurant. “I don’t work tonight.”

“You’ve worked every night since I started coming into the diner.” Tommy points out.

“Figured it was time I had a night off. Besides, I have better things to do tonight.”

“Like what?”

“You.” Arthur turns his head to drag his gaze down Tommy’s body.

Tommy clenches his fists, heat curling low in his gut. His desire warring with the unease he feels about Arthur saying shit like that in public.

Arthur tells him to fuck off when he tries to pay for dinner, telling him he can spring for the groceries needed for breakfast.

They’re halfway to the laundromat when Tommy can’t take it anymore. “I’m not gay.”

Arthur snorts. “My cock in your ass begs to differ.”

Tommy grabs his arm, stopping him. “I’m serious.”

They’re standing in the street, bodies too close for casual conversation.

“I’m not gay.” His words are slow, deliberate.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “What are you then, Tommy?”

Tommy blinks, putting a few more inches between them. No one’s ever asked him that before. No one talks about it in the service. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Out here he doesn’t know what the rules are. He can’t be out and fight, he knows that much.

“I don’t know.”

Arthur prys Tommy’s hand off his arm. “Okay.”

“ Okay ?” Tommy frowns.

“Yeah, okay. What the fuck did you expect me to say?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Arthur sighs, shoving Tommy’s shoulder gently. “You like being with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

“I can’t, out here, where everyone can see.” Tommy readjusts his bag.

“That’s fine. Wasn’t planning on holding your hand and skipping down the street anyway.”

Tommy looks Arthur in the eye. “M’sorry.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Forget it. Now let’s go, I’m still starving and it’s fucking cold out here.”

In the moist heat of the laundromat, Tommy sneaks a couple pills to calm himself, hyperaware of how close he came to ruining things. At Arthur’s prompting, Tommy reads him the recipes he’s written in his little book. Arthur groans at some of the descriptions, wrinkling his nose at others. He laughs when Tommy admits he has no idea what half the ingredients are.

“Can you do eggs?” Arthur asks between bites of Phad Woon Sen.

“Yeah.”

“I like eggs. No need to get fancy on my account.”

“I think I can do a little better than just eggs.”

“Hey, don’t bash eggs. That’s about all I know how to cook.” Arthur’s sitting on the counter, swinging his legs.

Tommy pulls his clothes out of the washer, moving them to the row of driers. “Then I can definitely do better.”

“You gotta smart mouth, Riordan.” Arthur points his chopsticks at him.

“What you gonna do about it?” He puffs out his chest a little, enjoying the way Arthur’s eyes track the movement.

“I think I could take you.”

“No.”

“You don’t know I can’t. I’m faster that I look.”

“I’m sure you are,” Tommy nods solemnly. “But no.”

“You son of a bitch!” Arthur laughs, jumping off the counter. The old man at the counter clears his throat loudly, frowning at them.

“You’re lucky,” Arthur pokes Tommy in the chest. “I coulda wiped the floor with you.”

“Uh-huh. What were you going to do, exactly?” Tommy challenges.

Arthur leans in, dropping his voice. “First thing I’d do is find something to keep that big mouth of yours busy.”

Tommy shivers, casting a quick glance to the old man. “Then what?”

Arthur raises his eyebrows and Tommy nods. “Then I’d see what it takes to make you scream.”

Tommy’s breathing heavy, the handle of the drier door biting into his palm.

“You okay?” Arthur reaches out to touch him, but stops before making contact.

Tommy grunts, turning back to his laundry. They sit in silence until the buzzer goes off and Tommy stuffs his belongings into his bag, practically racing Arthur out the door and back to the apartment.

Arthur leads the way up the stairs and Tommy can’t keep his hands to himself. He rubs his thumbs along the crease of Arthur’s ass, shoving him forward when he stops to push back into it. The door is barely closed before Arthur tugs off Tommy’s cap and unzips his jacket. Tommy throws the lock as his pants are tugged down and off, Arthur curses when they get stuck on his runners. Tommy toes off the shoes and Arthur stands to peel off Tommy’s shirt.

He pushes Tommy onto the couch and kicks off his own shoes, tossing his jacket at the hooks on the wall.

“You missed.” Tommy points out.

“Shut up,” Arthur climbs into his lap, knees spread wide over Tommy’s thighs. “Jesus, you look good naked.”

Tommy grips the couch behind his head, flexing his arms and shoulders.

“God, shut up.” Arthur kisses him, biting at Tommy’s mouth until he opens up to let him in.

Tommy lets Arthur set the pace, happy just to be there. Arthur’s weight is a comfort, pinning him to the couch and boxing him in. It’s funny, he thinks, because in the ring he can’t stand having someone over him like this. It sets him off, turning him feral. But Arthur is solid and warm, coaxing out pieces of Tommy he never knew existed.

Arthur’s grunting, his clothed erection rubbing against Tommy’s stomach. Tommy spreads his legs, forcing Arthur’s ass lower and pulling him away.

“I thought you had plans.” Tommy cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m getting there.” Arthur leans back to pull off his sweater and open up his jeans.

“Promises, promises.”

“You’re such a dick.” Arthur rises on his knees, pushing on Tommy’s shoulder until he’s slouched on the cushions, his mouth at the same level as Arthur’s groin.

Tommy leans forward but Arthur stops him with a hand on his forehead. He slides the head of his cock across Tommy’s lips, spreading precome up his cheek, then pressing against Tommy’s mouth until it opens around him. Tommy sucks while Arthur pulls out slowly and thrusts back in.

Arthur takes his time, watching his cock plunge into Tommy’s mouth over and over again. Tommy closes his eyes, losing himself to the silken glide, the push and pull of Arthur. His own cock is soft and brushes Arthur’s thigh as he moves. He’s content. Satisfied, even if Arthur decides this is all they’re going to do tonight. There’s something about pleasing Arthur, about building him up and watching him let go that settles Tommy. It brings him a stillness he’s never experienced before.

Arthur pets at Tommy’s hair, drawing him out of his reverie. His thrusts have sped up and he’s biting his lip, gaze darting between Tommy’s eyes and his mouth. Tommy moves his tongue along the shaft, keeping his lips sealed tight.

“Perfect,” Arthur whispers, cradling the back of Tommy’s head in his hands. “I’m so close.”

Tommy hums around his cock, locking his eyes on Arthur’s face. He hasn’t had the chance to see him come yet and he needs to know what it looks like. What it does to Arthur when he comes inside Tommy.

Arthur’s gasping, thrusts growing erratic until his cock throbs, spurting across Tommy’s tongue and down his throat. Tommy doesn’t pull off, he wants to keep Arthur inside him until he’s hard again and ready for more. But Arthur eases out, leaning down to kiss him and collapsing in Tommy’s lap.

“You are incredibly good at that.” Arthur’s lips are wandering across Tommy’s chest.

Tommy releases the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around Arthur. “I like it.”

Arthur pulls back to look at Tommy. “You do, don’t you?”

Tommy closes his eyes, head falling back while Arthur kisses his neck.

“It’s your turn.”

“M’okay.” Tommy frowns when Arthur pulls away.

“You’re not hard.” Arthur’s spent cock is hanging out of his jeans and there’s a warm glow in his cheeks, but his brow is furrowed.

Tommy looks away, shame burning in his chest. “It’s the pills. It’s fine, I don’t need—”

“Can I try something?”

Tommy’s gaze snaps to Arthur and there’s a curious glint in his eyes. It occurs to Tommy that he may no longer be able to say no to this man. “Okay.”

Arthur smiles as Tommy pushes to his feet to brush his thumbs over Arthur’s dimples. Kissing him to reassure Arthur that he’s okay with whatever they do.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Tommy mouths along his jaw.

Arthur shakes his head. “Not yet. Kneel on the couch. I have a few more things to check off my ‘Tommy’ list.”

“There’s a list?”

“It’s very long. Might take a while to get through.” Arthur nudges him.

“Lucky me.” Tommy climbs onto the couch, laying his head on his arms across the top, his muscles loose and warm.

Arthur kisses Tommy’s exposed neck, following the knobs of his spine, fingers ghosting over his sides. It tickles a little, but Tommy doesn’t squirm. He closes his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of Arthur’s mouth and hands on his heated skin. Arthur goes to his knees, stroking Tommy’s hips and sucking a kiss into the hollow at the small of his back. He runs his thumbs along Tommy’s cleft, parting the cheeks a little. Tommy widens his stance and bends at the waist, encouraging Arthur. He’s pretty sure where this is headed, and though he’s never done it before, he wants everything Arthur has to give.

Arthur drags his tongue down the cleft of Tommy’s ass, going slow and giving Tommy time to adjust or refuse. Tommy’s burning with embarrassment, but too turned on to stop him as Arthur licks firmly over his hole. Tommy gasps, pulling away, but Arthur holds him steady, fingers spreading him open for better access.

“Are you sore?” Arthur traces the rim with his thumb.

Tommy shakes his head, keening as Arthur licks over him again.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Tommy can’t see him, but the smile he hears in Arthur’s voice has him bracing the back of the couch, dropping his hips and putting his ass on display. Arthur takes this as encouragement and strokes his tongue over Tommy’s hole until it’s soft and wet, Tommy panting, his head hanging low between his arms.

Tommy shouts when Arthur’s tongue breaches him, shocked beyond compare at how good it is. How filthy and absolutely right it feels. Arthur works him open, fucking him firmly until Tommy’s pushing back into it, gasping for more while Arthur works the rim with his lips.

Arthur swears, panting against Tommy’s ass cheek. “Don’t move, I’ll be one second.”

Tommy whines as Arthur pulls away to crawl to the nightstand and root around in the drawer. He comes back with the lube and a condom, delving his tongue back into Tommy without pause. The cap of the lube snaps open moments before two fingers are pressed into his ass alongside Arthur’s tongue. The stretch is jarring, but Arthur’s still licking him and Tommy adjusts quickly.

Tommy’s body jolts, his back arching violently when Arthur strokes deeper.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Arthur’s slows his fingers, rubbing his cheek on Tommy’s thigh.

Tommy can’t speak so he shakes his head, unable to stop pushing back into Arthur’s thrusts, his cock still flaccid and swaying between his legs.

“You didn’t tell me you’re this sensitive. I’ll be more careful. Does it feel good?”

Tommy nods. “I’ve never—” His voice is strained, this throat parched.

“ Oh ,” Arthur’s voice is full of wonder and he kisses Tommy’s thigh. “Can I do it again? I’ll be softer this time.”

“Please,” Tommy’s whisper turns to a shout as Arthur’s fingers brush over his prostate again, sending sparks of heat straight through to the core of him.

Arthur keeps going, returning his tongue to the mix and only hitting Tommy’s prostate every few thrusts. The pressure in Tommy builds quickly, spreading heat through his gut until his skin is prickling and his muscles are seizing and he’s coming, spunk dribbling from his soft cock onto the couch cushions. Tommy roars, his arms shaking under the strain of holding himself up. He blacks out for a few seconds, and when he comes to, Arthur is pressing his cock inside, stroking his back to get him to relax.

“That’s it, let me in,” He curls his arms around Tommy, clutching at his shoulders for leverage and bringing their heads together. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Told you I could make you scream.”

Arthur starts thrusting and it’s too much and not enough all at once. Tommy reaches back to grab his hip, pulling Arthur deeper.

“Yes, fuck, Tommy. You must be so sensitive. God, you’re unbelievable.” Arthur keeps them close, his thrusts shallow, but powerful.

There are things Tommy wants to say, so many words caught in his throat, but all he can do is groan, panting out Arthur’s name and pulling him closer. Arthur presses kisses to Tommy’s back and shoulders, gasping wetly against his skin about how tight Tommy is, how amazing he feels, how perfect. Tommy’s afraid of the emotions threatening to spill out of his mouth so he clamps his lips shut, egging Arthur on with his moans.

When Arthur finally comes, he bites into the flesh of Tommy’s shoulder, sinking his teeth in and sucking a bruise. He pets at Tommy’s chest, catching his breath before pulling out and tossing the condom in the basket beside the couch. He wraps his arms around Tommy’s waist, squeezing until Tommy huffs.

“Sorry,” Arthur stands, helping Tommy up with a groan. “You okay?”

Tommy nods, his legs shaking, and lets Arthur lead him to the bed. Arthur tucks him in and leaves to brush his teeth and clean up the couch. He turns out the lights and slides under the covers minutes later, seeking out Tommy’s warmth. Tommy gathers him in, brushing a kiss over Arthur’s forehead.

“I didn’t know I could come like that.”

“Stick with me, kid, I’ll teach you all sorts of things.” Arthur bites at Tommy’s collar bone.

“Don’t mark me like that again,” Tommy rubs Arthur’s side to lessen the sting of his words. “I don’t want to have to answer any questions.”

Arthur stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. Tommy gropes for his hand in the darkness, squeezing tight when he finds it.

Arthur nods, his chin bumping Tommy’s chest. Tommy waits until he knows Arthur’s asleep to tell him he’s sorry.

Chapter Text

7.

On his way across town he takes three vicodin and carefully puts away his thoughts of Arthur. Where he’s going anything good in his life will only be used against him. He’d woken with Arthur wrapped around him, the previous night’s conversation echoing in his head.

Never having made it to the store for eggs in their haste, they instead sat across from each other, grinning and choking down dry cereal before Arthur had to leave for class. Tommy’s time with Arthur feels uncomplicated, and he wishes he knew how to let that feeling bleed into the other aspects of his life. Maybe then they’d be less daunting. Maybe then he’d be able to see a future for himself beyond this next step, because now that he’s said it out loud, he realizes Sparta isn’t just something he needs, but something he wants.

He made promises to Manny he has every intention of keeping, but for the first time in a very long time, Tommy thinks maybe he can have something for himself, too. Sparta won’t erase the past, but it has the potential to create a new future for him.

He walks ten blocks out of his way, working himself up. He needs to go in there hard and closed off, but humble enough to ask for help. It’s gonna hurt, but he’s smart enough to know that if he wants to win Sparta, he’s gonna need Paddy.

Tommy’s jumpy despite the drugs in his system. The door to the small diner jingles as it opens, making Paddy look up from his paper. Tommy makes his way to the booth, rolling a toothpick around his mouth, hating that he’s here. He sits, but can’t make the first move; won’t give Paddy any more of himself than he absolutely has to. He gathers his enmity around him, shielding himself from the monster on the other side of the booth.

“You wanted to talk?” Paddy grinds out.

“Yeah,” Tommy takes a breath, steeling himself. “I’m gonna start fighting.”

Paddy’s expression doesn’t change. “That right?”

“Don’t play babe in the woods with me. I know that guy from the gym came to see you.” This is what he does, Tommy reminds himself. He plays the fool and makes you fill in the blanks.

“Colt Boyd? I didn’t tell him anything, Tommy.”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now if you did.” The waitress interrupts them, giving Tommy a minute to regroup and watch Paddy for any sign of the man he used to know.

“Alright. There’s this tournament. It’s a big tournament. Top sixteen middleweights in the world. Single elimination. Winner takes all. It’s a lot of money.” Tommy tries not to look away every time he meets Paddy’s gaze, but it’s killing him to ask for this. “I’m gonna do that. But if I’m doin’ it, then, ah, then I’m gonna need a trainer. Now that much you were good at.”

Paddy hums, a smile breaking through his mask of disinterest.

“What?” Tommy frowns. “No, no, no, no, this doesn’t mean anything, okay?” Tommy’s heart rate spikes, trepidation seeping in. “I’m serious. We train. That’s it. I don’t wanna hear a word about anything but training, you understand? You wanna tell your war stories, you can take ’em down to the VFW. You can take ’em to a meeting, or a church, or whatever the hell it is you do nowadays.”

Paddy nods in agreement, but Tommy feels like he’s lost significant ground.

“What about Colt Boyd?”

“What about him? I told him I don’t train with people I don’t know.” Tommy shrugs, like asking for this is costing him nothing.

“Ah, the devil you know.” Paddy mutters.

“Excuse me?” Tommy slides the toothpick back into his mouth, nerves frayed and needing something to fiddle with.

“ The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, ” Paddy quotes.

For a moment, Tommy sees the old Paddy in the man leaning across the table, the dangerous gleam in his eye. This he can work with. This he knows. This is what he came back to confront. All he has to do now is figure out how to lure him into the open.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees.

“Chasing Theogenes. It’ll be kinda like old times.”

And just like that, Tommy loses any footing he thought he’d gained. “I just told you, this doesn’t mean anything. You get that through your skull right now or I’m walking.”

Paddy takes a sip of his coffee, eyeing Tommy shrewdly over the rim of his cup.

“Alright, alright,” Paddy shifts gears so fast, Tommy cringes. “But you get something through your skull, too. You called me. So don’t go threatening to walk every five minutes. And since this is about training, you dump whatever it is you need to dump as far as those pills are concerned. I don’t want to see ’em. In fact, hand them over right now.”

Tommy considers. He knows the pills have to go, he’s even been taking them less, but giving them up completely seems like a big step to take all on his own.

“I know they’re on you, Tommy. You sounded like a goddamn maraca coming through the door.”

Shamed, he takes out two bottles, tossing them on the table.

“That’s not gonna do. When you came through that door it was chhh-chhh-chhh,” Paddy holds up three fingers. “Three.”

Tommy glares. Sober Paddy misses nothing. He flips the third bottle onto the table, hating the triumph in Paddy’s eyes.

“And another thing,” Paddy pushes his plate away. “You don’t eat crap like this. This is for losers and old men.”

Tommy sits, as still as stone, aware that these are just the beginning of Paddy’s conditions. He waits, chest tight at what he knows is coming.

“And we’re going to have to bunk up. If we’re going to do this right, you gotta stay at the house. I watch your diet. We follow the old regime. You copy?”

Tommy thinks of going to bed with Arthur, of waking up next to him and knowing it couldn’t last long. He remembers the conviction in Arthur’s voice when he told Tommy he has to do whatever it takes to win, and Tommy knows he’s going to agree. He’ll go back to that haunted house and play by Paddy’s rules, but that’s it. He won’t give up the only thing keeping him from bolting right now. He won’t give up Arthur.

Tommy nods, terrified of what he’s set into motion.

Chapter Text

8.

Tommy heads to the gym, desperate to work off the nervous tension thrumming through his body. Talking to Paddy, being vulnerable in front of him again after all these years, has Tommy restless and on edge. For the first time, Tommy doesn’t want to see Arthur. Not like this. Not high and shaky, and looking for a fight.

He hits the heavy bag for a while, then switches to the dummy. He jumps rope until his legs feel numb, then he runs. He covers the neighbourhood, and the one next to it, stopping only when his sides are screaming and he’s shaking from exhaustion. He showers and heads to the ‘T’ station. He’s too late to catch Arthur at his apartment so he’s looking at another night in a booth until Arthur’s off at three.

Tommy stops into a shop on the way to buy a prepaid cell phone, frowning at the cheap piece of plastic in his hand. Technology isn’t one of his strong suits. It’s not that he doesn’t understand it, it just doesn’t care to deal with it. If it will keep him in contact with Arthur, though, he’ll suffer through it. He has a feeling he’s going to need a lifeline over the next few months.

Arthur comes over as soon as Tommy’s settled in his booth. “You look like shit.”

Tommy grunts, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

“What did you get up to today?” Arthur hands over the menu, using the movement as an excuse to press into Tommy’s side.

“We need to talk.” Tommy scans the selection. He doesn’t register Arthur glaring at him at until the menu is torn from his grasp.

“You gonna start this shit here?” Arthur’s furious, notepad crumpled in his fist.

“What shit?” Tommy cranes his neck, confused by the sudden change in Arthur’s demeanor.

“Don’t act dumb, Tommy, we both know you’re not,” Arthur’s voice is quiet and full of venom. “You wanna act all macho and self-hating, you do that on your own time. You don’t get to come in here, where I fucking work, and lay all that ‘I’m not gay’ shit at my feet. Not after everything we’ve done. You want to be in the closet, you leave me the fuck alone.”

Tommy’s thrown, he knew he’d hit a nerve with Arthur last night, but he thought he’d smoothed it over. He thought Arthur understood. He’s missed something crucial here, and he’s not sure what his next move should be.

“What, now you have nothing to say?” Arthur’s face is flushed, his shoulders tense.

“I’m going to start training for Sparta,” Tommy chooses his words carefully, wanting to reach out and touch Arthur, soothe him somehow. “I’ll have to bunk with my trainer. So I won’t be able to stay with you after tonight. But I’d still like to see you. When I can.”

Arthur’s face is still red and he looks away, embarrassed. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Tommy brushes his fingers over Arthur’s hand where it’s clutched around his notepad. Arthur relaxes at the touch, dropping his chin to his chest and letting his breath out in a whoosh.

Tommy takes the menu out of Arthur’s other hand, willing to ignore his outburst if it keeps them on good terms. “Watch it, or I’ll start to think you actually like me.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh, rubbing his hand over his face. “Yeah, right.”

“You have a break at eleven?”

“Yeah. You want something to eat?” The look Arthur gives him softer now, bashful.

“Give me a double bacon cheeseburger with chili fries and a chocolate shake. Then I’m gonna need three pieces of pie.” Tommy hands the menu back.

Arthur’s eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe. “You facing the firing squad in the morning?”

“Something like that,” Tommy mutters, grabbing onto Arthur’s wrist. “You come sit with me for your break.”

Arthur looks nervous so Tommy strokes his thumb over his pulse. “I got some other stuff I need to tell you. We don’t have to talk about … that.”

“Right, sure.” Arthur nods, breaking Tommy’s grasp and wandering toward the kitchen.

A little after eleven, Arthur brings over Tommy’s pie and slides into the booth. “This is how I expected you to eat when I first met you, you know.”

“Guess I’ll just keep surprising you, then.” Tommy says around a mouthful of pie.

“That’s only attractive when it’s my cock in your mouth.” Arthur tell him quietly, a smile tugging at his lips.

Tommy nods, swallowing. “So, I’m not going to be around much. Don’t know when I’ll get back here. Not exactly in my meal plan anymore.”

“Sure, yeah.” Arthur’s staring at the tabletop, running his thumbnail along a crack in the finish. He’s acting casual, but he’s already played his hand when he had his little outburst and that knowledge gives Tommy courage.

“I won’t have the time to cross town to see if you’re free. I’m gonna be busy, and when I’m not, I’ll be exhausted.”

“Makes sense,” Arthur’s avoiding eye contact and Tommy wants press into his space and kiss him. Instead he sets his phone onto the table, sliding it toward Arthur. “What’s this?”

“It’s a phone.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. What’s it for?”

“Phone calls, mostly, but it can text. I thought maybe we could keep in touch.”

Arthur picks up the phone, flipping it open and pressing the buttons. “How old is this thing? Did you steal this off some little old lady?”

“You can text me when you’re free and if I can, I’ll come see you.” Tommy continues, ignoring Arthur’s snipe, but paying extra attention to the way his ears are turning pink.

“Are you sure you won’t be too exhausted?” Arthur glances at Tommy, smirking.

“Just means you’ll have to do all the work.”

Arthur laughs. “I already do that.”

“And you like it.”

Arthur nods, smiling at the phone. “Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a bit, Arthur examining the phone, Tommy watching him.

“I guess this could work.” Arthur hands the phone back.

“Yeah?” Tommy give him a small, shy smile.

“Yeah,” Arthur grins. “Finish your pie and then head back to my place. You really do look like shit, and you don’t need to wait for me. Go and sleep, I’ll be home soon.”

Tommy grows warm at the mention of home, but he pushes it down, unwilling to get his hopes up.

“You’ll be okay getting back?”

“I managed it fine before you came along, Riordon, I’ll live. I’ll go grab my keys. But leave the door unlocked, you sleep like a rock and I doubt even me pounding on the door will wake you.”

Tommy doesn’t kiss Arthur goodbye, but he wants to. He unlocks the apartment and strips down, before collapsing on the bed. He barely gets under the covers before he’s out cold. He wakes in the morning to Arthur fishing Tommy’s phone out from his sweats to silence the alarm. Arthur’s hanging over the side of the mattress, bare ass in the air. Tommy grabs Arthur around waist, hauling him closer and making him squawk.

“You didn’t wake me.” Tommy mumbles into the skin of Arthur’s shoulder.

“I tried, you didn’t even move.” Arthur squirms to get comfortable, rubbing his ass against Tommy’s groin.

“Surprised you didn’t take advantage of that.”

“I entertained the thought.”

“And?”

“And then I fell asleep,” Arthur laughs, turning his head to kiss Tommy. “I’m big on second chances, though.”

“I’ve noticed.” Tommy groans when his cock slips between Arthur’s ass cheeks.

“God, that feels good. If you’ve got a bit of time, you can fuck me.” Arthur grips Tommy’s arms where they cross his body, settling into a rhythm.

“No, I don’t, I’ve never—” Tommy pulls away, pulse pounding.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Arthur rolls over to face him. “It’s okay, believe me, I don’t mind pitching. Especially with you.” Arthur smiles and kisses him.

“I gotta get going.”

“Tommy, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Arthur watches Tommy slide out of bed and pause.

The sheets are low across Arthur’s hips, his cock mostly hard and arching toward his navel. There’s an ache so deep in Tommy it hurts. Only one thing is more important than crawling back into bed with Arthur, and that’s proving he deserves to be there. For that, he needs to leave.

“If I stay I’m gonna want you to fuck me.”

“And that would be bad?” Arthur says, a smile playing on his lips.

“I start training today. Can’t afford to be too sore. Or late.”

“Is this your way of telling me I’m too hard on you?” Arthur’s grinning now, stroking his own chest.

Tommy drops to his knees on the mattress, caging Arthur in with his limbs. He brushes his lips over Arthur’s dimples. “You’re perfect.”

Arthur stills, eyes widening before Tommy kisses him. Tommy really needs to go before he can’t help himself. He deepens the kiss because if Arthur asks him again to stay, Tommy won’t say no. In his head, Tommy begs Arthur to ask again.

Arthur finally pulls back, panting. “You should go.”

Tommy nods, committing Arthur’s rough voice and dark eyes to memory. Arthur follows him downstairs and before walking away, Tommy looks around at the empty street and pushes Arthur back into the entryway to kiss him goodbye.

He squeezes Arthur’s neck and steps onto the sidewalk. “Don’t forget me.”

Chapter Text

9.

The room starts to spin as Tommy clears the top step of the attic bedroom. It’s dusty and faded, but the monument to his past stands strong. His mind screams at him to run, to flee the lies hidden by the trophies on the shelf and the posters on the walls. Brendan’s bed sits empty, mocking him.

The entire room is a shrine to a life he can never admit to missing; every corner broadcasting a different horror from his childhood. He chokes on the memories and has to sit down, his breath a sharp wheeze in the silence. He wants to tear it all down. Reduce it to rubble. Being here, back in this room, in this house, his father downstairs, it’s all too much. He rocks back and forth, cold sweat molding his shirt to his back. His phone buzzes in his pocket and his hands shake as he flips it open, seeing the text from Arthur.

Heading to class. Working with Colin tonight so be sure to punch something in my honor. Miss you.

Tommy squeezes his eyes closed, holding the phone to his chest like it will protect him. Paddy calls his name from the living room. Time to get up, get moving. He tells himself all this bullshit will be worth it when he wins Sparta. When he can fulfill his promise to Manny. When Arthur might look at him and want to stay.

His feet are heavy on the steps. Time to get things started.

***

Tommy wakes the next morning, disoriented when he reaches out and doesn’t find Arthur. Paddy’s standing over him and for a moment Tommy’s a terrified 14-year-old kid trying to remember what he might have done to piss off his old man. The feeling fades, replaced by anger when Paddy sits on the empty bed on the other side of the room.

“Look what I found in that disaster of a basement. Wattya say we sit down and update this sometime? You can fill me in on how close you got to that record.” Paddy holds up the poster board that used to hang on the wall over Tommy’s bed, documenting his wins and his goals.

Tommy’s heart breaks a little. He never let himself mourn all the dreams his younger self left behind when they ran, and everything comes flooding back at once with the appearance of the poster. He pushes the memories back down, reminding himself that the reason all those dreams died is sitting in front of him. But they never belonged to Paddy, Tommy gets that now. They were the only thing a bruised and broken little boy had to cling to, and Paddy did everything in his power to steal them away.

“Did you continue wrestling after you left with your mother?” Paddy’s eyes plead with Tommy for a connection. “C’mon, Tommy. Tell me something.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell ya something. You can take that thing back to where you found it. And you can leave the coffee in the pot. I can pour that myself. I can wake myself up, too.”

Paddy pulls back, stiff mask sliding over his face as effortlessly as ever. When he hears the door slam at the bottom of the stairs, Tommy almost feels like he can breathe again.

Chapter Text

10.

Tommy hangs up the payphone. The relief and clarity he’d felt before calling Pilar has melted away, leaving him solemn. Colt got a spot for him at Sparta and Tommy should be happy, was happy, for a minute. But the worry and apology in Pilar’s voice brought him back to reality and tethered him to the ground once more.

This is a small victory, one he can’t get ahead of. He has miles to go before he can rest, and there are people counting on him. The loss of Manny feels so big sometimes that he forgets Pilar lost him, too. Not just a friend, but a husband. The kids lost their father. Tommy’s grief is infinitesimal next to that. He lost a parent, too, so he knows. That Pilar still worries about Tommy with everything she has on her plate, strengthens his resolve. He’ll get this win, if only so she can rest.

Tommy fingers his cell phone. He has no long distance plan, so it didn’t make sense to call El Paso from it, but he should let Arthur know. Arthur would want to be told. Tommy hasn’t seen him all week, dividing his time between the gym and Paddy’s grueling training. They text sporadically throughout the day, their schedules always out of sync, but Tommy’s fingers itch to slide over Arthur’s smooth skin, to grip until he leaves his mark.

If he messages Arthur now, he‘ll have a response by the time he’s done with his run. Arthur always checks his phone between classes and Tommy likes knowing it’s because of him. He asks if they can meet at the apartment after Arthur’s class, before he heads to the diner. When he checks his phone, sweaty and panting before he steps into the showers, Tommy has his answer.

“We have two and a half hours.” Arthur gasps into his mouth as Tommy’s hand snakes into his pants.

“Hour and a half,” Tommy corrects, twisting his wrist. “I have to get back to the gym.”

Arthur groans, rolling his head on Tommy’s shoulder. “Does that mean I can’t fuck you?”

“Sorry.” Tommy drops to his knees, tugging down Arthur’s jeans.

“Wait, wait, you said you had news.” Arthur grips Tommy’s chin, forcing his head up before he can get his lips around Arthur’s straining cock.

“Oh, I got into Sparta.”

“What? You got into— Tommy, stop,” Arthur pulls him back to his feet, grinning. “Are you serious? You’re in?”

Tommy shrugs like it’s no big deal, but inside some of his excitement returns. “Yeah.”

Arthur kisses him and it’s mostly teeth because his smile is so wide, but Tommy cherishes it just the same. “Jesus, fuck, that’s, that’s, I don’t have a word big enough for this, man!”

“Good?” Tommy offers.

“It’s fucking fantastic!” Arthur crows.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. “I really want you to fuck me.”

Arthur wraps his arms around him. “You said I’m not gentle enough with your delicate ass.”

“Fuck you, that’s not what I said.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you said. God, I want to so bad, but I get it. Maybe next time.” Arthur huffs against Tommy’s neck.

Tommy pulls him closer. “I missed you.”

Arthur tries to raise his head but Tommy’s not ready to see his reaction so he holds him tighter. They stay like that, leaning into each other, until Arthur clears his throat.

“Look, I know we kind of talked about this, before. But not really. Um, would you maybe want to, to fuck me? No pressure, I just thought I’d offer. Because I can’t fuck you. And I really kind of want you to.”

Tommy can feel Arthur’s face heating up against his neck and he takes a full minute to consider the offer. He’s never done it before, and he’s not sure why he knows he can’t, but he does. Arthur’s so good with him when Tommy’s under him, and of course he’s thought about it. But thinking about it and actually doing it are two very different things.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, forget I said anything.” Arthur presses Tommy’s head to his shoulder, rubbing his hands over Tommy’s back.

“I just can’t.” He chokes out, frustrated that he can’t give this to Arthur. It’s really the only thing he’s asked for, but there’s a broken part of himself that Tommy can’t make work right.

“It’s fine, Tommy. What do you want?” Arthur holds him tight.

“You.” Tommy’s trembling, filled with an emptiness he can’t even begin to define.

Arthur spreads him out on the bed, stripping away Tommy’s clothes and covering him with his own body. He pets Tommy, grinding against him gently until Tommy’s shaking. Arthur spreads lube over two fingers and presses them deep while closing his mouth around Tommy’s soft cock. Arthur sucks gently, thrusting his fingers until Tommy’s hard and pushing into it. Tommy arches off the bed as Arthur praises him and rubs over his prostate.

“More,” Tommy whines. “Please.”

“This is enough, baby, you’ll see.” Arthur drags his tongue up Tommy’s cock, taking it in until it hits the back of his throat. Instead of adding another finger, Arthur speeds up, twisting and spreading his fingers as they sink into Tommy’s ass over and over.

Tommy seizes and presses in too far, choking Arthur. Come dribbles out the side of Arthur’s mouth and it’s the sexiest thing Tommy’s ever seen. Arthur pulls off, spunk sliding down his chin, still thrusting into Tommy. He takes himself in hand, stroking wildly, and coming with a groan. Arthur pulls out, sliding his fingers through the mess on Tommy’s abdomen.

Tommy’s breath stutters out of his chest as Arthur presses his come into Tommy’s hole, going back for more until all that’s left on Tommy’s skin is a slick sheen. Arthur leans over him, fingers as deep as they’ll go while Tommy squeezes around them.

“See, I’m right there. You feel that?”

Tommy nods, eyes glued to Arthur.

“You’ve got me here with you, yeah?” Arthur’s eyes are so bright Tommy wants to look away.

“Yeah,” he breathes, curling up for a kiss.

Chapter Text

11.

Saturday nights Paddy goes to church and a meeting. Tommy thinks his presence is testing Paddy, and a small part of him delights in that. He tries not to let it show because right now he needs Paddy sober. He knows the training is helping, he can feel his body falling in line, transforming into something lethal and unbreakable. The atonement Paddy tries to force on Tommy is wearing thin, but it only takes a few harsh words for Paddy to refocus on the task at hand.

Tommy is on his way across town to surprise Arthur at work. He’s can’t stay long unless he wants Paddy on his back, but it’s been a month since he started training and all Tommy wants is to touch Arthur.

When Alice tells him Arthur didn’t show up, Tommy checks his phone. Arthur hasn’t messaged him all day and now it strikes him as odd. Tommy’s heart starts pounding when Arthur doesn’t pick up his phone, and he’s running before he even disconnects the call.

He calls again, panic clawing up his throat when Arthur doesn’t answer the buzzer at the front door. Tommy circles the building, picking out Arthur’s window. There are no lights on, but he climbs the fire escape anyway. Tommy forces the window open and climbs in. He trips, cursing and sprawling across the floor.

“Watch it.” Arthur mumbles, blinking at him through the darkness.

Tommy crawls over to him, hands searching Arthur’s body for injuries.

“Why are you here?” Arthur slurs.

Tommy switches on the lamp beside the couch and Arthur flinches away from the light, curling around a nearly empty bottle of vodka.

“You didn’t go to work.” Tommy prys the bottle out of his hands, dumping what’s left down the sink, relieved now that he knows Arthur is safe.

“Nope,” Arthur tries to get to his feet and manages to fall onto the couch before bouncing back onto the floor. “Ow.”

“C’mon.” Tommy gets him up with an arm around Arthur’s waist and they stumble to the bed.

Once Arthur is undressed and under the covers, Tommy lays down beside him. He doesn’t know what kind of demons Arthur battles with, but he’s not ready to run away in the face of them.

“Do you ever think you’re toxic?” Arthur stares at the ceiling. “Like, after a while you look around at all the shitty relationships in your life, and it gets harder to deny that maybe you’re the problem. You’re the common denominator. You’re the asshole.”

“Hmmm.” Tommy hopes he’s not being included in the shitty relationship category, but he doesn’t want to interrupt Arthur to ask.

“This is where you’re supposed to tell me it’s them, not me.” Arthur smacks him with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know you that well, maybe you are the asshole.”

Arthur laughs and Tommy relaxes. He likes it when Arthur laughs.

“Sometimes you’re not the only asshole. Sometimes everyone’s to blame.” Tommy inches his hand over until it’s touching Arthur’s, and even this small contact makes him feel better.

“My dad died.” Arthur’s voice is flat and he’s still not looking at Tommy.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. He didn’t like me.”

“But you have such a winning personality.” Tommy rubs his fingers against Arthur’s.

“Fuck you,” Arthur laughs again, but his voice is constricted. ”He kicked me out. Disowned me.”

“Why?” Tommy turns his head to look at the side of Arthur’s face.

“Because unlike you, I am gay.” Arthur pulls his hand away and a tear escapes from the corner of his eye. “Do you talk to your dad?”

Tommy holds his breath. “More than I’d like to.”

“Does he love you?” Arthur turns to him.

“Maybe. In his own way.” Tommy doesn’t want to believe this, but he knows it’s true.

“That’s good. You deserve to be loved.” Arthur gives him a small, watery smile.

Tommy frowns. “You don’t know me very well.”

“Maybe you’re the asshole.” Arthur’s eyes go wide and he giggles.

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe we both are. Let’s be assholes together.” Arthur rolls onto his side and grabs Tommy’s hand. His eyes are still wet, and his nose is red, but he looks a little calmer.

“I think we’ve got that covered.” Tommy brushes a tear off Arthur’s cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you came into my diner. Are you glad?”

Tommy considers the question. “You complicated my life.”

Arthur grins, rolling onto Tommy. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Arthur’s breath evens out and Tommy lays there for a while, relishing the weight of him. He doesn’t know if he helped ease Arthur’s grief at all, but he takes pride in knowing Arthur fell asleep with a smile on his face. Tommy knows a thing or two about shitty fathers and troubled childhoods, and he knows how hard good moments are to come by.

Tommy inches out from under Arthur and leaves some water and the bathroom garbage beside the bed. He catches the last train and gets in much later than he’d planned. Paddy’s car is parked in front of the house and the porch light is on.

Paddy stands as Tommy comes through the door. “Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be here, sleeping.”

“I had something I needed to do.” Tommy heads for the stairs.

“There’s nothing you need to do that’s more important than what we’re doing here,” Paddy’s eyes travel over Tommy, taking in his mussed hair and rumpled clothes. He sneers. “Pussy isn’t in your meal plan.”

Tommy looks Paddy in the eye and for the first time he can see the thin thread that’s keeping the old man in line. He can’t help but pluck at it. ”Yeah, what about cock?”

Paddy’s shocked silence follows Tommy up the stairs, but it doesn’t feel like the victory he thought it would.

Chapter Text

12.

The worry that plagues Tommy all night is assuaged when Paddy ignores him most of the morning. Unless he’s shouting orders, he acts like Tommy doesn’t exist. Considering their past, Tommy takes it as a win. He almost feels more at home with this pissed off version of Paddy. It’s comfortable in a twisted way.

Paddy works Tommy harder with every day that passes, but Tommy feels himself improving, so he can’t complain. Between training and sleep, Tommy barely has time to breathe, much less talk to Arthur. He sees him once, briefly, when he discovers he left his phone at Arthur’s in the process of pouring him into bed, and has to dash across town to retrieve it while Paddy’s at a meeting.

He doesn’t stay long, but he lets Arthur kiss him breathless on the couch for a while before he heads back. Arthur doesn’t mention his father’s death and Tommy’s reluctant to bring it up in case it upsets him. Arthur had greeted Tommy at the top of the stairs with a strong hug and bright smile and Tommy is in no hurry to erase that.

He calls Arthur from the train when he discovers the pictures, and can hear the smile in Arthur’s voice when he tells Tommy they’re to keep him company while the two of them are apart. They continue to text at odd intervals over the next few weeks and Tommy scrolls through the grainy photos of Arthur every night. His favourite is the one of Arthur, half reclined in bed. His hair is curling over his ears and the sheets are doing nothing to hide the erection he’s fisting. It’s Arthur’s smile, though, that Tommy keeps going back to. It’s honest and playful, and he prays to God Arthur looks happy because of him.

In the mornings Tommy runs alongside Paddy’s car, focusing on all the promises he has to fulfill, his feet keeping a steady rhythm on the asphalt. At the gym, Colt tries to tell him about his opponents, talk strategy, but Tommy won’t listen. The only strategy he needs is winning.

His main source of entertainment is watching Paddy and Colt clash in the ring. Colt might know MMA, but Paddy knows Tommy, and neither will admit when they’re wrong. It will be a dark day for Tommy if they ever actually agree on something.

The days wear on and Tommy winds himself tighter and tighter. Anticipation wars with frustration, making his temper short, and fraying his nerves. When Arthur texts to ask if Tommy can stop by on Arthur’s next day off, Tommy ignores the message until it’s too late and claims he misplaced his charger. Sparta is less than a month away and Tommy can’t afford to get distracted. They’ll have time together once this is all over. In the meantime, Tommy spends more time looking at Arthur’s smile in the pictures on his phone than he does jerking off to them.

By June, Arthur is sending one word answers, then he stops texting all together. For three days every text Tommy sends gets no response. By then he’s desperate, so he skips out on the gym to head across town.

One of Arthur’s neighbours lets Tommy into the building, but Arthur frowns when he opens his door, using his body to block Tommy’s view into the apartment.

“You gonna let me in?”

Arthur stares at Tommy’s shirt. “It’s not a good time.”

“You got someone in there?”

“What? No.”

“Then why can’t I come in?” He nudges the door jamb with the toe of his shoe.

“Because I don’t know what you want, Tommy.” Arthur closes his eyes briefly.

“I wanna come in, I just said that.” Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, fine.” He walks away from the door, allowing Tommy to push it open.

Arthur sits on the couch, looking everywhere but at Tommy. They’re both silent, awkward in a way they’ve never been.

“Well, you’re in. Now what?”

Tommy shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You stopped talking to me.” Arthur accuses.

“You stopped first.”

“Fuck you, Riordon. You know how much shit I have going on right now.”

Tommy huffs “And I don’t?”

“You have one thing,” Arthur holds up his finger. “One. And it’s completely taken over your life.”

It’s not going the way he thought it would, and Tommy’s getting frustrated. “I told you-”

“You told me you’d be busy, not that I wouldn’t fucking see you for a month!”

“I can’t come running over here every time you have a few free minutes.”

Arthur jumps to his feet. “I never asked you to!”

“Then what do you want from me?” Tommy spreads his hands wide, unable to offer a solution of his own.

“Anything! I’ll take anything at this point! You show up in my life and suddenly you’re all I can fucking think about,” Arthur’s face is flushed and he has one hand in his hair. “I’m distracted in class, work is a walking nightmare without you there, and my fucking dick is ready to fall off because I can’t keep the thought of you on your knees out of my head!”

“I’m sure getting your dick sucked isn’t that hard for a guy like you.” Tommy sneers, temper flaring.

Arthur reels back like he’s been struck. Tommy knows he’s gone too far, but he’s tired and guilty, and Arthur is finally right here and he won’t let Tommy in.

“I mean, if that’s all you want-” Tommy steps forward.

“Get out.” Arthur’s voice is raw and he won’t look at Tommy.

“Arthur.”

“I said, get out.” Arthur crosses the room and opens the door.

“I didn’t mean it.” Tommy reaches for him, but Arthur pulls away.

“You need to leave now.”

Tommy can’t. He knows if he leaves like this, everything he has with Arthur is over. “I don’t want to.”

Arthur snorts. “I don’t fucking care what you want.”

“I can’t leave you.” Tommy says, quietly.

Arthur finally meets his gaze. “You’ve pretty much already done it, so why not finish the job?”

A sob escapes Tommy’s throat and he clenches his hands into fists. He knows how desperate he must look, but he can’t help that right now. He needs to fix this without his fear and pride getting in the way. Arthur is the only good thing in his life. It’s complicated, and messy, and potentially disastrous, but being with Arthur is the only time Tommy feels like he can actually breathe.

“Don’t make me go. Please. I’m so fucking lonely when I don’t have you,” he chokes on the words. “I’ve been through a lot of shit, but I didn’t know something could feel like this does.”

Arthur doesn’t move, but he doesn’t stop Tommy either.

“Nothing feels like you asking me to leave.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and when he speaks his voice is low, rough. “Technically I didn’t ask you, I told you.”

“Yeah. And I know I deserved it, but I don’t want to go.”

Arthur bites at his bottom lip and looks away. “You can’t say shit like that to people, Tommy. It’s not fair.”

“I know. I know.” Tommy nods, bowing his head.

Arthur closes the door but leaves his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t know how to do this with you. I don’t know what you want.”

Tommy steps forward, eyes locked on Arthur’s face. “I want you.”

“But you want this other thing more, and it’s keeping us apart.”

“It’s important to me.”

“I know it is,” Arthur shrugs. “I guess I just thought I was important, too.”

Tommy takes another step toward him, careful not to touch Arthur, though he wants to. “You are. And when it’s over, I want you to still be here.”

“What if you lose?”

“You gonna leave me if I lose?”

“I might leave you before you lose.” Arthur rubs a hand over his face.

Tommy can’t help but feel hopeful now that Arthur’s not yelling at him. “Does that mean we’re together?”

“Fuck you, of course we are.”

Tommy ducks his head. “I wasn’t sure.”

Arthur shoves Tommy’s shoulder. “You think I leave naked photos on every guy’s phone?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“You don’t say,” Arthur runs his hand through Tommy’s hair. “Look, I know Sparta is huge, and I know there’s an end date. But I fucking miss you. I just, I just want to see you. Maybe hear your voice every once in awhile.”

“It’s almost over.” Tommy pushes into Arthur’s hand.

“I know. Hey, maybe I could come watch you at the gym sometime-”

“No.” Tommy pulls back.

“Just like that? No.” Arthur’s voice is hard.

Tommy shakes his head, desperate. “I can’t do that..”

Arthur frowns, but he must see something in Tommy’s face that reassures him because he nods. “Okay.”

Tommy wraps his arms around Arthur, laying his head on Arthur’s shoulder. He knows they’re not back to zero yet, but he’s unwilling to spend another moment not touching Arthur.

Arthur pets at his hair. “I could come with you, maybe. To Atlantic City. If you wanted.”

“No.” Tommy says against the skin of Arthur’s neck.

“You don’t want me there?”

Tommy huffs. “Can’t afford the distraction.”

Arthur pulls back and smirks. “Oh yeah? I’m a distraction am I?”

Tommy bites at his shoulder “Biggest fucking distraction of my life.”

Arthur grins, dimples appearing. “Okay, okay. I guess I can hang in there until you get back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I can’t do this again, Tommy. You have to at least talk to me.”

Tommy nods. “I can do that.”

Arthur dodges Tommy’s kiss. “You promise?”

“Yeah, anything. As long as you stay.” Tommy agrees, pressing his mouth to Arthur’s.

They stand, holding each other for a while, keeping the kiss deep, but playful. When Arthur’s hands start to roam, he trails kisses over Tommy’s jaw, whispering in his ear. “You probably have to get back to the gym.”

“I do.” Tommy drops his hands to Arthur’s ass and squeezes.

“Right.” Arthur laughs.

Tommy holds Arthur closer. “I think I’ll stay.”

Arthur pulls back. “Really?”

“At least until your shift starts.”

Tommy lets Arthur fuck him in the shower before he heads back, sore, but content.

Chapter Text

13.

Three days before they leave for Atlantic City, Colt’s going over strategy with Mad Dog when Tommy walks by and hears a familiar name. Brendan Conlon is going to Sparta. A last-minute replacement for an injured Marco Santos. He’s an unknown, not expected to get past the first round, but if he does, there’s a chance Tommy’s gonna have to get in the ring with his big brother.

He’s not worried about beating Brendan, that was never an issue when they were younger. Brendan was taller and heavier, but Tommy had speed and skill on his side. Still does. Brendan the fighter isn’t an obstacle. Brendan the brother is a dangerous threat to Tommy’s sanity.

He doesn’t ask Paddy if he knew, just storms out of the gym. Summer has arrived in the ’Burgh and Tommy’s shirt is soaked in sweat by the time he makes it to Arthur’s. It’s early yet and Arthur’s summer class doesn’t let out until two, but the super recognizes Tommy and lets him into the building.

Tommy’s not sure if he fell asleep or just zoned out, but he’s brought back when Arthur kicks his foot. His bike is slung over his shoulder and he’s frowning down at Tommy like he’s had to repeat himself a few times.

“Hey,” Tommy croaks, throat dry and body stiff.

Arthur lowers his bike and leans it against the wall. He crouches and runs his hand through Tommy’s sweat-soaked hair. “Hey.”

Tommy closes his eyes and leans into Arthur’s touch. “You’re wearing shorts.”

“And you smell,” Arthur tugs lightly on Tommy’s hair. “Let’s get you inside, kay?”

Tommy gets to his feet without Arthur’s help, but he stumbles.

Arthur locks the door behind them and hangs up his bike. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” Tommy toes off his shoes.

“You wanna take a shower, or will you fall over?”

Tommy frowns, unsure.

“Come on,” Arthur kicks his bag out of the way and lifts the hem of Tommy’s shirt. “Up.”

Tommy obeys, numb to everything save for the feeling of Arthur’s skin on his.

“Jesus, did you run here?”

Tommy hums while Arthur strips off his sweatpants and underwear.

“It’s ninety-five degrees out there, where’s your water?”

Tommy shrugs, he’s so tired he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Idiot,” Arthur mutters, filling a glass at the sink and pressing it to Tommy’s lips. “Drink it slowly. Slowly!” He smacks Tommy’s hand away when Tommy starts to gulp, desperate for the water now that it’s available.

Arthur refills the glass and places it on the nightstand, then shucks off his own clothes. “You get that one once you’ve showered.

Tommy is herded under the lukewarm water, Arthur squeezing in behind him and pulling the curtain closed.

“You’re shaking.” Arthur wraps his arms around Tommy and rubs his chest.

Tommy leans against the tile, gasping a little and trying to calm himself before Arthur figures out something’s really wrong. He focuses on Arthur’s hands, kneading Tommy’s skin until his muscles relax.

Arthur reaches over his shoulder for the shampoo and squirts some on Tommy’s head. He wrinkles his nose at the strong citrus smell, but groans when Arthur’s long fingers start massaging his scalp.

“Running over here in this heat, with no water, four days before the most important tournament of your life, is incredibly stupid,” Arthur’s voice wavers, his fingers scratching up Tommy’s neck. “I mean, I know I’m worth it and all, but seriously Tommy, you could have made yourself sick.”

“Sorry,” Tommy mumbles, letting the water run over his head and wash away his tension, along with the shampoo.

“You’re sorry. Great. Turn around.” Arthur shoves at him until Tommy’s leaning against the wall. He turns the spray to the side and scrubs Tommy with a cloth. The woodsy smell of Arthur’s body wash floods his senses and Tommy all but melts into the tile. Arthur runs the cloth over every inch of Tommy, firm and thorough, and everything Tommy didn’t know he needed.

“I like your shorts.” Tommy lifts his foot for Arthur to clean.

Arthur shakes his head, but he’s smiling a little. “Pretty sure you’ve seen my legs before.”

“Not in shorts.”

“Oh yeah? Am I gonna get to see you in shorts one day?” Arthur stands, detaching the showerhead and aiming it at Tommy.

“I wear shorts in the ring.” Tommy slides his hands over his chest, clearing away the rest of the soap.

“Good thing I sprung for the pay per view hookup, then.” Arthur smirks.

“You did?”

“Of course I did,” Arthur gives him a funny look. “It’s not every day my boyfriend competes in ‘The Super Bowl of Mixed Martial Arts’. I even thought about buying a bigger tv, but it’s sadly not in the budget.”

“Right. Boyfriend.” Tommy sputters when Arthur sprays him in the face.

“Yes, boyfriend. Don’t start that shit or I’ll shove this showerhead somewhere unpleasant.”

Tommy grabs the nozzle with one hand, his other going to Arthur’s neck. He pivots, slipping a little, but getting Arthur turned around and pinned with his back to Tommy’s chest.

“Wasn’t starting shit,” he presses a soft kiss to Arthur’s temple. “Just not used to it.”

Arthur taps Tommy’s forearm and Tommy releases him, returning the favour of water to the face. Arthur laughs and puts his hands up to shield himself.

“Get out, asshole,” Arthur kisses him and takes back the showerhead. “Dry off and lay on the bed. I’ve got an idea for how to work out some of whatever’s got you so wound up.”

Tommy stills at the reminder, goosebumps rising despite the warmth in the bathroom. He stumbles out and pats himself dry. He drinks the water on the table and collapses face down on the bed, the frame protesting loudly. He’s nearly asleep when Arthur comes out of the bathroom, dropping something at Tommy’s hip.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Arthur asks, already pulling his phone out of his discarded shorts.

Tommy hums his assent, a small thrill going through him.

“This is going to sell for a mint when you win Sparta and leave me for a golddigger.” Arthur’s flash goes off multiple times.

Tommy turns his head. “You’ve got a backup plan. Smart.”

“Gotta pay off those student loans somehow. So thank you for being naked, and for having several large and identifiable tattoos.” Arthur puts his phone on the nightstand and climbs on top of Tommy, straddling his thighs.

“You’re heavier than you look.” Tommy says, enjoying the weight of Arthur on top of him. They haven’t fucked like this yet and he wonders if they will. He thinks he’ll like it. Arthur warm and solid, draped over his back while he fucks him with deep, lazy thrusts.

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Arthur says, running his palms over Tommy’s shoulders. “You just lay there and let me take care of you.”

The smell of almond oil calms him as Arthur’s fingers dig into his shoulders, kneading at muscles that Tommy doesn’t think he’s relaxed in years. He loses track of time, dropping in and out of sleep as Arthur works his way down Tommy’s body. He rouses briefly when Arthur’s weight disappears, but Arthur shushes him, rubbing warm hands over Tommy’s thighs.

No one has ever treated him with tenderness like this. By the time they fled, Tommy was half grown, an angry fourteen-year-old boy convinced he needed to be a man. He refused to indulge his mother’s affections, still resentful for every day she’d allowed them to live in hell. He’s older now, has some life experience, and he knows better, but he’s never had anyone know him intimately like this. Never allowed anyone to see him weak.

He jerks a little when Arthur trails his fingers over Tommy’s ankles, snorting into the pillow. Arthur pushes at him until he turns over, starting at Tommy’s feet and working his way back up. He avoids Tommy’s cock, pressing a soft kiss to each hip before moving on. Arthur’s hands trace the curls of ink on Tommy’s chest, weight settled over his thighs again. He’s getting aroused from the feeling of Arthur’s soft cock brushing his. Tommy wants to take him in, feel Arthur harden on his tongue until he’s hot and solid and pressing into Tommy’s throat. He wants Arthur to kneel over him, sliding between Tommy’s lips, bracing himself on the wall and fucking Tommy’s mouth slowly.

It’s a surprise when Arthur’s mouth closes over him, warm and wet. Tommy looks down at Arthur with a frown, but Arthur looks determined and pins Tommy’s wrists to the mattress at his sides before pulling off.

“Just relax, okay?” Before Tommy can answer, Arthur’s taking him back in.

He keeps his grip on Tommy’s wrists as he bobs his head slowly, dragging his tongue along Tommy’s shaft. It’s as gentle as Arthur’s hands had been, and Tommy feels Arthur’s focus so acutely he wants to sob. The rest of the world fades away until the only thing Tommy can register is the persistence of Arthur’s mouth. Every time he gets close to coming, Arthur eases back, suckling Tommy’s foreskin and licking at his slit until the urge fades, then working him back up slowly until Tommy’s writhing, tears sliding over his temples as he begs quietly for release.

When Arthur finally lets him come, it’s as powerful and slow as the blow job itself, dragging out of him until he feels like he’s been turned inside out. Arthur swallows around him, then swallows again, letting Tommy go soft on his tongue while he nuzzles his nose into Tommy’s pubic hair.

Arthur crawls up Tommy’s body, pressing him into the bed, petting his hair, and murmuring praise as he rocks against Tommy’s hip. Tommy wants to wrap his arms around him, hold him tight and urge him along, but he’s exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay there in a stupor, silently hoarding every whispered endearment, shivering when Arthur tells him he’s so good, and calls him ‘baby’.

Arthur says his name when he spurts, hot and slippery between their bodies, and Tommy finally has the strength to move. He folds his arms over Arthur’s back, holding him down until Arthur stops panting. Arthur’s fingers curl around Tommy’s bicep, idly tracing the lines of ink. The feeling of just laying with someone, no pressing needs, no expectations, is foreign to Tommy, but he’s keen to grow comfortable with it. It feels so easy when the other person is Arthur.

Every silence between him and Paddy is stressed, charged by decades of conflict, and Tommy doesn’t think that will ever change, but with Arthur he can be himself. He can be vulnerable if he needs to be. Arthur’s proven time and time again that he can take it. That he wants to. Tommy wonders briefly if this is what being loved feels like. He desperately wants it to be.

Arthur nips at his chest, pushing himself up to look at Tommy. “Hey.” His smile is soft and a touch bashful.

“Thank you,” Tommy says, voice cracking with emotion and exhaustion. “I don’t—”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just sleep, okay? You need to rest, Tommy.” Arthur kisses his eyelids, his nose, then brushes his lips gently over Tommy’s.

Tommy nods, tightening his arms around Arthur and pressing his head onto Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy likes the feeling of being weighted down by him. His heart is soaring even if his mind is mostly offline. He’s never felt so light in his life, and part of him fears he’ll float away if Arthur’s not there to pin him down.

He wakes as the sun is going down. Arthur’s sitting beside him, eating a cup of noodles with a textbook open in his lap. He puts both aside as soon as Tommy stirs, and brushes his hand through Tommy’s hair.

“Hey, you’ve been asleep a while.” Arthur’s smile is strained.

“What time’s it?” Tommy coughs, rolling onto his side to press his face into Arthur’s leg.

“About 8:30. I didn’t want to wake you.” Arthur looks unsure and Tommy frowns.

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I called in.” He says, like it’s nothing for him to stay with Tommy.

“You could have gone, you need the money.” Tommy sits up, wincing at his still sore muscles.

“I needed to be here more,” Arthur stares at Tommy’s chest, his hands clenched in this lap. “I just didn’t want you to be mad about missing out on training for the day.”

Tommy snorts. “I put in five hours before I came over. Not to mention the run halfway across the city. At this point, a few hours of sparring aren’t going to make a difference. I’m either ready or I’m not.”

“And are you? Ready?” Arthur meets his gaze, brown eyes clear.

“I am now.” Tommy leans forward to kiss him.

Arthur opens his mouth willingly, grunting when Tommy climbs into his lap, knees on either side of Arthur’s hips. They kiss, deep and slow, then soft and laughing into each other’s mouths as Arthur tries to discover where besides his ankles Tommy is ticklish. They don’t talk about it, Tommy’s little breakdown. It seems irrelevant now. It feels like an accomplishment to have shown Arthur that part of him and have neither of them run away. Knowing Arthur’s here, waiting to welcome him, to take care of him, and to be cared for in return, that’s what Tommy needs to hold on to.

Chapter Text

14.

The road to Atlantic City nearly costs Tommy his sanity. He agreed to drive with Paddy because the bus takes twice as long, and this way he doesn’t miss a training day. He’s supposed to be resting, but being in the car with Paddy and his damn books on tape make him feel trapped, and he insists on getting out to stretch every hour. It makes the already lengthy trip longer, but it keeps him from ripping the tape deck out and beating Paddy with it.

He’s conscious of his need to run as soon as they check into the hotel. He knows if he lets his body rest for too long he’ll get anxious, worrying about the fights, about Paddy, and Brendan, and he doesn’t have Arthur there to center him.

Arthur sends him several texts throughout the drive, narrating his day and carefully not wishing Tommy luck. He scrolls through them every time Paddy tries to engage him in conversation, asking about his plans after Sparta, trying to encourage him with strategy, and once, stuttering around an inquiry about Tommy’s friend . Tommy turns up Moby-Dick and pretends to sleep, his head pressed against the window, the memory of Arthur’s smile on his mind.

When they stop for lunch, Paddy prods for details of Tommy’s life after he and his mother left. Tommy ignores him, thumbing through the pictures of Arthur on his phone. Paddy grumbles about Tommy being difficult and Tommy snorts a laugh, taking it as a sign of personal growth that he hasn’t thrown himself out of the moving vehicle yet.

The glitz and noise of Atlantic City assaults his senses, and the brightness of the lights at the meet and greet with the press makes him physically incapable of making small talk. He hides on the outskirts of the crowd, nursing a bottle of water and fingering the phone in his pocket as Paddy preens in front of the promoters.

Seeing Brendan across the room jolts him, taking him back to the day they left, staring out the back window as Brendan stood stubbornly on the front steps. Tommy hadn’t stopped looking, even after they turned the corner, still expecting to see Brendan running after them.

He freezes when Brendan spots him, thankful for the bodies and the distance between them, bolting the first chance he gets. Paddy calls out to him and the look of hope on his face makes Tommy nauseous. He’s not here for some ill-fated family reunion, he’s got his own agenda.

He calls Arthur from the hotel room, just like he promised he would. He sits in the dark and lets Arthur’s voice calm him, smiling when Arthur curses about the smell of the clothes Tommy left at his apartment.

“Did you know they were under the couch? Because I’ve been hunting this smell all day. I cleaned my fucking fridge!”

Tommy chuckles. “You tossed them there, not me.”

“Bastard,” Arthur says, but Tommy can hear the fondness in his voice.

“So when you cleaned the fridge, were you on your knees?” Tommy asks, leaning against the headboard, warm and content with Arthur in his ear.

Arthur laughs. “You still sticking to that ‘not gay’ line, Riordan?”

“M’not sure, I’ll have to try it a few more times and see.”

“Yeah, you let me know, asshole. Hey, you’re on tv.” Arthur goes quiet listening.

Tommy can hear the newscaster over the phone, and now that they’re silent, he realizes he can hear it in the other room as well.

“... not only a United States Marine but a hero in the Iraq war …”

Tommy goes cold. He can hear Arthur breathing over the line, can practically see the puzzled frown on his face.

“Tommy?”

He closes the phone, disconnecting the call. When Paddy opens the door to beckon him out, Tommy goes, feeling wooden and nearly shaking with fear. One of the boys he pulled out of the tank is on the screen, lauding Tommy’s bravery with tears in his eyes.

It’s not fair. They can’t do this to him. He’s finally, finally got something good in his life and they’re going to rip it all away. Again.

“He just vanished like a ghost.”

Tommy can’t take anymore, he feels like he’s suffocating under the words of the man on the tv, the cautiously proud look on Paddy’s face. He can see the thought forming in his old man’s mind. That even after all the wrong he did, his son still grew up a hero. That somehow, that victory belongs to him.

Tommy grabs a shirt from his room and flees the hotel, taking the side entrance in case anyone’s looking for him. Once he’s out in the night air, choking down stuttered breaths, Tommy runs.

He pounds the pavement, terrified of the fears he knows will catch up to him if he stops. Everyone knows, and if they found out about the tank, they’ll find out about him going AWOL. His life is over. They won’t let him fight, and if he doesn’t fight, he can’t win. Can’t make good on his promises. Can’t help Pilar, can’t keep Arthur. He’s going to prison. That’s what they do with deserters. Saving those men won’t matter. He was a traitor the second he walked away from camp. No matter what he witnessed, no matter that his best friend, his whole squad, lay dead at his feet. Buck up, soldier, you’re a Marine. Ooh Rah.

He’d felt empty watching the news report, hearing Lance Corporal Brandford tell the story of how Tommy saved everyone, except the one who really mattered. That wasn’t him. He’s no one’s hero. He’s just a fuckup who hurts the people he cares about and gives up on everything.

Tommy runs until he hits the beach, collapsing in the sand. Arthur’s voice is in his head, asking where his water bottle is, and it hurts to think about how he’ll never see him again. He was fooling himself, thinking he could have everything. Guys like Tommy don’t get to live their dreams. He’s been cursed since the day he was born, he’s only sorry he pulled the others down with him. His mother, Manny, Pilar, Arthur. They’ve all suffered at his hands.

He drags himself to his feet. He needs to keep moving or he’ll lock up, and he may as well face his future, bleak as it now looks. He owes Arthur an explanation, at least, and he doesn’t have his phone, but he’s got a handful of change in his pocket.

He looks down the beach, startled when he sees Brendan walking toward him. Tommy straightens, letting his mask of indifference slide into place. He’s itching for something to take his anger out on, and big brother will do nicely.

Brendan stops a few feet away, watching Tommy warily. “Been looking all over for you. How’s it going?”

“It’s going.” Tommy says, stiff.

“I was thinking maybe we should go grab a coffee.”

“I don’t drink coffee, man,” he lies. “Whattya want?”

“You don’t want to go sit down somewhere?” Brendan looks unsure, like he expected this to be easier.

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the sand. “I’m good right here.”

Brendan looks at Tommy, following his movements closely, and Tommy sees the exact moment Brendan gives up.

“Shit, Tommy. How was I supposed to know I was never gonna see you guys again?”

Tommy shrugs. He knew Brendan wouldn’t take any of the blame for his decisions. Nothing’s changed. “You were briefed. You had the information. You chose the old man and the girl.”

“She wasn’t some girl. I married her. She’s my wife.” Brendan steps closer, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and opening it to show Tommy. “That’s Tess. And that’s Emily and Rosie. They’re your nieces, Tommy.”

Tommy shifts, restless in the face of Brendan’s picture perfect family. “Don’t know ’em.”

“I know you don’t know them. Of course you don’t know them.”

“Why am I looking at pictures of people I don’t know?” Tommy can hear his jealousy, but he can’t help it. They both made their choices, but Tommy’s only brought him more misery. Arthur’s the best thing he’s ever had, and he all he can manage is a few grainy cell phone photos and some bruises on his hips. He’ll never have a picture in his wallet. He’ll be lucky if Arthur picks up the phone the next time he calls.

“’Cause that’s my family.” Brendan tells him.

“And who are you exactly?”

Brendan shakes his head. “I’m your brother, man.”

The word is like a punch to the chest. Tommy’s wept over the memories of every man he’s ever called brother. Having Brendan stand here and toss that word around like it’s nothing, like it’s not something he had to earn, makes him want to scream. “You were in the Corps?”

“What?”

“I said I didn’t know you were in the Corps.” Tommy wants to hit him. Wants to beat him to the ground for every memory Brendan has stirred in him. Every regret.

“I wasn’t in the Corps.” Brendan tells him, caution in his eyes.

“Then you ain’t no brother to me. My brother was in the Corps.” Tommy walks away, desperate to get away.

Brendan runs after him. “Jesus, Tommy. Tommy. I was a sixteen-year-old kid. What the hell did I know?”

Tommy doesn’t stop. “I don’t know what you know. Why don’t you go ask your girlfriend about it?”

“She’s my wife, Tommy,” There’s real anger in Brendan’s voice now. “So that’s it? I stay with Tess and I never get to see you guys again? Not a single phone call? Nothing?”

Tommy keeps walking. He can feel himself disassociating from the conversation. He needs to keep his walls up if he’s going to survive what’s coming.

“God, man, I don’t understand this. You won’t forgive me, but you’ll forgive Pop?” Brendan gets in front of him, forcing him to stop.

“Shit. He’s just some old vet I train with. He means nothing to me.” Tommy clings tightly to his indifference. “From what I hear he means nothing to you, either, so you got balls talking about forgiveness.”

“That’s got nothing to do with forgiveness,” Brendan jabs his finger at Tommy. “I’ve got a family to protect. Everything I do is for them.”

Tommy waves him off, walking away.

“But I forgave Pop. Just like I forgave you and Mom,” Brendan calls after him.

Tommy stops, unable to believe what he just heard. “You forgave us ?”

“Yeah.” Brendan says, and Tommy sees a glint of the boy Brendan used to be. Sixteen and cocksure, head so far up his own ass he blinded himself to what was happening to everyone around him.

“I’m not surprised you made the tournament, Brendan. You got some stones, man.”

“I fell in love, Tommy. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to stick to the plan. You were supposed to come with us. Mom needed you. I needed you. You were my big brother and you bailed on me.”

Tommy is pissed. How dare Brendan stand there and preach about the importance of family when he abandoned his own the first chance he got. “Hey, I’m glad you stayed and everything worked out for you, Brendan. See, you leave, you get the opposite. Okay? You leave, you get to bury people.”

“You’re not the only one who suffered, Tommy. I didn’t even know she was sick. I never even got the chance to say goodbye to my own mother. You had no right to keep that from me! That was not your decision to make!”

Tommy’s so mad he’s starting to go numb. He gets close to Brendan, disgusted with the man he sees in front of him. “You know what? You walk around with your pictures in your wallet and you’re all, ‘I forgive you, I forgive Pop. I forgive everyone.’ But you know what? You’re full of shit.”

Tommy stares at his brother, part of him daring Brendan to hit him, the rest of him tired of navigating the minefield of everyone else’s guilt. They’ve all done and said things that ruined lives, and Tommy doesn’t want to do it anymore. He doesn’t owe Brendan anything, just like he doesn’t owe Paddy. He just so tired of holding onto it all.

“Are we done, Brendan? Are we finished?”

Tommy turns and walks away when Brendan doesn’t respond. His hands are shaking so he stuffs them in his pockets. He focuses on the shifting sand under his feet, keeping his breaths long and even.

Outside a darkened arcade on the boardwalk, Tommy presses his forehead to the box of a payphone, the cold metal a soothing balm on his heated skin. He says a silent prayer that the phone works before he lifts the receiver. He needs to talk to Arthur before he heads back to the hotel, if he doesn’t he thinks he might run.

Arthur picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

Tommy breathes out, grateful for the echo of Arthur’s voice.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

Tommy opens his mouth to speak, but his throat won’t cooperate. He can hear the tv in the background and he remembers that Arthur knows.

“Tommy?” Arthur asks, voiced hushed. The tv goes silent.

Tommy sucks in a shaky breath, holding the receiver so tight it cracks in protest.

“Jesus, Riordon,” Arthur says after a minute. “Even on the phone I have to do all the work. You’re one lazy son of a bitch, you know that?”

Tommy huffs, closing his stinging eyes at the warmth in Arthur’s tone. He can’t speak, doesn’t know what he’d say if he could. Should he apologize for keeping his past a secret from Arthur? A man who only opened up about his own past because he was drunk and mourning?

The anger he felt on the beach with Brendan fades, paling in comparison to the peace that comes from syncing his breath with Arthur’s over the staticky phone line. He’s grasping desperately for a man he barely knows. A man who slipped into Tommy’s life with his careless shrugs and his dimpled smile, and somehow became necessary. Who looks at Tommy like maybe he could be somebody who matters.

“You missed all the drama at work this week,” Arthur says, breaking the silence. “Marky cut his thumb off in the slicer. I kid you not, the whole fucking thing was just laying there on the counter. Jesus, that kid is dumb. We packed it in ice and Alice drove him to the hospital. She’s pissed he bled all over her car.”

Tommy closes his eyes and listens, grateful for how Arthur always seems to know just what Tommy needs to escape his own head.

“And you know that old guy, Scratch? The drunk that sits in the corner booth and tries to sneak his dog in? Man, Scratch is dead. Exposure, the cops said. It’s hot as balls outside, how does he die of exposure? Anyway, that dog sat outside the diner for two whole days waiting for him. Saddest fucking thing you’ve ever seen, I swear.”

Tommy smiles, because he knows what’s coming.

“So now I have a fucking dog. Jesus, how do I let myself get talked into these things? Like I have time for a fucking dog,” Arthur pauses and Tommy’s sure he’s running his hand through his hair. “Guess what his name is. It’s Patch. I can’t make this shit up, it’s right there on his collar. So I got to thinking, who came first, Patch, or Scratch? It’s too big a coincidence for one not to be named to match the other, right? And does this make me the new Scratch? I fucking hope not.”

Tommy almost laughs. His panic has dissipated, replaced with the stillness that often comes when he’s around Arthur. Tommy thinks for a moment about Arthur’s penchant for bringing home strays.

“Look, Riordon, you need to focus. I know it’s all flashing lights and fancy bullshit over there, but none of that matters, you hear me? You’re not there to wax poetical about strategy, or the competition, or any of that other shit they’ve been broadcasting. You’re there to fight, and to win. You’re there to finish this. Whatever it takes, right?”

Tommy takes a sharp breath. Arthur knows what happened, he’s heard what everyone’s saying about Tommy, and instead of asking about it, or telling him he should be proud, Arthur told him about his week. He filled him in on the little bits of his life that Tommy missed, like he’s just away for the weekend. Like Tommy’s someone who would care. Arthur’s replaced the fear and terror in Tommy’s head with mundane shit that doesn’t even matter, and it worked.

With just a few words, Arthur’s centered him.

Chapter Text

15.

Tommy sleeps late, showering before he heads to the arena. By the time he gets there, the sun is starting its descent and he’s received several texts from Arthur.

K.O.

Does that apply to MMA?

I have no idea.

Just be careful.

And win.

Tommy rubs his thumb over the phone, then tucks it into the pocket of his track pants. He warms up, stretching and running to prepare his body for the challenge facing him. Tommy’s first fight kicks off the tournament, and he intends to set the tone.

Once he’s ready, he lays on the floor, trying to banish the stillness Arthur’s messages brought him. He has no use for that in the cage. Arthur’s presence makes him stop, makes him think. To win he’s going to need the raw energy only exposed by his rage. His pain will get him through to the next round; his trauma fueling his desire to win.

His skin is buzzing, rising to a clamor when he official gives them the five minute warning. Tommy rolls to his feet, bouncing slightly to loosen up. He pulls on his sweater, draws his hood up, and starts the walk to the ring. The crowd is cheering, and he pulls the cloak of his indignation tighter around himself. He’s starting to drift, detaching his mind from his body in order to lose himself completely to his fury. Paddy’s hands on his shoulders are white hot, sending a jolt of disgust through him, and it’s good, it’s good, it’s just what he needs.

The camera’s right in his face, and hands slide over his arms as he makes his way down the aisle, but Tommy’s beyond all that now. He’s ready.

The minute he’s in the ring, all he can see is Barbossa. He taller than Tommy, has a longer reach, but Tommy knows his lower center of gravity and the sheer force of his strength is enough to take his opponent down.

The ref sets them loose and Paddy’s shouting instructions over the screaming crowd. Tommy lets Barbossa feel him out for a few jabs, waiting for his opening. It comes within moments and Tommy takes it, knocking Barbossa out with a vicious left hook. The sound of flesh hitting the mat is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, and for one shining moment, Tommy’s completely happy. He flees the ring, blood singing, cock at half mast from the adrenaline, and desperate for the next fight.

He gets a rub down and returns to his mat on the floor while Paddy natters on about the Marines in the stands. Tommy can’t think about that now, he can’t afford the distraction. He needs to focus on the next fight. His fingers itch for his phone, his eyes going to his clothes on the other side of the room. It’s so tempting. He knows Arthur’s watching at home, but Arthur’s never seen him fight before, and Tommy wants to know what he thinks.  

Paddy turns on the monitor to watch Brendan take on Midnight Le, and Tommy mostly fails at blocking it out. Tommy’s not as surprised as everyone else seems to be when Brendan survives the first, brutal round. Conlon boys learned young how to take a beating and walk away. Brendan takes out Midnight in the second with a Kimura lock, but Tommy shrugs it off. There’s no doubt in his mind who will be left standing at the end.

The Russian, Koba, obliterates his second opponent and Tommy grits his teeth when Paddy says he’s not worried.

Mad Dog’s up next, and Tommy listens to the fight while Paddy rewraps his hands, glancing at the monitor in time to see Mad Dog make a throat slit gesture to the camera. A gift apparently intended for Tommy. He turns back to Paddy, impassive.

He lays back down and tries to concentrate, ignoring the cheering for Brendan’s second bout. Brendan goes three rounds with Karl Kruller before he locks him up and forces the Dane to tap. The crowd is deafening, even from Tommy’s room, but he stays calm. Brendan’s slowing down.

The sound of the crowd chanting his name is harder to drown out the second time around. They’ve gotten louder, drunker, and they’re out for blood. For the first time, Tommy lets himself really think about what it would be like to face Brendan in the cage. To be able to let loose and show his big brother the damage he caused when he stayed behind.

The referee has to intervene when Santana stops moving and Tommy doesn’t stop hitting him. The second win is sweeter than the first and he storms out of the cage, high on victory.

Tommy hurries through his cool down, showering and bolting while Paddy’s yammering to a camera crew. He locks himself in his room and calls Arthur, his hands shaking so badly he drops the phone and has to start again.

It takes four rings for Arthur to pick up, and when he does, his voice is measured.

“Arthur?”

“Hi, Tommy.”

“I won.” Tommy says, like he doesn’t know Arthur watched both fights.

“Yeah, I know. Congratulations. That’s great.” Arthur sounds distracted.

Tommy sits on the end of the bed, mind going dark at the absence of joy in Arthur’s voice. “That’s what I came here to do. It’s what you told me to do.”

“I know. I know I did, I just. Jesus, Tommy, I had no idea.”

“You know what I do.” Tommy spits.

“I’ve seen fights before, Tommy. That wasn’t- I don’t know what that was.”

“That was me.”

“That wasn’t you, that was, something else. I guess I’m just a little shocked. I’m glad you won, Tommy, I really, really am. I’m just having a hard time seeing the Tommy I know in that guy in the ring. He’s, to be honest, he’s a little unnerving.”

“You told me to do whatever it take to win, you remember that?” Tommy says, hand clenched so tight his nails are leaving marks in his palm.

“Yes, but-”

“This is what it takes for me to win. This is what I have to be. I can’t go into the cage you’re broken little fuckboy and expect to win. You can’t have it both ways.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy, I never said-” Arthur’s voice is high and angry and it makes Tommy’s head ache.

“Whatever. It’s not my problem if you can’t handle that I’m not on my knees for you all the time.”

“I never gave you anything you didn’t want. Don’t pretend like you weren’t begging me to fuck you, Tommy. Don’t do that.”

Tommy closes his eyes, hating how angry he is, how hard he needs to stay to get through this. “I’m not the guy you think I am, okay? This is it. This is me. I’m good at one thing. In the ring, that’s all I’m ever gonna have.”

“That’s bullshit, Tommy, and you know it. You have me. We have something, and I think we should back off before we ruin that.” Arthur’s voice is tight, more strained than it was before.

Tommy’s exhausted. So tired of trying to be all the versions of himself that others want him to be. He’s desperate to give in, to be the man Arthur sees when he looks at him, but that guy is useless right now. He needs to hold onto the hard part of himself, the one that makes him the man who can walk into the cage a fighter and walk out a champion. Arthur’s Tommy can’t do that. He’s too weak. So he grits his teeth and he does what Tommy does best. He ruins things.

“What do we have? A handful of fucks and half a dozen words spoken in between? We were just passing the time. Something to do.”

“Tommy, you need to stop. Please. You’re mad, and I get that. There’s a lot going on, and I know you’re stressed. But it’s not me that you’re mad at. Just stop.” Arthur pleads, his anger carefully held in check.

“You don’t get it do you? I don’t care. I’ve got nothing to lose. You can take your Daddy issues and you can scurry off to the next guy. Maybe he’ll be able to stand fucking you like you want.” Tommy closes the phone and throws it across the room in anger, a sob ripping out of this throat.

He needs to get out. He needs to run before he breaks and calls Arthur and begs him for forgiveness. His heart is breaking, and he didn’t even think that it was whole enough for that to be possible, but it is, and it hurts .

Chapter Text

16.

Tommy spends the next few hours walking, trying to convince himself that driving Arthur away was the right thing to do, and that the ache in his chest doesn’t mean he loves the guy, just that he got too close.

He heard fear in Arthur’s voice, and it bothers him more than he thought it would. People have always been afraid of him and it’s served him well, but Arthur wasn’t talking about the fights when Tommy heard it, he was talking about them. When he begged Tommy to stop attacking their relationship and Arthur’s voice broke, just a bit at the end. That’s the sound Tommy can’t get out of his head.

It’s not helping that every fucking tv screen in the city is playing video footage of him with the tank on a loop. The only place he can escape it is in the casino, where management doesn’t allow tv’s, or clocks, or windows, because they don’t want you to realize you’re spending your life away, one quarter at a time.

It’s been hours since he spoke to Arthur, and if he’s smart, Arthur’s written Tommy off by now. He wonders if Arthur tried to call back, and if he did, how many times. He’s wallowing, and he knows it. Maybe if he grants himself just these few minutes to be weak, he’ll be able to pack it all away until Sparta is over.

He should be able to use this, to bundle his hatred of himself into a ball and shove it down until it’s radiating out of him. It’s a move he thought he’d perfected years ago. He can take it out in the ring. Beat his opponent senseless with the fury he feels for himself. Tommy knows he’s savage and unforgiving in a fight, that’s how he got here, and that’s how he’ll get out, so it’s not like he blames Arthur for losing sight of the Tommy he knows, he just wishes it didn’t need to be that way.

And it’s not fair, really, for Arthur to expect Tommy to always be like he is when they’re together. Not all the time. No one is just one thing. Even Paddy fucking Conlon has layers. Why shouldn’t Tommy? Arthur’s never asked about Tommy’s time in the Marines, and Tommy though it was out of respect, but maybe it’s because Arthur doesn’t want that part of him.

Tommy’s sprawled in front of a fifty cent slot machine when Paddy finds him. It’s intense, that moment, when all the insecurity and doubt plaguing him finds a worthy target. Paddy always taught them that the best way to make yourself feel better is to make someone else feel like shit, so when he asks Tommy about being a hero, Tommy feels something inside him crack. It sounds so loud in his head he wonders why Paddy doesn’t jump. He tries, for a minute, to rise above his body, like he does before a fight, because he’s never going to be ready to have this conversation, but Paddy won’t let it go.

“I know that other thing’s bothering the hell out of you, but I’m proud of you. What you did for that kid in the tank? That’s really something.” Paddy’s voice is so soft, so quiet, like he actually gives a damn about what Tommy went through.

“How about deserting my unit? Is that really something, too? Yeah. I was on my way outta country when I came across those guys. What was I supposed to do, let ‘em drown?” Tommy feeds a couple of quarters into the machine and pulls the lever.

“No,” Paddy says, then pauses, like he expects Tommy to just volunteer the information. “What’d you do?”

Tommy shakes his head and adds more quarters. “What’d I do? I took off.”

Paddy’s silent for a minute, watching Tommy. “That’s why you go by Riordan. That’s why the press can’t find your service records.”

Tommy pulls the lever and glares over his shoulder, a warning for Paddy to back off.

“What the hell happened over there, Tommy?”

It’s unfair, Tommy thinks, for him to come in here, now that Tommy might have something Paddy wants, and play the caring and compassionate father. Everything’s already happened, and Tommy won’t go trudging back through it all just to make Paddy happy. So some broken old man can have something to cling to in the misery he’s made of his life.

“That is none of your business, man.” Tommy’s head is pounding, his hands shaking as he loads more coins.

“Come on, kiddo. I’ve been there. I’ve done it. I’ve seen it. You can trust me. I’ll understand.”

It’s the ‘kiddo’ that does it. Unleashes that voice inside Tommy that always whispered that being the bigger person isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The one that wanted to hurt others like he’s been hurt. The one that sounds too much like Paddy to trust.

“Spare me the compassionate father routine, Pop. The suit don’t fit.”

“I’m really trying here, Tommy.” Paddy implores, leaning toward him. And he is trying, Tommy can see it. But it’s too little, too late, and this wasn’t the subject to broach to get the ball rolling.

Tommy channels his memories of his father, the one who built him up just to break him down. The one who knocked his wife around to keep his sons in their place. The one who rode him and Brendan hard to succeed, and tossed them aside when they failed. But Tommy learned some new tricks while he was away, and he’s found his own way of fighting back.

“You’re trying? Now? Where were you when it mattered? I needed this guy back when I was a kid. I don’t need you now. It’s too late now. Everything’s already happened,” Tommy’s calm. He’s calm and he’s cold, and he can see that Paddy doesn’t know what to do with that.  “You and Brendan don’t seem to understand that. Let me explain something to you: the only thing I have in common with Brendan Conlon is that we have absolutely no use for you.”

Paddy takes a shaky breath, moisture pooling in his eyes. It disgusts Tommy, that Paddy doesn’t seem to understand where this is coming from, that he’s the root of all Tommy’s hatred. The only difference between this and how Paddy treated him for all those years is that Paddy’s not a fucking child who wants nothing more than his father’s acceptance.

“Look at you. Yeah, I was right. I think I liked you better when you were a drunk,” Tommy turns back to the slot machine, dismissing the man at his side. “At least you had some balls then. Not like now. Tip toeing around like some beggar with your cup out.”

Tommy hands are shaking, and he can feel himself losing grip as Paddy sniffs and shuffles next to him, and he’s so angry he wants to hit something. He doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to see the man he hates in his reflection in the machine, and he doesn’t want to live with the consequences. His father’s saddled him with enough baggage to last a lifetime, and he should deserve this.

“Take it somewhere else, old man. In fact, you know what? Here’s a cup.” Tommy scoops quarters into the plastic container, spilling coins into his lap in his haste, and Paddy’s trying to argue but Tommy can’t stop, can’t let him get a word in or he’ll lose. “Why don’t you take this and go buy some more of your shitty tapes? Go back to the room and listen to some more fish stories no one gives a shit about. Go on, get outta here.”

Paddy just sits there, shaking his head, like Tommy’s the saddest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“Get the fuck outta here!” He throws his cup of quarters at Paddy and watches him walk way, beaten down.

Instead of feeling victorious,Tommy hates himself for sinking so low. He became what he hates, and the look of shock and hurt on Paddy’s face makes shame burn deep in his gut. It’s not fair. It’s not right that Paddy made him do that. Tommy’s better than that, he knows he is. Arthur knows he is. He’s alone again and there’s no one to blame but himself, and he wants to phone Arthur and beg for forgiveness, but he’s still hurt and mad, and he still has to fight. So he’ll hold onto his disgrace and his regret, and he’ll use it. Transform it into something he can work with until he’s the last man standing. It’ll work. It has to.

Chapter Text

17.

It’s nearing dinner time when Tommy startles out of sleep. He rolls out of bed and crouches next to the wall, scrubbing sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his palm. It takes him a minute to remember where he is and why. Something crashes to the floor in the other room and he can hear Paddy arguing.

Tommy can’t pretend he wasn’t expecting what he finds on the other side of the door, but shame and regret burn their way through his chest all the same. The remnants of the minibar and a room service breakfast are scattered across the seating area, and Paddy’s wandering the room with a whiskey bottle in one hand and his headphones resting crookedly over his ears. Tommy can hear Moby-Dick playing and Paddy’s quoting along as he weaves a destructive path through the suite.

“Ahab! You Godless sonofabitch!” Paddy shouts, stumbling with purpose toward Tommy. “You stop this ship!”

Paddy’s face is splotched and contorted with so much anger it’s like Tommy’s twelve again, standing with a broken dish at his feet, bracing for a hit. Tommy takes an involuntary step back. Paddy stares at him, the rage slowly draining from his body as the tape moves on without him. Tommy watches him change, finally seeing the difference between the Paddy of then, and the one who exists now, before he stumbles away.

In his childhood, his father had been mean. Spiteful, and vindictive, and resentful of all he felt life had cheated him of. His memories of Paddy are of a boogeyman sent to haunt not only his nightmares, but his waking hours as well. The man in front of him now is dejected. Weak. Made lonely by his own hands and destined to live in a hell of his own making. But somehow, having Paddy deranged and screaming in his face has stripped back the mask he’s been hiding behind. In that broken, shattered man, Tommy sees what’s waiting for him.

Paddy destroyed everything good in his life, put himself above everyone else, and Tommy doesn’t want to do that. Tommy wants love, and he wants family, but he can’t have that if he continues on the way he has; always angry, always wronged. Tommy wants so badly to be happy. To believe he can be.

Tommy follows Paddy’s path to the other bedroom, kicking aside empty minibar liquor bottles and the Sparta promo booklet. Paddy’s stumbling around, still quoting his precious Moby-Dick , and it hurts to see him like this, despairing and broken. Tommy can hear the wet gasps between Paddy’s mumbled words, and when he tries to take the bottle away he has to hold Paddy close, cup his head and feel the tremors wracking him.

This isn’t the father from Tommy’s nightmares, outraged and hateful. The man in his arms is blubbering, barely able to stand on his own, and Tommy wonders what it is that made Paddy into the man he is. He knows almost nothing of Paddy’s life before he was married. He went to Vietnam, a Marine in his own right, and Tommy remembers the medals on the wall, next to the faded and scratched picture of several young men smiling brightly with haunted eyes. He knows it’s not an excuse, that it doesn’t erase or justify Paddy’s actions once he returned home, but if Tommy’s experiences at war shaped who he is, he can’t deny Paddy’s must have as well.

Paddy’s sobbing against his shirt, snot and tears soaking through the thin cotton. Tommy gets him down on the bed, pulling the headphones off and pressing Paddy back when he tries to fight their removal. He’s shushing him, muttering soft words like he did when he found Arthur drunk and mourning on the floor, some remnant of his mother’s careful affection breaking through the walls of indifference and anger he’s constructed around his heart.

Three months ago Tommy knows he would have left Paddy to wallow in his misery, to destroy himself once and for all in retribution for his many sins. But that was before Arthur. Before Tommy learned that he could be more than that.

He tosses the Walkman onto the dresser beside the bottle of whiskey, and sniffs. Paddy’s mumbling on the bed and it hurts. Tommy knows he had a hand in this, and even if Paddy deserves it, it cuts at him to know that this, right now, is his fault. He pushed, and pushed, and let his own darkness take over in an attempt to keep Paddy out. It hadn’t worked, though, because Tommy’s here and he’s climbing onto the bed and hauling Paddy into his lap, shaking with regret.

He won’t cry, doesn’t think he could if he tried, but he smooths Paddy’s hair from his brow and wraps the robe tighter around him.

“I always loved you. You know that, don’t you Tommy? I always loved you. You and your brother. My two boys.”

Tommy doesn’t answer. Paddy’s never apologized, and it’s too late for any of that now, but Tommy holds him. Wraps his arms around his father and rests his cheek on the top of his head, cradling the man, and not for the first time, wishes things were different.

Chapter Text

18.

Tommy leaves Paddy asleep at the hotel and arrives at the arena in a stupor. His warm-up is a blur, and before he can settle they’re giving him the five-minute warning. A trainer he doesn’t know wraps his hands while people take up chanting his name.

He’s emotionally exhausted and he funnels it into determination, catching sight of the Marines standing in the arena on the monitor as the cameras pan the crowd in anticipation of the fight. Despite everything else, he’s looking forward to taking down Mad Dog again. It’s always a pleasure to wipe the cocky brashness off his face. Arthur’s voice pops into his head, mocking the ‘bad apple’ tattoo across Mad Dog’s abdomen, just like he did when he’d watched the takedown video online. Tommy grins, and the man wrapping his hands startles and backs up quickly.

The Marines are on their feet, singing ‘ The Halls of Montezuma ’ and Tommy gives them a nod, sharpening his resolve. He’s here for Manny. For Pilar and the kids. To make things right, and maybe Tommy doesn’t need his rage for this one because Arthur’s voice is back in his head, talking about the pride that comes from finishing what you’ve started, and how no one can take that away. It doesn’t matter what happens in his life after this, Tommy’s here to win.

Mad Dog enters the ring, prancing past him, trying to get a reaction. Tommy feigns disinterest, settling himself and thinking about how much Manny would have loved watching him take out this little punk.

Tommy notices the camo in Mad Dog’s mohawk and stills. The Marines in attendance seem to have noticed it as well and are booing loudly. The bell rings and Tommy goes straight for him. There will be no fucking around. No show of mercy for this little piece of shit. Tommy comes back to himself when Rosenthal, the referee, knocks him back, pulling him off Mad Dog, who is immobile on the mat.

The crowd is screaming and Tommy’s still so mad he’s shaking. He storms out of the cage, feeling the depth of his loss in a new way. The MPs are waiting for him in the locker room. Colt appears, most likely to tear a strip off Tommy for the vicious beating of Mad Dog, pausing in confusion when the sergeant won’t let him through. Tommy sits in silence, numb with failure, while Colt and the promoters try and work something out.

On the monitor, Brendan and Koba are facing off. Brendan’s putting on a good show, but Tommy knows what he looks like when he’s scared. He’s of a height with the Russian, but the man’s sheer strength will be difficult to overcome. The fact that Koba is supposedly the best in the world is just icing on the cake.

The crowd is cheering for Brendan as the round begins, but the Russian wastes no time before laying into him. By the time the horn is blown, Brendan is stumbling back to his corner, shaking his head against the pain. Colt stands beside Tommy for a minute, watching the fight.

“They’re gonna let you finish,” he says, wincing at the screen when Koba lands an uppercut that sends Brendan into the fence. “Think you can beat that?”

Colt’s talking about Koba, but Tommy knows better. He’s seen Tess in the stands, and he can see the determination in Brendan’s eyes. His brother isn’t here for glory, he’s here to survive. Tommy has no doubt he’ll be facing him in the end.

“Yep.”

Colt claps him on the back and walks away. Tommy doesn’t ask why they’re going to let him fight, he doesn’t really care as long as he wins. They know he deserted and soon so will the world. He thinks about Arthur, hearing it on tv instead of from him, and he’s glad he left his phone at the hotel. His guilt wants him to call, to explain. He wants Arthur in the stands like Brendan has Tess, there no matter the outcome. There just for him.

The horn goes off, ending the second round, and Brendan takes a while to climb to his feet. The last round cost him and it shows. The announcers are calling it already, worried about Brendan being unable to quit on his own. Someone comes to unwrap Tommy’s hands and give him a rubdown, but he can’t take his eyes off the screen. If Brendan doesn’t take Koba out this round, he loses.

The sergeant steps up to talk to him, but Tommy barely listens, one eye on the beating Koba is delivering. The sergeant seems to give up and settles for standing next to him, watching along and muttering curses at the more brutal hits. Brendan rallies and gets the Russian on his knees, sending the crowd into a hopeful frenzy. Koba pushes back and gets him into a guillotine but Brendan refuses to go down, tossing Koba over and struggling to get him into an armbar. They trade blows for a bit, Tommy following closely when Brendan’s technical superiority kicks in and he gets Koba back down on the mat, locking him deep in a knee bar. Koba’s in pain, that much is clear, but Brendan’s not letting up. He’s shaking his head, refusing his trainer’s screams to break Koba’s knee, instead sinking himself further into exhaustion by holding his opponent in place.

Tommy sits back when Koba taps, tears streaming down the Russian’s face. Brendan lets go and rolls to his knees and the crowd is deafening, celebrating the victory of their underdog. But Tommy’s seen Brendan’s weakness now. He won’t do what’s necessary to win. He still wants to be the nice guy. Brendan’s lived through hell and refuses to visit that on others, to cause them serious damage. Tommy has no such compunction. Not here, not for this.

Chapter Text

19.

Tommy goes through his warm-up while the sergeant, and the promoters, and the lawyers go over how things are going to work. The media has picked up the story and are playing it on a loop. Everyone will lose face if Tommy doesn’t fight, but the minute the last round is over, he’ll be given a check-up and taken into custody, win or lose.

The others file out, leaving the MPs to watch over Tommy as he finishes preparing for the fight. The men don’t look directly at him, but he knows they’re watching closely. The weight of their shuttered gazes hound him as he moves about the room. Having his life on display has him feeling violated and jittery, and petty jealousies come back to him, invading his mind and making him second guess himself. He’s going to prison and finding it difficult not to let hopelessness invade his fragile calm. If he doesn’t win tonight, he won’t have an opportunity to make amends, to take care of the people he’s made promises to. Even if he comes out on top, Arthur will still be gone. No way he’ll go to the trouble of visiting Tommy, and Tommy knows he couldn’t face him if he did.

After tonight he’ll be alone for good. He’ll have no one left to hurt. His mind whispers that no one expected better of him; they were all just waiting for him to fail again. Even if he wins, he won’t measure up to Brendan, will never has what Brendan holds so dear. The family, the love, the devotion. All Tommy has is tonight. All he has is himself.

A news bulletin comes on and Tommy wonders why he hasn’t shut the monitor off yet.

“A surprising turn in the story of Iraq War hero Tommy Riordan. CNN has learned that Riordan’s true identity is that of Marine Staff Sergeant Thomas Conlon, who went AWOL from his unit earlier this year following the friendly fire death of his brother-in-arms, Sergeant Manny Fernandez. Fernandez’ wife, Pilar Fernandez, spoke with me in an exclusive interview moments ago.”

After Pilar story they switch back to the live coverage, where the announcers are nearly giddy at the news that the two men battling for the championship are brothers. One of the MPs darts a look at him. Anger sparks bright and hot at the further flaying of his life, and Tommy spares a thought for Paddy. It’s not that he wishes his father were here, it’s just that it would be fitting. His boys in one place, fighting each other for all they’re worth, just like he taught them. Tommy hopes they at least paid Pilar for her segment.

If Arthur’s still watching, he’ll know this is one more thing Tommy kept from him. Out of everything, he thinks it might be the only thing Arthur could forgive him for. Arthur understands that family is a liability; they’re in the best position to make the deepest cuts. Arthur may never have been exactly where he is, but Tommy’s willing to bet he can appreciate the irony of the situation.

They give him the five-minute warning and Tommy pulls his hood over his head, staring into the mirror. The hood casts a shadow over his face and there’s a deep bitterness in his reflection he’s grateful for. He has nothing to look forward to beyond this fight, and he’s going to need every ounce of that darkness to make it to the other side.

The crowd goes wild at the opening strains of Beethoven, nearly drowning out the music as Brendan makes his way to the ring. Tommy passes the MPs, leading security down the tunnel and into the fray. The crowd is chanting his name, dressed in camo shirts and holding signs that bear his name. Every poster board declaring him a hero makes him wince. Even knowing what they know of his actions, they’re desperate to lay that mantle on him, and he’s never wanted it. Never deserved it less.

The Marines in the crowd are howling, maybe the only people in the room who know what drove Tommy to do what he did. The only ones with the power to absolve him of his sins. He’ll pay for it once the fight is over. Then he’ll have the chance to answer their call. For now all he can do is finish this.

Brendan’s in the cage, looking unsure now that Tommy’s in front of him. Like maybe he thought Tommy wouldn’t show, that he’d back down and save them both from what’s coming. Tommy glares at him and he knows Brendan can see his resolve, but instead of fear, he sees worry in Brendan’s face. Worry for Tommy.

They come together for their instructions and Brendan asks where Paddy is. Tommy turns away, hiding his guilt. He can’t afford that right now. This isn’t family in the ring with him, it’s an enemy. The only thing standing between him and having his life mean something.

Tommy catches sight of Tess in the crowd, watching Brendan with hope and apprehension. It turns his stomach. Brendan has his wife and Frank, his trainer, on his side. People invested in his life. Everyone Tommy had, he cut down. Forced them away to keep himself hard. It’s bleak, being alone in this.

The bell rings and Tommy moves, hitting hard and using Brendan’s moves against him. He can feel Brendan holding back his punches, measuring his steps just a little, and Tommy takes full advantage. He takes Brendan to the mat, layering hits on him, slamming him down one, two, three times in a row before letting loose with punches again.

Brendan’s curled beneath him, his legs unable to find purchase around Tommy’s body, delivering punches that barely glance off Tommy’s torso. The horn blows and Tommy feels Brendan relax. Tommy takes one last shot, bouncing Brendan’s head off the mat and making the crowd go wild. Rosenthal backs him into his corner while Frank screams at him. Tommy grins when Brendan looks at him like he can’t believe he took the late hit. They’re not friends here. They’re not brothers. They’re opponents and the only way forward is through. This is war.

Brendan’s watching him across the ring, his worry replaced with caution, and Tommy wants to laugh. He doesn’t want to wait for the round to start, he itches to go over there and finish this now. His blood is singing and he wants to prove once and for all that Brendan doesn’t get to have it all.

He jumps around, staying warm and never taking his eyes off his brother. Every time Brendan looks away, the darkness inside Tommy riles more, feeling ignored and cast aside. Tommy taunts Brendan as the second round begins, daring him to come at him. Tommy darts out of his corner just as aggressive as in the first round, quickly taking Brendan to the mat before hauling him back up to knee him in the face.

Tommy gets him against the fence, but Brendan keeps his hands up, limiting the damage Tommy can do. Brendan waits for his opening and grapples with Tommy, buying some time. Brendan’s trainer is ringside, screaming out instructions, and Tommy grows more vicious with every word, resenting the support his brother has around him. Tommy throws Brendan to the ground just as the warning is sounded, and they trade wild punches like a couple of kids until the ref pulls them apart. This time Brendan goes after Tommy, pissed off and spitting outrage. Tommy laughs in his face. What did Brendan expect? That Tommy would roll over for him? That he cares enough to go easy?

Tommy continues to dominate in the third round, using his brute strength to chip away at every attempt Brendan makes to lock him down. He pounds both fists into Brendan’s stomach, bowed over him on the mat. Brendan lifts his hips into the hit, throwing Tommy just off balance enough for Brendan to get his leg up and over Tommy’s shoulder, catching his arms against Brendan’s chest.

Tommy slips out, trying to pull away, and Brendan uses the space between them to roll Tommy, pinning his left arm in a deep omoplata. Tommy’s on his knees, unable to move more than an inch in either direction with Brendan’s thigh keeping his shoulder cocked at an unnatural angle.

Tommy scrabbles against the mat as Brendan exerts pressure on his shoulder joint. Tommy gets his other elbow up, catching Brendan twice in the temple, but his grip doesn’t let up. Brendan sinks lower, making Tommy scream as his shoulder torques out of alignment.

Tommy’s trapped and panicking. He doesn’t have enough leverage to twist out, and he knows Brendan will hold him here until he gives in. Brendan punches him in he head, screaming his name, but Tommy can’t tap. If he taps he’s out, and he can’t face what’s coming if he doesn’t win. Winning is the only option, it’s all Tommy has. He knows the exact moment Brendan realizes Tommy can’t give up, and part of him is thankful that Brendan doesn’t draw it out.

Brendan shoves forward, separating Tommy’s shoulder from its socket with a sickening crunch.

Chapter Text

20.

Tommy screams, his vision going blurry with pain. The next thing he knows, he has Brendan by the neck in the corner of the ring, snarling in his face and trying to land hits with his single good arm. The ref separates them and Franks drags Brendan to his corner. Tommy can’t hear what the ref is saying, the roar of his blood and the chanting of the crowd is too loud, drowning his senses and confusing him.

He hurts. Every inch of his body is like a live wire and his shoulder is burning, his arm hanging limp and useless at his side as he paces. He holds his left arm close to his side and he can’t understand how it’s all gone wrong so fast. He’s shaking, and distantly, Tommy knows he’s in shock, but he can’t remember what to do for it. He can hear his name being called but he doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

“What?” He mumbles and looks out over the crowd, but all he can see is Manny, laying in the dirt and screaming for Tommy to get down, take cover. Manny screaming for him until his throat is gone and all Tommy can see is red.

Hot tears are streaming down his face and he can feel sand in his mouth, thick on his tongue and gritty between his teeth. There are Marines everywhere he looks and Tommy shrinks away. He’s wounded and there’s nowhere to hide.

The noise of the crowd rushes in when the ref claps his hands, calling them back. He tries to shake off his confusion, getting to his feet and setting his teeth against the fire in his arm. Brendan did this. He’s the reason Tommy’s in pain. The one who’s robbed Tommy of his only chance at absolution.

Tommy’s focus narrows. He wants revenge. He wants to give as good as he’s gotten, and break Brendan right back. There’s only one way to do that right now, and that’s forcing Brendan to take him out. Brendan, who walked away from his family for love. Who spouts the healing power of forgiveness. This isn’t about Sparta anymore, this is about what’s right and what’s wrong. This is about proving to Brendan that Tommy’s worthy of the fight.

“Tommy! What are you doing?” Brendan implores, pity in his eyes.

Tommy snarls at him to shut up, holding his left arm close to his body. Brendan asks him if he’s crazy, shouting across the mat and over the jeering of the crowd. Tommy doesn’t feel crazy, he feels backed into a corner and proven to be weak. In some ways, Tommy feels saner than he ever has. All the cards are on the table and Tommy knows he’ll keep pushing until Brendan pushes back.

“What are you doing? It’s over! It’s over, Tommy. C’mon. We don’t have to do this.”

Tommy’s movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, throwing weak punches as he stalks Brendan around the ring. Brendan pleads with him to stop, blocking the hits easily, but Tommy keeps pushing until Brendan finally fights back, herding Tommy against the fence.

Tommy elbows him in the face, sending Brendan back a few steps. Brendan knees him in his wounded shoulder when Tommy doesn’t respond, screaming for an answer and begging him to quit. But Tommy can’t give up, he knows he can’t win, but he has to prove he can finish this, even if he destroys himself in the process. Tommy knows Brendan’s time to make a decision is shrinking. If he doesn’t so something soon, he’ll lose the fight on the scorecards. It’s only a matter of time before Brendan makes up his mind.

Tommy lands another hit and Brendan loses his patience. He gets Tommy back against the fence and wails on him, throwing punches that catch Tommy in the head and turn his swollen arm into a screaming ball of pain. The horn blows and Tommy stumbles back to his corner, wet sobs wracking his body sending jolts of fire through his shoulder.

The pain is making him delirious and everything is too bright, too loud. Tommy’s shaking harder than before, his vision blurry and his head in a fog, but he can’t stop. If he stops he thinks he might die right there on the mat. If he stops, he has nothing to live for.

From the corner of his eye, Tommy sees Arthur. He knows it’s not real, that it can’t be, but for a minute he lets himself believe. All he wants to do is crawl under the covers with Arthur and hide. Let Arthur soothe him and tell him it’s fine, even if it’s a lie. He wants Arthur back, just for a minute. He wants them all back, his mother, Manny, everyone he’s lost. To apologize, to explain. To let them hold him so he doesn’t have to feel so broken inside.

The horn blows and Tommy drags himself off the fence. He needs to push through. He needs to finish this. Across the ring is another person he let down. Another person he couldn’t be enough for. He wants so badly to make everything right, but he can’t. He’s gone too far past okay that nothing feels like it will ever be whole again. And still he can’t stop. He staggers around after Brendan, his brother shaking his head like he doesn’t want to do this anymore.

Tommy’s no longer sure what’s real and what’s not. He’s had this dream so many times, but Brendan never looks so broken down in Tommy’s head. Every breath he takes hurts and the cries of the crowd are a battering ram against his senses. Brendan’s eyes meet his and he sees the resolve in them and he’s relieved.

Brendan delivers a roundhouse kick and rushes to cover Tommy’s body with his own when he goes down. Brendan wraps himself around Tommy, holding him in place and repeating an apology. Tommy can’t breathe and his vision is going fuzzy, and still he can’t give in. Why did he never learn how to stop before he’s completely destroyed himself?

Brendan’s crying in his ear, and it almost feels like an embrace as he crushes his windpipe.

“I love you, Tommy! I love you.”

Tommy can hear the rawness in Brendan’s voice and something about it rips through him, cutting through the frenzy in his head. He wonders if this is what a broken heart sounds like, before he reaches back and taps Brendan’s shoulder.

The crowd explodes in cheers and screams and Tommy slumps to the mat, nearly immobile with pain and gasping for breath. The promoters try to pull Brendan away for his victory pose, but he’s curled over Tommy’s body, keeping everyone away. Tommy’s sobbing and broken on the mat and Brendan won’t leave him. He tells Tommy it’s okay, that it’s all going to work out, and Tommy can’t help but let himself be pulled in, allowing Brendan to hold him, comfort him. Love him.

He clings to Brendan, letting his brother protect him as they push through the crowd. Brendan’s voice is constant in his ear, reassuring him, keeping him grounded so Tommy doesn’t lose himself in his defeat. Tommy feels like a child, being woken from a nightmare.

Chapter Text

21.

They put his shoulder back place with the help of an ultrasound, and strap his arm to his body. He’s got a grade three concussion and refuses any painkillers, but the sergeant assures the doctor that medical at the base will keep a close eye on him. Tommy signs the release papers, eager to get on with it.

They take him to Lakehurst and the ride is only an hour, but every bump in the road jars his shoulder and makes his head pulse until they have to pull over so he can vomit. They process him at the base and the medic in charge of his care tells him he’s running a fever and may need CT in the morning if it gets worse. He’s escorted to a holding cell where they put a trash bin beside his cot and wake him every hour to check his pupils.

In the morning he’s stiff from the fight and from sleeping sitting up. His sling chafes his neck, and both his shoulder and head protested every time he tried to lay down. They move him to a detention room where the chairs and table are bolted to the floor, and the MPs can watch him through the two-way mirror.

His sits, uncomfortable and distracted by pain, anxious to start his punishment. Just as he starts to nod off, Lieutenant Colonel Waters walks in. Tommy jumps to his feet, swaying dangerously to the side when black spots cloud his vision.

“At ease, soldier.” Water steadies him with a hand to his arm.

Tommy nods and collapses back in his chair. Waters was his commanding officer in Iraq, and though Tommy knew he’d be the one in charge of what happens next, it’s a shock to have him there. The last time Tommy saw him, they were heading out on patrol. Less than four hours later, Tommy was a deserter.

Waters slaps a file down on the table, making Tommy wince. He sits as straight as he can, determined to pay the man the respect he deserves. Tommy liked Waters, he was a hardass with high standards, but unlike Paddy, Waters let you know when you met his expectations.

Manny had annoyed the shit out of him, but he was also the only one who could make the Lt. Colonel crack a smile.

“You’re in a whole heap of shit, Conlon.”

“Yes, sir.” Tommy meets his gaze straight on.

“For a trained Marine who went AWOL, you’re shit at keeping a low profile.”

Tommy nods.

“Someone from JAG will be here shortly to take your statement, but there isn’t much they can do for you, son.”

“No, sir.”

“You’re fate is in my hands, you understand that?” Waters eyes him critically.

“Yes, sir.” Tommy give him a small nod.

“You want to explain to me why you thought it was a good idea to desert your fellow Marines?”

“No, sir.” Tommy grits his teeth.

Waters purses his lips. Tommy doesn’t look away, but he wants to. His vision is still blurry and focusing on any one thing makes him dizzy.

“There’s no one on your visitor’s list, didn’t they have you make one?”

“They did, sir.”

“There must be someone that wants to see you. What about that brother of yours?”

“I’m sure he has better things to do, sir.” Tommy closes his eyes, exhausted and fading fast.

“Is that why the MPs had to hold him back at the hospital? Or why he’s called every military switchboard he can find a number for, looking for you?”

Tommy grits his teeth, making his head ache.

“You’re going to need your people to get through this, son. You could be gone for a long time.”

Tommy thinks of Arthur, of how disappointed he must be. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t give a damn.”

Waters sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I never thought you’d be the one to run. I really didn’t.”

When Tommy doesn’t respond, Waters stands and picks up his file.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Tommy gives a strangled laugh. “Where am I gonna go?”

The JAG lawyer arrives with an MP and a tray of food. Tommy’s stomach turns at the thought of eating, but he forces the sandwich down, chewing with care. He gives his statement and they go over what happens next. Waters will investigate the events surrounding Tommy’s desertion, and he’s warned he’ll more than likely be facing a court martial and time in the brig.

None of this is news to Tommy, but he thanks the man for his time. He’s left alone again and he can’t help laying his head on the table and closing his eyes. He startles awake when the door opens and an MP ushers Brendan into the room.

Tommy frowns, certain for a moment that he’s dreaming.

“Hey, Tom.” Brendan says with a tight smile. He sits down across the table and stares expectantly at Tommy.

“Why’re you here?” Tommy croaks, confused.

“Jesus, Tommy, where else would I be?” Brendan laughs.

“You’re not on my list.”

“I know. Ah, Colonel Waters granted me special admission. I think he’s hoping I can talk you into cooperating. He clearly doesn’t know you very well.”

“Lieutenant Colonel.” Tommy corrects.

“Right,” Brandan clasps his hands together and licks his lips nervously. “I don’t know why he thinks you’re going to listen to me, but, well.”

“I’m cooperating.” Tommy says, digging his fingers into his leg under the table.

“Good, that’s good. So it’s true, then? What the news reports are saying?”

“That’s none of your business.” Tommy tells him evenly.

“Okay, okay. We don’t have to talk about that.”

“You should leave. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m exactly where I should be. I wasn’t before, and I’m not going to apologize for that again, but I’m here now, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere. Everything I said after the fight, I meant. Things are going to be different now. We’re family.”

Tommy’s tired, and not at all ready to think about how vulnerable he was after the fight. How he leaned into Brendan, sobbing and in pain, ready to let someone else take care of him.

“I’m going to prison,” he says, eyes dragging up to meet Brendan’s. “I’m not going to be around for a while.”

“I know. I know we can’t avoid jail time, but there has to be something we can do to help your case.”

“I went AWOL, Bren. That’s serious.”

“Yeah, the lawyer I hired says-”

“You what?” Tommy interrupts.

Brendan sighs, as though preparing for a fight. “I hired a lawyer. She’s a civilian, but she specializes in military law. She says we have some options.”

“When did you have time to do that?” Tommy asks.

“Tommy, it’s been two days since the fight. I tried to get in to see you sooner, but they said I wasn’t on the list.”

Tommy frowns, bothered by the knowledge that he’s lost large chunks of time. “I don’t remember.”

“The doctors said you have a concussion, you know how that can go.” Brendan says gently, laying his hand on Tommy’s arm.

Tommy stares at the contact, unable to gather the energy needed to pull away. “Pop can’t come. Don’t let him in here.”

“I won’t, Tommy. I’ll make sure.” Brendan squeezes his arm.

“I saw him after the fight. I remember his face.” Tommy rasps, tears prickling behind his eyes. Paddy had been so fucking smug.

“I know, trust me. You don’t have to see him until you’re ready.”

Tommy wipes at his eyes, avoiding Brendan’s gaze. They sit in silence for a few minutes and Brendan takes his hands back, wincing when he coughs. A part of Tommy is pleased knowing his anger left a mark on his brother.

“So, Pop gave me your phone.”

Tommy feels like his heart drops into his stomach.

“There are a lot of calls and texts from someone named Arthur.” Brendan’s not looking directly at him, but Tommy feels the weight of his gaze all the same.

“He seems… nice.”

“You talked to him?” Tommy demands.

“The damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing, I had to pick up!”

“You coulda shut it off.”

“Tommy, he’s really worried.” Brendan leans forward.

“What did he tell you?” Tommy’s heart is racing, his hands shaking.

“He didn’t tell me anything, just said he was a friend. Asked what was going on, if I’d talked to you.”

“Don’t talk to him anymore, he’s no one.”

Brendan frowns at him. “Tommy, I’ve seen the pictures. He doesn’t seem like no one.”

“You had no right!” Tommy roars, lurching to his feet to pace the length of the room. His head is pounding and he can’t catch his breath.

“Tommy, calm down. I don’t care about any of that.”

“You know nothing about me, you don’t get to judge.” Tommy gasps, hunching over in the corner and trying to stop the room from spinning.

“I’m not judging, Tom, I swear. I’m glad you have someone. You deserve that.” Brendan’s beside him, and Tommy doesn’t remember him even standing up.

“No, I don’t,” he whispers.

“Yes, you do. He’s kind of a pain in the ass, you know, he calls three times a day. Tess talked to him, she’s keeping him updated. Tommy, he cares about you, let him.”

Tommy shakes his head. “He’s too good for me.”

“Probably,” Brendan laughs, squeezing the back of Tommy’s neck. “He told me to tell you you still owe him breakfast.”

Tommy bites his cheek. He won’t cry here. He can’t afford to break down right now. He straightens, backing away from Brendan. There’s a knock at the door and an MP comes in to escort Brendan out.

“I gotta go for now, but I’ll be back tomorrow. We’re gonna to figure this out, okay? Together.” Brendan tries a smile, grimacing when it pulls at the scab on his lip.

Tommy nods, leaning against the wall and watching him go. Tommy knows he can’t hold on to his thoughts of Arthur. He can’t ask Arthur to wait for him, and he knows Arthur would try. But it’s just not fair to make Arthur promise something like that when Tommy knows he’ll walk away in the end anyway.

“Tell him to go with his backup plan.” Tommy says before Brendan’s out the door.

His brother frowns at him but nods, the door closing firmly behind him.

Chapter Text

22.

Tommy’s taken to medical for a check-up, then sent back to his room. The swelling over his right eye has gone down, and the navy doctor is confident he won’t have any lasting effects from his concussion. Tommy still feels like shit, but he refuses the painkillers again, opting instead of a heating pack for the abused muscles in his shoulder.

He spends another uncomfortable night propped up on his cot, and wakes to a tray of cold scrambled eggs and lukewarm coffee. Waters is waiting in the detention room when he arrives, and they go over his statement, Tommy, answering question after question about the friendly fire incident and his rescue of the men in the tank.

Waters is packing up his things when he stops and looks at Tommy, studying him for a minute before speaking.

“You did a good thing, saving those boys. I know it doesn’t erase surviving the deaths of your men, but without you, there would have been twice as many families to notify. You’re not wrong to hold onto that.”

Tommy lets out a shaky breath and looks away. He can’t allow himself to take pride in saving those men. If he’d stayed where he was supposed to, they’d be dead, and he knows that, but being happy they’re alive somehow feels like accepting that his brothers had to die. He won’t do that.

Waters has been gone about fifteen minutes when Brendan is shown in. He’s limping a little, and he smiles bashfully when Tommy raises an eyebrow at him.

“Ran into the fucking couch at the hotel. I left the phone in the other room and when it started ringing at two am, I jumped up to get it.”

“Old man.” Tommy chides.

“Don’t laugh, it was your damn boyfriend on the line.”

Tommy sobers, looking down at his lap.  “Why’s he calling you at two in the morning?”

“He wasn’t calling me, he was calling you. He leaves you voicemails, I can’t listen to them, so don’t look at me like that. I don’t have your password and they won’t let me bring the phone in here.”

“Why’d you pick up if you knew it wasn’t for you?” Tommy asks with a sneer.

Brendan glares at him. “Because it was two in the fucking morning, and I was half asleep. My first thought was that something was wrong with the girls.”

Tommy nods, scratching the side of his head. He knows he shouldn’t ask but he can’t help himself. “Wha’d he say?”

“I left him a message yesterday telling him what you said, about the backup plan.”

“And?” Tommy says, impatiently.

“And he told me to tell you ‘Fuck off and come home’,” Brendan grins. “That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

“I bet it is,” Tommy mumbles, feeling choked up.

“I like him. He seems good for you.”

“He’s too good for me.” Tommy sniffs, looking away.

“Why do you do that, Tommy? Even as a kid you beat yourself up. We had Pop to do that for us, you didn’t need to do it to yourself.”

Tommy glares at him. Brendan never did see how lucky he was, not being Paddy’s favourite. He didn’t get the constant attention that Tommy did, the pushing and prodding to do more, be better. Even as an undefeated wrestling champion, Paddy made sure Tommy knew he’d never be enough.

“And now I have you, right? You beat me in the ring, gonna rub that in, too?”

“Tommy, I was fighting for my family. I had no choice but to win.”

“So was I!” Tommy spits.

“And do you feel like you’ve earned them yet? Are you worthy of the people you care about? Because I know I am. That’s why I won, Tommy.”

Tommy jabs his finger at Brendan. “Fuck you. You think you’re so high and mighty with your picture in your wallet, and your girl in the stands. Why do you need the rest of us? Why are you here, Brendan? I got nothin’ for you.”

“You’re my brother, Tommy. I love you. You’re my family, why don’t you want that?”

“I did want that, and you bailed. You have a new brother now, what’s his name? Frank? Go be his brother.”

Brendan sits back in his chair and laughs. “You’re jealous.”

“Fuck you.”

“You are,” Brendan leans forward. “You can sit there and act like you want nothing to do with me, but I see you, Tommy. I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. You’re going away for a while, but I’ll be right here when you get out. I’m not letting you push me away again.”

Tommy glowers at him, anger and embarrassment coiling so tight he starts to shake. He gets up and pounds on the door, demanding to be let out. He leave Brendan in the detention room, calling his name.

******

Tommy spends a lot of time in his room, pacing from one side to the other. He needs to keep his healing muscles moving or they’ll seize up. He supposes he should get used to the inactivity, seeing as he’ll probably be locked in a cell like this for the next twenty to thirty years. The United States Navy takes desertion seriously, and they’ll no doubt want to make an example out of someone like him. His part in Sparta didn’t do him any favours.

They take him to meet with a military shrink after lunch. She tells him she’s there to evaluate his competency and asks him about his childhood. Tommy answers all her questions, but loses track of things when she asks about his time in Iraq, and the weeks after his desertion. The next thing he knows, he’s back in his cell, spread out on the cot with his shoulder on fire.

They bring him another heat pack, and he settles into a troubled sleep where he spends long years looking for someone, never quite remembering who that someone is. Brendan’s in the detention room when he gets there, and Tommy just shakes his head.

“You never learn, do you?”

“Nope,” Brendan grins. “Guess you’re stuck with me. I talked to the lawyer yesterday,” Brendan says once Tommy’s seated.

“Good for you,” Tommy says, drily.

“She said there’s a lot of outside pressure because of your story and what you did with that tank. She thinks it will help to sway the outcome in your favour.”

“I don’t want that.” Tommy tells him sternly.

“Tommy, you can’t actually want to go to prison for decades. Because that’s what the usual sentence is. Thirty years.”

“I knew what I was doing when I walked away. I’ll take the punishment.”

“Jesus, Tommy, are you insane? Your entire squad had just been killed in front of you. You couldn’t have been thinking clearly. We just got you back, and you’re not even going to fight this?”

“You weren’t there, you have no idea what it was like.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tommy says, knee bouncing under the table.

“Okay, okay. We don’t have to.” Brendan holds his hands up in surrender.

Tommy nods, biting at his thumbnail.

“Wanna know who else’s been calling me?” Brendan asks. “Colt Boyd.”

Tommy frowns. “What’s he want?”

“You. Wants to know if you’re gonna keep fighting after you get out. Wanted me to tell you he’ll back you if your shoulder heals.”

“It’ll heal,” Tommy says.

“Yeah, but it won’t matter if you’re an old man when you get out.”

Before Tommy can respond, Waters opens the door. He looks from where Tommy is now standing, to Brendan, then closes the door behind him.

“Mr. Conlon, nice to see you again.” Waters shakes Brendan’s hand.

“Yeah, you too. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

“I have news about the hearing, I assume you’ll be attending?”

Brendan answers ‘yes’ at the same time Tommy answers ‘no’ and they glare at each other across the table.

“Excellent,” Waters says and turns to Tommy. “Is there anyone else you would or would not like in attendance? You won’t get another chance to say goodbye once you’re sentenced.”

Brendan raises an eyebrow and mouths ‘Arthur’.

Tommy shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“I’ve consulted with the council who will oversee your court martial, and we have the report from the shrink, so we’ll convene in the morning and get this over with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, I’ll leave you to it.”

Tommy glares at Brendan as soon as the door is closed, and Brendan sighs.

“Whatever, Tommy, it’s your life. But at least give me a message or something for him. You know how he feels, I know you do.”

Tommy flushes. “Shut up and tell me about your girls or something. You gonna buy them a pony now, or what?”

Brendan grins and launches into detailing every facet of his daughters’ lives. Tommy realizes after Brendan leaves, that he’s happy for his brother. He’s still angry and frustrated at the things Brendan’s done, but knowing he has someone to go home to, someone to look after him, settles Tommy a little. He figures after all they’ve been through, one of them should end up happy. He never really thought it’d be him anyway.

Chapter Text

23.

Tommy asks for a pen and some paper when he gets back to his cell. The shrink suggested he write to his loved ones if he was going to insist they not visit him in the brig. Besides, there are some things you just can’t say to someone when you’re in a prison visitation room.

The guard stays while Tommy writes, watching closely in case Tommy decides to slit his own throat or something. He thinks about writing to Paddy, maybe even to Pilar, but when it comes down to it, there’s only one person he has words for.

It’s hard to put on paper how he feels about Arthur, and to explain why Tommy doesn’t want him to visit. It comes down to Arthur deserving more than Tommy can give him. Deserving better than the man Tommy’s become. He gets it out, though, and he hands the letter over to be checked before it’s mailed. By the time Arthur gets it, Tommy’s fate will have been decided.

He sleeps fitfully, his shoulder still throbbing every time he moves. He’s sitting awake thinking about where he’ll end up when they come to take him to the bathroom. Once he’s finished, they lead him to an unfamiliar wing of the base. Brendan’s in the waiting room when Tommy arrives, pacing. His eyes flick to the MPs, then to Tommy.

“Did they tell you?” Brendan asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Tell me what?” Tommy grimaces at the awkward placing of his brace. He’d had trouble fitting it back on after his shower and it’s pulling at the abused ligaments around his arm socket.

Brendan checks with the guards, then comes closer, helping Tommy adjust the brace. “Some senator was on the news last night, calling for your release,” Brendan tells him in a low voice.

“I don’t know any senator.”

“Bradford, that kid whose unit you saved? Apparently he has a very powerful family. Chock full of judges and politicians.” Brendan fiddles with the velcro on the strap to buy time.

“They’re not just going to release me, I deserted.” Tommy argues, hating the hope that’s sprung up inside him.

“No, but it could go a long way to shortening your sentence.”

“It doesn’t work like that here,” Tommy hisses, pulling away.

“Tommy-” Brendan’s mouth snaps shut as the door opens.

Waters waves them in, looking pissed off to the extreme. Tommy’s seen the man truly mad once or twice, but nothing like he is now. The six members of the council are sitting in a row behind a long table. None of them spare Tommy a glance, but he keeps his head up. He sits where he’s told and Brendan takes the seat behind him, kicking Tommy’s chair leg to let him know he’s there.

“I think we’re ready, Lieutenant Colonel,” says a woman with three stars on her epaulets.

Tommy swallows thickly. His case must be causing a fuss if there’s a three-star general on the council.

“We convene today to assess the actions taken by Staff Sergeant Thomas Conlon against the United States Marine Corps on the evening of February fifteenth, two thousand and eleven. As SSgt Conlon’s commanding officer, it falls to me to determine whether or not a Court Martial is required for those actions.” Waters pauses and stares hard as Tommy. He shakes his head minutely before continuing.

“Due to the unfortunate events on the night in question, resulting in the deaths of nine of his fellow Marines, and the subsequent mental trauma that SSgt Conlon exhibited, I find him guilty of an Unauthorized Absence, subjecting him to punishment in congruence with Article 85 of the United States Marine Corps.”

Tommy can hardly believe it. He’s not being tried for desertion. They’re treating him like he wandered off base, or failed to report on time for duty. No wonder Waters looks ready to shit a brick, it takes serious power to alter the findings of a military investigation.

“Taking into account the heroic actions taken by SSgt Conlon on the evening of February twentieth, two thousand and eleven,” he continues, jaw tight. “And considering his exemplary military record, he is sentenced to eighteen months at the Naval Weapons Station in Charleston, South Carolina, effective immediately. At the conclusion of his sentence, SSgt Conlon will be given a Bad Conduct Discharge and stripped of any future benefits. Does the council agree?”

Tommy stares straight ahead, trying to mask his panting breaths. The council signs off on the decision and Tommy’s taken back to the waiting room with Brendan.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” Brendan crows quietly.

Tommy can’t either. It’s way beyond his projected best case scenario. Eighteen months. Maybe twelve with good behaviour. Considering how pissed off everyone is about it, probably not.

Waters stalks in. “I don’t know who’s on your side, son, but they pulled off a miracle today. This outcome goes against all of my recommendations.”

“Yes, sir.” Tommy agrees, staring just over the Lieutenant Colonel’s shoulder.

“I know you know you deserve more than you got. I want you to remember that when you get out. You live the rest of your life knowing you owe your freedom to someone else.”

“Yes, sir.” Tommy chokes out, shame burning through him.

Waters leaves and the MPs tell him he has five minutes. Brendan’s beaming and Tommy wants to hit him a little bit.

“You’ll put me on the list to visit?” Brendan asks.

“No.” Tommy shakes his head.

“Tommy, come on. You can’t do eighteen months without any outside contact.”

“I don’t want you to see me there, I don’t want anybody to see me like that,” Tommy says.

“So I guess Arthur’s not going on the list either? What am I supposed to tell him?”

“You don’t gotta tell him nothing. It’s already taken care of.” Tommy turns away.

“What, did you call him?”

Tommy shakes his head, wishing the MPs would come back.

“Tommy, what did you do?” Brendan puts his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy shrugs him off. “I wrote him a letter, okay? It’s none of your business.”

“You wrote him a letter. Saying what? That he should forget about you? Jesus, Tommy, the guy’s in love with you.”

“Well he shouldn’t be. And I thought I was going away for thirty years. You think it’s okay to ask someone to wait that long? Would you ask Tess to wait, or would you tell her to move on, live her life?”

Brendan looks away, lips thinning.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tommy sneers. “You don’t get to talk to me about being selfish, Brendan. You cornered the market on that one years ago.”

“Don’t start that again, Tommy. This is different.”

“Is it? You decided to do what suited you best back then, and now you want to bitch at me for trying to survive prison the only way I know how? I can’t sit in a cell, even for eighteen months, and think about him. I can’t do it. He has a life, and a future, and all I’m ever going to be is trouble for him. I couldn’t give him what he deserves before, and I’m sure as hell not going to be able to do it after.”

“But Tom, he wants to be there for you.”

“It doesn’t matter. For once, I’m doing what I need. The only way I’m going to get through this without going crazy is if I don’t have to worry about him waiting for me out here.”

Brendan’s looking at him with pity in his eyes and Tommy’s thankful when the MP opens the door because he doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. Brendan hugs him, mindful of the shoulder, and tells him he’ll write.

Tommy gets one more assessment by the base’s medical team before they put him back in his cell to wait. And wait. After two hours he’s sure they’ve left him alone on purpose. His mind is still reeling from the outcome of his hearing, and he’s itching to get started doing his time, but sitting here in the quiet of his cell makes him paranoid. Have they changed their minds? Tommy wouldn’t blame them if they did, but the least they can do it tell him before his mind starts to wander to what might still be waiting for him when he gets out.

In his letter, he told Arthur to forget about him. He tried not to be cruel, but he’s known Arthur a while now and Tommy knows being blunt was the only option. Brendan will tell Arthur the results of the hearing, hell, it’ll probably be announced on the six o’clock news tonight. Arthur’s always taken Tommy at face value, but maybe this time he’ll see through the bravado and call his bluff. Maybe when Tommy gets out, Arthur will be waiting.

The thought makes his chest hurt, both because he wants it so badly, and because he knows he still won’t deserve Arthur then. He focuses on fighting before he drives himself insane. Colt still wants to manage him, and Tommy won’t say yes, but that means there might be others out there who feel the same. The interest in him before Sparta had been substantial, and if his shoulder heals well, some of those people might still be kicking around. Tommy didn’t win Sparta, but second place isn’t a bad place to be.

Chapter Text

24.

They fly Tommy out that afternoon. By the time the MPs come for him, he’s pacing from one end of the cell to the other. He needs a plan. He focuses on that as they walk him out to the tarmac and load him into the small supply plane. The flight to NWS Charleston isn’t long, and by then Tommy’s burned the five steps into his memory.

Step one is to make sure his shoulder heals properly. That means doing whatever he’s told and avoiding confrontations. The brig isn’t nearly as hostile as a civilian prison, but Tommy can’t hide the fact that he walked away from duty. Sooner or later it’s going to get out and someone’s gonna think he still has a lesson to learn. To be honest, he’s more worried about the damage the guards can do with their batons.

Step two is to keep his head down. There’s a slim chance keeping his nose clean will shave some time off his sentence, and now that getting out before he’s nearing sixty is a possibility, Tommy feels almost giddy.

Step three is to pay his dues. He’s going to the brig for a reason, and he can’t let himself forget that. The attitude that he’s somehow been wronged won’t pay tribute to Manny or the others.

Step four is to survive. He already knows he’ll be attending mandatory counselling and a rehabilitation program while he’s inside, both of which are no doubt good ideas, but if Tommy wants to make something of himself when he gets out, he can’t let too much of his anger go. It’s what motivates him. It’s the element that allows him to be better than his opponents. Faster, stronger, and more focused. Tommy needs to hold onto that edge.

Step five is to not think about Arthur. To not expect anything from Arthur. To let Arthur go.

He fails step five about once every hour for the first week. They keep him in solitary 23 out of 24 hours for the first three days while they do his initial mental health and risk assessment, and every time he lets his mind wander it heads straight for a deep, easy laugh and dark hair curling delicately around Tommy’s thick fingers.

His caseworker is a man named Juan, and Tommy doesn’t hate him on sight, so he chalks it up as a victory. Juan isn’t impressed with Tommy’s showing at Sparta, but he does ask him what it was like to get his ass handed to him by his big brother on national television. It’s a deliberate provocation, but Tommy just sits there, gaze unwavering, until Juan smirks and writes something down in Tommy’s file.

The prison runs on a tight schedule, and part of Tommy is relieved by how much like basic training it is. He has to ask permission to do just about anything, but he actually has more liberties and free time than he did back then. He’s not allowed to salute the guards, but their uniforms are taken just as seriously here as they were on base. Tommy gets assigned kitchen duty, which he figures is a win until he finds out he’s expected to run the giant dishwasher one-handed and count silverware three times a day. All in all, it’s not much different from being posted out.

Tommy’s a bit of a celebrity amongst the prisoners, even though they aren’t allowed to watch anything near as violent as Tommy’s fights. But news from the outside trickles in, and soon Tommy has the occasional question thrown his way. He ignores them all as neutrally as possible and people seem to get the hint. Still, he stays away from anywhere larger groups gather, just in case.

His antisocial nature doesn’t go unnoticed by Juan and he no-so-subtly hints that Tommy should attend the next movie night, so the following Tuesday Tommy wanders into the media room a half hour after the movie has started and leans against the back wall. They’re playing Harry and the Hendersons and Tommy walks out twenty minutes later, fighting the tight ball of panic that’s seizing in his chest. He sits on his cot and presses his back to the cold stone wall, trying to concentrate on his breathing and not on the memory of the night Paddy knocked his mother into the sharp edge of the table and split her head open.

It was one of the few time the State actually took notice of them. It had been pure chance that the ambulance driver that day was the same as the one who showed up the day Brendan fell down the stairs and broke his arm in two places. Tommy remembers sitting in the family lounge at the hospital, watching Harry the sasquatch munch on Mrs. Mofitt’s prize-winning roses while some social worker tried to get him to tell her the truth. At that point he’d thought his mother was dead. She wasn’t conscious when he called the ambulance, and there was so much blood. No one would tell him anything and all Tommy wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry.

Thinking about it now makes him gag and he has to rush to the toilet to cough up his tuna casserole. He sits on the floor until his head stops spinning and the guards signal the warning for lights out. Tommy lays in bed, his still-shaking hands gripping the scratchy blanket, and he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help thinking about what Arthur might be doing.

Chapter Text

25.

Tommy’s sling comes off after three weeks, but he’s told to wait at least another week to begin exercising his shoulder. The joint jolts uncomfortably when he runs, but other than that, Tommy’s pleased with how it’s healed. He meets with Juan three times a week for counselling, and Tommy learns quickly that not answering the man’s questions isn’t an option.

“Inmate Conlon, I see they’ve released you from bondage.” Juan nods toward his shoulder and Tommy flexes unconsciously, wincing at the pain. “Don’t rush it.”

“I’m not rushing it,” Tommy mutters, sitting down. He hates that everyone here calls him Conlon. The name no longer sits right with him, hasn’t for a while if he’s honest with himself. Tommy Conlon is his past, the one he’s putting to rest while he’s in here. He met Arthur as Tommy Riordan, fought as Tommy Riordan, and he just wants to go back to being Tommy Riordan.

“Your brother sent you a letter,” Juan tosses the opened envelope onto the desk in front of Tommy. “He’s a bit of a self-righteous bastard, isn’t he?”

Tommy snorts and slides the single sheet of paper out.

“Who’s Arthur?”

Tommy’s grinds his teeth at the question. He has no intention of bringing Arthur into any of what he does here, and Juan’s inquiry throws him. His eyes quickly scan Brendan’s letter before he answers, seeing what his brother may have revealed.

“Just a guy I know. Doesn’t matter,” Tommy lies, sitting back.

“Seems strange that your brother would spend two out of the four paragraphs he wrote to you talking about a guy who doesn’t matter.”

Tommy glares across the table, but even his best scowl isn’t enough to make the man back off. He should have had Arthur give him lessons before he left for Sparta. He’s seen Arthur shut down people much scarier than Tommy or Juan with a single look.

“He’s none of your business,” Tommy says, and is that ever the wrong thing to say because now Juan really looks interested.

“Your brother says this Arthur’s pissed at you. Used some very colourful language to describe Arthur’s reaction to your letter. What did you put in that letter, I wonder.”

Tommy clenches his jaw until it aches.

“I could request a copy from Lakehurst, you know. Or you can tell me,” Juan shrugs. “Lying to me doesn’t end well for most people.”

Tommy sighs. Juan decides a lot of how Tommy’s time here will go, and pissing him off this early won’t be doing himself any favours.

“Arthur and I. Arthur was my…” Tommy pauses. Boyfriend seems like such an inadequate word, but it is what Arthur called him, so it’ll have to do. “Boyfriend.”

Juan nods, eyes intent on Tommy’s. “I hear from the kitchen staff that you’re very inquisitive.”

Tommy blinks, startled by the sudden change of subject.

“I’m jealous, Tommy. You never ask me questions.” Juan deadpans.

“You’re just not approachable, I guess.” Tommy tells him, relaxing a little.

“Is cooking something you enjoy?”

Tommy picks at a hangnail. “I dunno. I like the idea of it.”

Juan nods. “What about it?”

Tommy rubs his upper lip. “I used to take care my mom, yeah? Did the cooking and cleaning and shit. It helped her out when she got sick.” Tommy’s not comfortable talking about it, but he’s been over the broad details of his life with Juan, and knowing he’s not going to get any pity make it easier to discuss. “I liked being able to take that off her plate. There wasn’t much else I could do.”

“Did you like taking care of her?”

“Nah, she was sick a lot and I felt pretty useless most of the time.”

“But the other things, knowing she didn’t have to worry about cleaning, or cooking, how was that?” Juan presses.

“I dunno. I guess I liked knowing she was being taken care of. That I was the one doing it. Made me feel helpful, yeah?”

“Did you take care of Arthur, too?” Juan asks.

Tommy sits back, his mask of indifference sliding into place. “I’m not talking about Arthur.”

Except now he can’t help thinking about him. He never did get to cook for Arthur. To feed him. Tommy got too busy with training and they were happy spending what little time they had in bed. Tommy thinks that’s a regret he’ll carry around with him for a while.

Juan asks him a few more questions about his mother, and about his interests outside fighting, then dismisses him. Tommy just about to the door when Juan speaks.

“You need to make peace with yourself before you can make peace with others. You know that right, Conlon?”

Tommy jerks his head and opens the door. He spends the rest of the day thinking about the last words he said to Arthur. His sharp intake of breath when Tommy told him they were just passing the time, that Tommy didn’t care about what they had. Most of all, he thinks about Arthur begging him to stop talking, and how Tommy has no one to blame but himself for his broken heart.

Chapter Text

26.

Tommy gets a letter from Pilar in August. She tells him the kids are doing well, and thanks him for the money he sent. Tommy frowns at the words, not understanding until she says she talked to Brendan. He must have sent it and told her it was from Tommy. He feels uncomfortably warm at the thought. He’s grateful Brendan thought to help them, and even more so that he didn’t make Tommy ask.

She sends pictures of the kids and talks about how her church organized a fundraiser for them after she did the interview for the story on Tommy. If her and the kids getting ahead is the only good thing to come from all of this, Tommy thinks he can live with the rest of it.

“Maybe your brother has some redeeming qualities after all,” Juan remarks when Tommy’s done reading the letter. Tommy just nods and stares at his feet.

Later, while he’s doing the lunch dishes in the kitchen, the head cook, a small Filipino man named Kee, brings over his dirty utensils and stops to watch Tommy for a minute.

“I saw you fight at Sparta,” Kee says, watching Tommy spray down a pot.

Tommy pauses, but Kee just nods and walks away. The next morning, Kee calls him away from the dishes and sets him to peeling carrots for the dinner prep. The following week he shows Tommy how to make oatmeal in the giant vats on the stove. When Kee teaches him to roll pastry, Liburd, one of the other inmates on kitchen duty, complains loudly that Kee’s playing favourites.

Tommy smirks at Liburd and gets a wet rag to the face in retaliation. Tommy likes Liburd, he’s not a big guy, dark skinned and compact, with a gap between his front teeth big enough to slide his thumb through. Tommy knows this because it’s one of the first things Liburd told him. The man has no filter and Tommy has no idea how he made it through basic with a mouth that big. He talks nonstop about his girl; how she’s waiting for him, the pictures she sends that barely make it past the censors, her hands, her mouth, he never fucking shuts up.

Tommy doesn’t listen to him so much as he enjoys the break in the monotony that rules his days in the brig. He might tentatively, possibly consider calling Liburd a friend. Or at least as close to one as he’s likely to make in here. Tommy thinks Arthur would be proud.

He starts eating his meals in the kitchen with Kee and Liburd and a few other inmates and staff. It’s quieter than the mess hall, and Tommy doesn’t have to worry about people asking him uncomfortable questions about Sparta, or his shoulder, or what he’s in for.

At Thanksgiving, Kee teaches Tommy how to make pecan bars, showing him how to line the trays and evenly spread out the filling. Tommy makes twenty trays and feels useful for the first time since he got here.

Brendan sends a letter a month, checking in and letting Tommy know they’re still out there, waiting for him. He puts the pictures of Brendan’s girls up beside the ones Pilar sent, and carefully tacks up the drawings they’ve made for him. It’s strange to him, that they seem so attached to someone they’ve never met, but Tommy tries not to question it too much. It feels good to be thought about.

Chapter Text

Group therapy is twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays and it’s a special hell for Tommy. Sitting in a circle, talking about mental health and addiction issues is not something Tommy would ever volunteer for. It’s awkward and intrusive, and there’s way too much snivelling. Tommy doesn’t see how he’s gonna benefit from telling a room full of strangers how he feels. There’s a reason his chosen profession is to punch people in the face.

Most of the other inmates in the group are doing time for drug offenses. Dealing, using, cooking, you name it, they’ve done it. They spend most of their floor time talking about scores they made, ones they didn’t, and how they got caught. By the fourth week, Tommy knows two different ways to cook meth and six different methods of getting balloons of heroin out of his stomach without having them blow.

Tommy’s never considered himself an addict, but the way he craves the reassuring weight of three vicodin in his palm when they talk, bothers him. Juan pulls it out of him after listening to Tommy bitch about group for the third appointment in a row.

“Are you worried about the pills, Conlon?”

Tommy shrugs. He didn’t think he was, but, well. He’s thinking about it a lot lately.

“You refused pain medication for your shoulder, even though it was against doctor’s orders. Have you had issues with them in the past?”

Tommy glares at him. Juan knows about the bottles he gave up in exchange for Paddy’s help, he just fishing for information now.

“I used, but I wouldn’t call it an issue. They weren’t that hard to give up.” He says.

“How did Arthur feel about your drug use?” Juan asks smoothly.

Tommy clenches his hands in his lap. Juan finds a way to slip Arthur into every session, and no matter how hard he tries, Tommy never sees it coming.

“My father’s an alcoholic, why do you think I’m worried? Addiction’s addiction, yeah?” Tommy spits. He’ll unload his daddy issues before he’ll discuss Arthur. He doesn’t need his memories of him tainted by this place.

Juan grins slyly. “Well, it is and it isn’t. Studies show that addiction can be genetic, but it doesn’t have to be. You stopped a pretty serious drug routine suddenly, and without significant withdrawal. That’s a good sign. Did Arthur help you with that?”

Tommy gets a sudden vision of the back of Arthur’s couch. Arthur’s tongue in his ass as Tommy ruins the upholstery, coming like a freight train even though he’s not hard.

“I kept busy.”

Tommy gets switched to another group after that. This one’s made up of guys who’re in for assault and minor infractions. There’s a guy across the circle who stares at him, and it’s making Tommy angry. The guy’s name is Trenton, and he failed to report for duty the night before he was shipped overseas. The only reason he’s here and not in Leavenworth is because he turned himself in before his thirty days were up.

Trenton, it seems, has some serious hate for the military. Tommy can’t figure out why he signed up in the first place, but he’s not about to ask and invite some of the hostility Trenton is throwing his way.

Tommy didn’t walk away because he hated his job, he loved what he did, and the people he did it with. It’s just that when they were gone, it wasn’t possible for Tommy to stay. Juan throws around buzzwords like post traumatic stress, and emotional instability, but Tommy feels like he just failed to operate under the new parameters set out for him. He doesn’t like to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t walked away when did had.

“Conlon, you want to add something?” The counsellor asks when the man next to Tommy falls silent.

He doesn’t, but it doesn’t work that way here. “I enjoyed my time as a Marine. We had good days.”

Trenton snorts.

“You got something to say to me?” Tommy demands.

“Nah, man, you’re saying it for all of us, aren’t you?” Trenton sneers. “You sound like a recruiting poster.”

“You didn’t see service, you don’t get to speak to me. I did my time over there. I served my country.”

“Until you didn’t, right?” Trenton asks, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t leave because I was scared.” Tommy leans forward in his chair and several of the other men sit back, not wanting to get involved.

“No, you left because they sent you over there to watch your men get slaughtered. Doesn’t it piss you off that you’re in here because of that?”

Tommy frowns. “I knew what the consequences were.”

“And you got what, eighteen months? For desertion. I got six years for not showing up on time,” Trenton shouts.

Tommy can’t argue with how unfair that is so he sits back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, let’s move on. Anyone else?” the counsellor asks.

Tommy’s stacking chairs after group when Trenton approaches him. Tommy squares his shoulders and gives him a narrow look.

“Sorry about that,” Treanton says, looking Tommy in the eye. “It wasn’t about you, y’know?”

Tommy nods slowly, confused at the man’s complete shift in attitude.

“Okay.” Trenton gives him a small smile and walks away, leaving Tommy baffled and wary.

Group goes a little more smoothly after that. Tommy realizes Trenton is angry at the military in general, not the men who serve in it. He feels like he was fed a lie and then left with no choices when he found out what was really going on. Tommy can’t fault him for his anger after that.

Chapter Text

Tommy’s first Christmas is hard. It’s not that he’s big on celebrating or anything, it’s more to do with the general air of desolation in the prison. A lot of the inmates have wives and families they’re apart from, and no amount of cheap tinsel and fruitcake can make up for what they’re missing.

Liburd is in the middle of telling Tommy about the time he and his girl got caught in the changeroom of a Target when he switches gears and asks Tommy if he has a girl waiting on him.

Tommy startles at the question and nearly slices his finger open on the knife he’s using to peel apples. He shakes his head, thinking about Juan telling him to accept his own truth and make peace with himself. He thinks about being in love with Arthur and ruining it all. He thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if just one other person knew what Arthur meant to him.

“There’s a, a guy. He might be waiting.” He keeps his eyes on his work, not wanting to see Liburd’s reaction.

“You don’t know?” Liburd asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“I asked him not to.” Tommy flicks his eyes up and relaxes a bit when he sees Liburd nodding.

“I tried that. Woman tried to hit me with a frying pan.” He grins, honest and wide and Tommy can’t help but smile back.

“If we’d been in the same room, he probably would have tried. I wrote him a letter,” Tommy admits.

“Ouch, that’s cold, man!”

Tommy looks around to make sure no one else is near. “I know. But I was already in custody, and honestly, I’m a little afraid of him.”

“No shit? Big guy like you? He must be terrifying.” Liburd gapes.

Tommy chuckles warmly. “He is.”

“Maybe he’ll be there when you get out. If he’s tough enough to be with you, he won’t be scared off by a page of your chicken scratch. Probably waiting to kick you ass in payback,” Liburd says, cheerfully.

Tommy can’t quite keep hope from curling in his chest. “Maybe.”

That night, when Tommy wakes, spilling on the sheets from a dream about Arthur, it doesn’t leave him feeling guilty and alone like it usually does. He cleans up and curls back under the blanket, imagining he can feel Arthur’s warm body pressed against him.

Chapter Text

29.

The new year brings new guards, and with them, a stricter regime. Tommy and Liburd are no longer allowed to eat in the kitchen with the workers, and TV time gets reduced to three nights a week. The inmates are sullen and chafing against the changes. They’re prisoners sure, but asking for permission to sit down to eat gets old real fast, and by the end of the first week, six men have been sent to solitary. Regular cell tossings send three more down in the second week. Tommy doesn’t know if they have a quota they’re trying to make, or what, but he’s getting really tired of reorganizing his stuff.

The new CO on his unit, Drummond, seems to have it out for Tommy specifically. Word travels fast inside, and Drummond’s only on the job four days before he stops Tommy for a random search on his way to Juan’s office.

“Inmate Conlon, hands on the wall,” Drummond calls from behind Tommy. Immediately, Tommy spreads his legs, placing his palms flat on the wall above his head.

“What are you doing out of your cell, AWOL?” Drummond sneers, resting his baton on Tommy’s shoulder. He’s taller than Tommy, but thinner, and gangly. It doesn’t mean much so long as he’s in camo and Tommy’s in brown khaki.

“Counsellor, sir.” Tommy says quietly, leaning his head on the cool, cinder block wall.

“I saw you fight, Conlon,” Drummond says and he runs his hands over Tommy’s arms. “Knock-outs seem like a pussy move, you afraid of a fight, Conlon?”

Tommy’s nostrils flare. “No, sir.”

“I heard you’re full of roid rage. That how you get so big, boy?” Drummond’s hands slide over Tommy’s hips and down his legs. Tommy presses his lips together as Drummond’s hands travel back up his inner thighs and cup his crotch. “Doesn’t feel like it, hey?”

Drummond steps back and taps Tommy on the shoulder with his baton to turn him. “What are you still doin’ here, Conlon?”

Tommy walks away, eyes straight ahead and burning until he reaches Juan’s office. He braces himself before he goes in, knowing Juan will take one look at him and know something’s up. The thing is, even if Tommy says something about what just happened, it’s his word against Drummond’s. Juan may believe him, but the warden won’t, and it will just make things worse for him in the long run.

“Inmate Conlon, you’re late.” Juan says, not looking up from the folder on his desk when Tommy opens the door.

“Stop and search,” Tommy grunts.

Juan raises his head and squints at him. “You finding the accommodations not to your liking?”

Tommy glares. “S’fine.”

“Good, sit down and tell me one good memory from your childhood.”

Tommy barely represses a groan, but after a few minutes, he drags out a story about the summer his mother, he and Brendan spent a few weeks with his maternal grandmother. She lived in Greensburg, less than an hour away, but to Tommy it felt like a whole other world. No one knew them there, and for the first time in his life, Tommy could be whoever he wanted.

He’d been ten, Brendan twelve, and they’d explored their grandmother’s neighbourhood with a freedom they couldn’t even dream about at home. They made friends with the local kids, and Tommy had his first sleepover with a boy down the street whose name he can’t recall. He wouldn’t sleep in a room with someone who wasn’t family again until he joined the military.

When the boy’s brother offered to let him borrow his bike so they could ride down to the local pool, Brendan bet him Tommy could make it there faster on foot than they could pedal. Tommy remembers feeling grateful to Brendan for saving him from having to explain he’d never learned to ride a bike.

Juan hums. “Did you ever go back again?”

“Nah. We only stayed long enough for the finger marks around Ma’s neck to fade.”

Juan blinks at Tommy and hands him paper and a pen so he can write another letter destined for the shredder.

Tommy keeps his head down the rest of the day and that night he dreams about Brendan. About sunburns and wind on his face. Grass stains on his knees and dirt under his fingernails, wrestling with Brendan in the backyard, trying to outlast his big brother for the win.

Chapter Text

30.

On Super Bowl Sunday Tommy helps make nachos, chicken wings, and a bunch of other shit the prisoners don’t usually get to have. The men are in high spirits and the TV room is filled with every chair in the unit that isn’t bolted to the floor. Tommy can hear the cheering and groaning from the kitchen, and he’s never been much for football, but he’ll take this over the desolate Christmas they just went through.

“You ever play?” Liburd asks him, emptying the dishwasher.

Tommy shakes his head. “Nah.”

“Shame. You’re a fast mofo.” Kee grins. “Without all that muscle, bet no one could catch you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I get out,” Tommy tells him. He’s halfway across the kitchen before he realizes what he said. He’s usually so careful about thinking about what might happen when he gets out because he knows how easy it is to drive yourself crazy with the what ifs. But eventually he will need a plan. He’ll need to sit down and decide if he’s still going to fight, or maybe go back to school. He wonders how much of that will depend of where Arthur is then.

A roar from the TV room draws him out of his thoughts and Kee sends him and Liburd to go watch the halftime show. The men are hollering at the screen as Madonna is carried in on a palaquin, and Tommy’s just relieved that he knows who the performer is. He watches the gladiators in their marching line with a critical and appreciative eye because he’s incarcerated, not dead. They’re all as big as he is, if not bigger, and oiled until they shine. All in all, it’s not hard to watch.

The room is buzzing with excitement and laughter, and Liburd elbows him in the side to tell him he’s going to get himself a pair of the dancer’s winged shoes when he gets out. Tommy smiles and nods in agreement. Hecklers in the front start making smart remarks about the lack of female dancers, but Tommy is impressed with the athleticism of the breakdancers and acrobats. Most people don’t know the stamina and balance it takes to move like that.

He feels a little old when Liburd grabs at him arm and pulls him closer to see one of the guest performers better, and Tommy has no idea who she is.

“That’s Nicki, man.” Liburd chides. “She look like my girl, only smaller. That backside, though.”

Tommy barely hears him over the cheers for the cheerleading outfits that are now parading across the screen, but he does notice the thigh high boots on the other singer. He spares a thought for whether or not Arthur would wear something like that for him before they’re yelled at for standing in the way.

Some of the men are singing along, most are at least nodding or tapping their feet, and to Tommy it almost feels like they’re a unit deployed. Taking what they can get for entertainment and finding a common thread to pull them together. It’s over all too soon, and the room is back to being divided between Patriots and Giants. Tommy couldn’t care less, and there’s still a kitchen to clean, so he and Liburd head back down the hall in good spirits.

Drummond stops them just outside the mess hall, killing the light feeling that’s taken up residence in Tommy’s chest, and forcing them to take frisk positions against the wall.

“The game not to your liking, inmate Conlon?” Drummond breathes in his ear.

“We have kitchen duty, sir,” Liburd tells him.

Drummond shoves Liburd harder against the wall and Tommy winces in sympathy when Liburd’s forehead collides with unforgiving brick.

“Is this the kitchen, inmate?”

“No, sir,” Liburd grunts.

Drummond checks Liburd quickly, then turns his attention back to Tommy. He can feel Liburd looking at him from the corner of his eye, but Tommy stares resolutely ahead as Drummond pays him more attention than is necessary.

“Am I going to find any contraband on you, Conlon?” Drummond asks, shoving his fingers into Tommy’s armpits.

“No, sir,” he responds, silently urging Liburd to keep his mouth shut.

“You sure that brother of yours isn’t paying to sneak in a little something for you and your boyfriend here? Maybe something to smooth the way?”

Liburd nearly chokes in surprise.

“That it, Liburd? Conlon here get a little rough with you?”

Neither of them say a word, knowing Drummond doesn’t actually expect an answer. Tommy grits his teeth against the hands roaming over his ass.

“I seen pictures of those kids in your cell, Conlon. Your brother know you’re a fag?” Fingers massaging his cock, and it’s all Tommy can do not to rear back and elbow Drummond in the side of the head. “That why he beat you like he did? Tried to rip off your arm to stop you from touching his kids?”

The squeeze to his balls comes at the same time as the accusation and Tommy can’t hold it together anymore. He turns and shoves Drummond off, sending him flying into the opposite wall. It’s bad timing that two more COs come around the corner at the exact moment the back of Drummond’s head hits the wall, and they’re on Tommy before he can hit the floor to show compliance. He doesn’t see the baton, but he sure as hell feels it when it catches him in the temple and turns his world to black.

Chapter Text

Solitary is a special kind of hell for Tommy. For the first three days he has all the time in the world to reflect on every time he’s let someone down. He spends hours remembering the last months of his mother’s life, the ones where she was really sick and Tommy had to hold her down to shove painkillers down her throat. She’d cry for hours afterward, begging him for something he knows he could never do. He’s never told anyone that, but now her voice calls out to him, throat cracked and dry from the cancer choking her to death.

He thinks about Paddy. About his own fears of turning into his old man no matter how hard he tries not to. He thinks about Brendan and the girls. How he doesn’t really deserve to get to know them because when you get right down to it, Tommy’s always been a coward and a fraud.

He thinks about Manny and Pilar. About the family he found in them and how it all got ripped away, and he knows, he knows in his heart he’s not to blame for that loss, but there’s a voice inside that whispers he could have done better. He could have saved them all.

He doesn’t realize until day five that the voice he hears is Arthur’s. Tommy cowers in the corner of his cell, hands over his ears to try and block out the sound, but Arthur’s smart and he knows how to make Tommy hear him.

They take him out for exercise an hour a day, and it should be a relief. To be out in the air, moving around. But the guards won’t talk to him, and by day seven Tommy starts to question if he’s really there at all.

He spends day eight talking himself out of punching the wall. Twenty-three solid hours of hanging onto his sanity by the skin of his teeth because if you scream and you cry, and no one cares, what’s the difference if you beat yourself bloody just to feel again?

On day nine he pleads with Arthur to go away. He begs and he threatens, but Arthur just sits there on the bed, watching. Tommy knows the silence should be better than the yelling, but it’s not. Because Arthur knows. He sees all the parts of Tommy that Tommy can’t stand, and there’s nowhere to hide. Arthur has him, heart and soul, and it should be something beautiful, but instead it’s been twisted and burned, hollowed out into a husk because Tommy can’t give enough, can’t be enough, and he’s going to ruin this, too. Tommy finally gives in and lays his head in Arthur’s lap, ready for whatever Arthur tells him to do.

They come for him on day ten. Strip him and hose him down, and lead him back to his unit. They take him to Juan, where Tommy sits, hands shaking, and unable to look Juan in the eye when he promises he’s not a danger to himself. His cell’s been tossed again, and he takes his time righting what’s left. Putting it back, piece by piece as if he’s mending the cracks in his armor. Brendan’s letters are gone, and the kids’ pictures have been destroyed, but his bedding is salvageable and his clothes are mostly there.

Any special privileges he had have been revoked and he’s working janitorial now. It’s decent work, but solitary, which gives Tommy too much time with himself, and Drummond too many opportunities to harass him.

By the end of March, Tommy’s ready to snap. Drummond likes to leave a few days in between his frisks, keeping Tommy on edge and expectant. The groping isn’t always intimate, but it makes Tommy feel vulnerable and unclean all the same. He hates that he stands there and allows it, but he hates the thought of solitary more. Somehow he knows he won’t make it through another stretch.

With Juan, Tommy’s grown more and more distant, reduced to one-word responses and staring at the wall. He can’t talk about what’s happening, and he won’t talk about anything else, so they sit and they stare at each other until the hour is up and Tommy can shuffle back to his cell.

In early April, Juan snaps Tommy out of his fugue when he tasks him with writing a letter to Arthur about why he’s depressed. Tommy’s horrified at the prospect of burdening Arthur with anything going on in here, and refuses. He knows every scrap of paper that goes in and out of the prison is monitored, and any accusations he makes have a good chance of getting back to Drummond.

“Conlon, it’s just an exercise. Just like the other letters. No one but you gets to see what you write. We’ll shred it when you’re done, just like the others,” Juan tells him, leaning across his desk.

Tommy doesn’t want to, but there’s a part of him that’s desperate to tell someone what’s going on. It’s getting harder to cope, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he defends himself and is sent back to solitary or has more time added to his sentence.

He takes the pencil and pad of paper from Juan and moves his chair to the corner, turning his back and using a book from the shelf to write on. Tommy writes and then scribbles out three different greetings before giving in and writing exactly what he wants to say. He tells Arthur he misses him. That he thinks about him every day, and that some days, that means he hates him because Tommy’s in here, and Arthur’s out there.

He tells him he hopes Arthur moves on with his life and isn’t waiting for Tommy, then he admits that’s a lie. He wants Arthur to wait for him for as long as it takes until Tommy can be there with him. He’s selfish to feel that way, but he’s discovered he has to be a little selfish to survive in here. He thought he could do his time not thinking about Arthur, that it would hurt less that way, but he was wrong. His life is shit and he needs to cling tight to the brightest thing in it in order to come out alive.

He tells Arthur about working in the kitchen, and about Liburd and Kee. And about his conflicting feelings regarding Trenton. He talks about the letters from Brendan, how he’s slowly learning his nieces and Tess through Brendan’s eyes, and how he thinks there may be a chance to heal old wounds. He writes on and on about things he didn’t even realize he’d thought about until he gets them down on the paper.

Finally, he tells Arthur about Drummond. About the friskings and the cell tossing, how he presses Tommy into the wall. The hands that linger and squeeze, and the threats of violence if Tommy struggles. He tells him how small it makes him feel, how powerless. How he’s afraid to be alone, but afraid to be in a crowds in case it happens where someone can see. He tells him about solitary and his fear of returning. About how Tommy thought he knew what insanity was before he went in, and how he has a whole new appreciation for it now that he’s out.

It hurts to write it all down, to see his pain spelled out on the paper, but it’s freeing, too. In some small way, it feels like he’s taking charge. Like he can make things change.

He doesn’t tell Arthur he loves him. He can’t do that for the first time in a letter, even if Arthur will never read it. Deep down he’s selfish and he’s greedy, and he wants to see the look on Arthur’s face if he ever gets the chance to say those words out loud.

When his hour is up, Juan brings out the shredder and stands aside. The papers crumple in Tommy’s hand as he looks at Juan, seeing the hardness and determination in his eyes, asking Tommy to trust him. Tommy smoothes the sheets down on Juan’s desk and walks out the door.

The next week, Tommy’s reassigned to kitchen duty, where Liburd and Kee welcome him with smiles and grunt work. Tommy’s never been so happy to spend all day up to his elbows in dirty dishes.

Drummond has been reassigned, and Tommy once again feels like he can breathe. He doesn’t thank Juan, and the other man doesn’t bring it up, simply pushes Tommy harder to come out of his shell.

Memorial Day is a big deal in the brig, even for the inmates who won’t ever return to service. There’s steak and real mashed potatoes, none of that dehydrated shit they’re usually stuck with. Tommy knows, because he and Liburd spend all morning peeling the damn things and suddenly, flaked potatoes aren’t looking so bad.

Kee shows them the finer points of grilling meat and how to use a sauté pan, something Tommy finds he quite enjoys. There’s a commotion outside the media room the next night where Tommy is watching The Sandlot with Liburd and Trenton. They all hit the floor when the alarm sounds, and it takes a lot longer than usual to do a headcount and send them back to their cells.

Tommy’s outside the library when he overhears the guards talking about an attack by an inmate. He stops dead when he hears Drummond’s name and they have to bark at him to keep the line moving. By morning, word has spread. Drummond tried to force himself on Hemenez, a quiet guy in for forging documents, and got himself stabbed in the throat with a shiv made from a toothbrush.

By lunch, Tommy’s heard the story a hundred times and Liburd tells him he’s not the only one breathing a little easier.

Chapter Text

“No,” Tommy looks up from the letter in his hand and shakes his head for emphasis. “Absolutely not.”

Juan sighs. Tommy’s pretty sure he already knew what Tommy’s answer would be, but it’s not like he wasn’t going to try.

“Your brother is reaching out to you, again. He wants to see you,” Juan tells him in a measured tone.

“Yeah, but for who? He’s not coming here for me, he’s doin’ it for himself. He wants to know I’m okay so he feels better. It ain’t my job to make him feel better.” Tommy sits back in his chair, leg bouncing.

“Did you read the part about your father?”

“Yeah, I read it. Like I said, it ain’t my job to ease their conscience.”

“Are you going to at least write back and tell Brendan what he can tell Paddy? If you don’t, you have no control over what Brendan might say.”

Tommy huffs. “I got no control over that anyway. Brendan will say whatever it takes to get Pop to go away.”

Juan smirks and slides a blank sheet of paper towards Tommy. “Dare them to do better, Conlon.”

“You gonna tell me to be the master of my own destiny next?” Tommy asks, plucking a pen from the cup on the desk.

“Sink, swim, or be the captain, Conlon.” Juan leans back in his chair and watches Tommy write.

He ignores Brendan’s request to visit and instead asks for more art and pictures of the girls. Baby steps, he reminds himself. Baby steps.

By July, Tommy’s restless. He’s two-thirds of the way through his sentence, and he can see the end. He steps up his training, wanting to be in top form when he gets out. Brendan’s still mentioning interest from trainers and promoters, and Juan has encouraged him to look towards a career in fighting as a goal.

Tommy finds it strange that he’s collected a few other inmates during the times he’s out in the yard. They started to appear the first week he used the equipment, watching him work out and asking for a few pointers here and there. Within the month, Tommy has a solid crew of six guys working with him. They’re mostly hard workers, though hardly as dedicated as Tommy is, but he likes their reactions when they start to notice a difference in their abilities.

Liburd teases him about his row of ducks, but still comes out to heckle them while they run laps. They’re not allowed to spar, but sometimes the guards let them wrestle if the spectators keep quiet, and the opponents don’t get too rough. Tommy sticks to the sidelines, watching their moves and correcting their holds when he sees them slip.

When Juan hears about it, he points out that Tommy might have a future in training, and Tommy gives it some serious thought. He’s never been a people person, but he enjoys the time he puts in with the guys in the yard, and he likes seeing them improve and succeed.

He knows he’s not done fighting, though, so he slides training to the back of his mind. Tommy gets a thrill from being in the ring, from knowing he’s better than the guy standing across from him. It’s a feeling he’s never gotten from anything else, and he’s not ready to let that go. His shoulder feels good, and his body is coming around. No matter what happens when he gets out, he’s confident he’ll step into the ring again, and win.

Chapter Text

By Veteran’s Day Tommy’s fidgety. He’s counting the days to his release (sixty-four), and getting paranoid about getting in trouble before he goes. He takes special care to ensure his uniform is perfect; everything clean and in line, just like they taught him in basic. He even endures Liburd’s teasing when he uses kitchen sanitizer to scrub his runners until they look brand new.

By Thanksgiving, Tommy’s anticipation has turned to nerves, and he starts refusing to talk about his release date. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go, it’s just that not having any idea what he’s going back to has him on edge.

Brendan starts sending a letter a week, trying to suss out what Tommy’s long-term plans are. He tells Tommy agents and promoters have been sniffing around, wanting to know how Tommy’s shoulder is, and if he’s kept up his training in prison. Frank had to bar a reporter from the gym because the guy wouldn’t believe him when he said he had no idea what Tommy’s plans are, and oh yeah, what are Tommy’s plans, Frank would like to know?

Tommy shakes his head at that, but secretly he’s pleased. He’s going to come out of this with open offers because he played it smart and kept his mouth shut. None of them know if he’ll fight again, but with his record, they’re not willing to miss a shot at signing him. His earning potential is too high, and they’ll throw contracts at him until he finds one he likes.

Brendan mentions that Paddy recently got his 500 day chip again, and that Tess talked Brendan into inviting him for Thanksgiving. According to him, It was awkward and tense, but it didn’t come to blows, so Brendan’s considering it progress.

Tommy chokes up when he reads that the girls insisted on having a chair and a space at the table for him even though he isn’t able to be there until next year. He figures he owes them at least one full year of holidays to say thank you for helping keep him sane while he was locked away. He’s never even met these kids, and already they’ve made room for him in their hearts. He isn’t sure, but he thinks he might know what loving blind like that feels like.

Tommy wonders if he will be there with them next year, or if he’ll have cobbled enough of a life together that he has his own plans. He doesn’t want to wonder if those plans will include Arthur, but it’s hard not to. When Juan asks him what he wants to accomplish when he gets out, Arthur is always at the top of his list.

While he’s peeling more potatoes than he can fucking count, he entertains the thought of Arthur letting Tommy cook him dinner. He plans the entire meal; turkey cooked breast down, gravy made with the drippings, candied yams, and whiskey-seared brussel sprouts. Even goddamn mashed potatoes, because it’s just not Thanksgiving without them. Then he’ll make an apple pie from scratch and feed it to Arthur, mouthful by mouthful, while Arthur sits, perched in Tommy’s lap. He pictures licking pie filling from the corner of Arthur’s mouth, and has to discretely adjust himself. They’ll do dishes, side by side at the sink, then he’ll spread Arthur out on the bed and suck his cock, lazy and slow, like the sweet slide of ice cream on warm apple pie.

Later that night, full of turkey and drunk off his own desires, Tommy jerks off under the covers, shoving his fist into his mouth the muffle his cries when he comes into his own hand. It hits him then that it’s time to stop pretending. He told Arthur not to wait for him, and he can’t go on expecting a future with him. Tommy falls asleep, loose and sated, and feeling more miserable than he has in over a year.

Chapter Text

Tommy surprises Juan at their next session when he says he wants to talk about Arthur.

“I don’t consider myself gay,” Tommy starts, staring at his hands. “But I’ve never really had an interest in women.”

“What is your attraction to men like?” Juan asks.

Tommy looks up, confused. “When I fuck, I fuck guys.”

“Language, Conlon. I mean are you openly attracted to men, or is it just Arthur?”

“It’s just him now. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Okay, but do you ever look around and think, ‘That guy over there is attractive’?”

Tommy frowns. “Why would I do that?”

Juan chuckles softly. “Well, there are a lot of guys around here. Why don’t you tell me about your past relationships. What were they like?”

“There are none. Arthur’s the only one I’ve ever … felt anything for,” Tommy admits, blushing and ducking his head.

“But you said you’ve been with other men.”

“Yeah, but that’s just sex. I mean, when tensions are high and you need to relieve stress, that’s as good a way as any,” Tommy shrugs. “You saw combat, you know that.”

“True, but what about outside of the service? Did you date anyone in high school? Or even just fool around?” Juan makes a few notes on his pad, and looks back up at Tommy.

“I didn’t have time for that stuff. I was an athlete, then once we left, I had to work to help us pay rent, I didn’t have time to fool around.”

“You’re exceptionally good at compartmentalizing, Conlon, you know that?”

“Yes, sir,” Tommy says, pride itching inside him.

“So your first kiss-”

“I said I wanted to talk about Arthur.” Tommy interrupts, not relishing the idea of rehashing his every sexual encounter.

“Your first kiss,” Juan repeats.

Tommy shakes his head and looks away. “It was in the service. I was, I dunno, twenty-three?”

“And was it just a kiss?”

Tommy huffs. “No, it was a kiss and mutual hand jobs, what’s the point of this?”

Juan rests his elbows on the desk, hands clasped together. “It’s important because I don’t think you understand your sexuality or your orientation, Conlon. Working that out is the first step in figuring out what you have to offer Arthur.”

“So you want a laundry list of guys I’ve been with, that it? There were five or six over a four-year period. They weren’t relationships, I didn’t love them, they were a way to get off, that’s all. Mutually beneficial. Getting off quick and easy before we got caught. None of us were lookin’ for a commitment,” Tommy spits.

“Okay, Conlon, that’s good. Thank you. How did you feel about these men? Did you think about them when they weren’t around, did you see a future with any of them?”

Tommy wrinkles his nose. “Why would I? I told you, it wasn’t like that. They’d just come find me when they wanted to get off. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“They would come to you? Did you ever seek them out?”

Tommy shrugs. “Nah, I didn’t, I mean, I’ve never been like that, you know?”

“But you went willingly?” Juan asks.

“Yeah.”

“Every time?”

Tommy glares at him. “Yeah, every time. You really think they could make me do something I didn’t want to?”

“I think a certain kind of person can find weakness in just about anyone,” Juan tells him, holding his gaze.

“I’m not weak,” Tommy says, his breath a little rough.

“We’re all weak, Conlon, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. The hard part is finding someone you trust not to hurt you when they know how to do it. Do you trust Arthur not to hurt you?”

“Arthur wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. And believe me, he’s had plenty of chances,” Tommy says quietly.

“That’s good, I’m glad you had that. I hope you still have it, when you get out.”

Tommy shifts in his seat, uncomfortably emotional.

“Now, back to your service days,” Juan says and Tommy groans. “All your sexual activity was consensual, though never instigated by you. All these instances were with men, but you don’t see yourself as gay, correct?”

Tommy rubs his hands over his face. “Yeah.”

“So what makes Arthur different?” Juan ask blunty.

“How should I know?”

“You do know, Conlon. You say he’s your boyfriend, when the others weren’t, so what makes him different?”

“I love him,” Tommy says honestly, shocked and pleased when he doesn’t feel any shame or embarrassment saying it.

Juan smiles at him. “Good. But how is being with him different? Why isn’t he just an easy way to get off?”

Tommy scoffs. “Nothing about Arthur is easy.”

“Sounds like a worthy opponent for a warrior such as yourself,” Juan says.

“He’s not an opponent. He’s one of the only people I’ve known that isn’t. He’s just, Arthur. He sees me, you know. He doesn’t expect anything but what I can give, and he doesn’t hate me for what I can’t. Manny’s the only other person who’s been that for me.”

“And was there a sexual element to your relationship with Manny?”

Tommy chokes on a laugh. “No, god, no! Manny was my brother, man. Only ever my brother. I would have died for him.” Tommy voice wavers and he looks away.

Juan doesn’t give him a chance to wallow. “What about Brendan? He’s your brother.”

“Brendan and I lived through a whole other war together.” Tommy pauses, gathering his thoughts. “It’s like we survived, but at some point we found out we were on opposite sides.”

“And now that you’re grown does it feel like that?”

“Most of the time. Brendan is always going to do what’s best for Brendan. He’s got a family now and everything, but he’s really good at making his priorities their priorities, you know?”

Juan nods, making a note. “I do, and I think you’ve got a pretty good read on him. I think if you keep that in mind when you’re dealing with him, you’ll keep him from getting to you. Because he’s one of those people, Conlon, whether you want him to be or not, he’s one of the ones who knows how to hurt you.”

Tommy clenches his fists, rubbing them on his pantlegs.

“So, back to Arthur. Does he identify as gay?”

“Yeah, his family kicked him out and everything over it,” Tommy tells him, remembering Arthur drunk and alone in the dark of his apartment.

“So it’s a big deal to him. How do you think he feels about you not liking that label?”

“He said as long as I want to be with him, he doesn’t care.”

“He said that?”

“Yeah. We had a fight once, when I wouldn’t hold his hand on the street. I’m not ashamed of him, okay? I just don’t think it’s anyone else’s business who I’m with,” Tommy says, defensive.

“You’re right, it’s not. But you’re not exactly a private citizen anymore, Conlon. People are going to be interested. What if Arthur decides it’s a big deal to come out? If five years from now you’re a big name in MMA and he wants people to know Tommy Conlon is his boyfriend? How do you think you’ll respond to that?”

“If we’re together in five years and he wants to come out, then we’ll come out,” Tommy says with confidence, even though his gut is twisting.

“Just like that? What if it affects your career? People will talk.”

“People always talk. My fights speak for themselves, and anyone who has an issue with that can go fuck themselves,” Tommy says, jaw clenched.

“I should write you up for your language, you know, but I won’t because I think you’re making progress today. Our time is almost up, but I have a few more questions.”

Tommy stares at him, waiting.

“When you’re with Arthur, who instigates sex? I ask because I really don’t think you understand your own sexuality, and I think you should. It will help keep you from making decisions for yourself that only benefit others. I know you trust Arthur, but there may be partners after him who aren’t as noble.”

Tommy sighs and rubs his hands through his hair. “I do, sometimes. The first time I did. It’s not always him. I-I want him, sometimes. Without him making a move. I mean, I always want him, but it’s not always about sex. Sometimes we just sit and talk, like friends. And it’s good. It’s all good with him.”

“Do you fight?” Juan asks, smiling when Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, we fight. And I’m not always fair, but he is. He doesn’t hurt me just to hurt me. I’m hoping he’ll be around to teach me that one when I get out.”

“Okay. We’ll talk more about this next time, but until then, I want you to think about something,” Juan stares across the desk at Tommy, holding his gaze. “What are you going to do if Arthur’s not waiting?”

Chapter Text

Christmas approaches and Tommy still doesn’t have an answer for Juan. He tries to tell himself he’ll accept that Arthur’s moved on, that Arthur is happy and better off without Tommy in his life, but he knows it’s not true. Because when he’s alone at night and he lets himself be honest, all he can envision is showing up on Arthur’s doorstep and begging for forgiveness. Juan is less than impressed when Tommy confesses this.

“That’s sounding more like obsession than love, Conlon.” Juan stares at him from across the desk.

“I hear it,” Tommy admits.

“I think you’ve made Arthur bigger in your mind than he is in real life. It happens a lot in here. You start to idolize the people you left behind. You forget all the little things that drove you nuts about the person. All you remember are the good parts. Like how, when a loved one dies, you forget how bad their breath was, or how they cleaned their nails at the table.”

“Or sucked their teeth. Jesus, I’ll never forget that sound,” Tommy allows a small smile, thinking about Manny.  

“Exactly. But that’s not what you think about when you think about that person, when you miss them, right?”

“Nah, I think about what they meant to me. About what I miss.”

“Bingo. So, as wonderful and charming as you’re remembering Arthur as, there had to be things that bugged you too, right? Tell me about those.”

Tommy frowns, scratching his thumbnail across his palm. “He doesn’t talk about himself. I mean, he does, but only what’s going on now. He doesn’t talk about his past. I’m pretty sure the only reason I found out his old man died was because I went to check on him.”

“How did it make you feel? That he didn’t share that with you?”

“I was hurt, but I get it, you know? I didn’t tell him about Brendan, or Paddy, or any of that. I didn’t want it between us.”

“Did you think it would change how he saw you?”

Tommy crosses his arms and stares at the floor. “Maybe. I just wanted him to see me, right. I didn’t want him to see the kid who got beat half his life and never fought back. Or the guy who couldn’t handle service and ran away. He met Tommy Riordon. I wanted to just be that guy to him.”

“But you’re not just Tommy Riordan. You wouldn’t be that Tommy without all the other stuff; it’s a part of you.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I’m confused here, Conlon, because in here you’ve never described yourself like you just did. A kid who didn’t fight back, who ran away. Up until now you’ve stood by your actions. What’s changed?” Juan’s holding his gaze, not letting Tommy look away.

Tommy wets his lips. He’s not sure how he backed himself into this corner but he knows Juan isn’t going to let him out until he answers the question.

“That’s the story they told him, isn’t it?  I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t explain. I didn’t even try.” Tommy’s knee is jumping and he grinds his heel into the floor to keep it still. “I was so thankful when he didn’t ask me about it. I just kept quiet and let him listen to the lies they told on the news. I wrote him a letter and told him to go away.” Tommy laughs, high and shaky. “Why would he wait? I wouldn’t.”

“Do you think he’s waiting, Tommy?” Juan asks bluntly.

Tommy shakes his head, tears pricking his eyes. “No.”

He takes a shaky breath and wipes at his face. Juan gives him a minute to collect himself, and it’s fucking hard, because all Tommy wants to do is let himself go. Give in and break down, because Arthur’s not waiting. He’s been fooling himself, and it hurts to know how deep his self-deception runs.

“So,” Juan starts once Tommy’s breathing evens out. “He’s not waiting. What’s the plan?”

“Training. Fighting.” Tommy nods, feeling like he needs to talk himself into believing life will go on.

“Right back into it, then?”

“Yep.”

“Conlon, I strongly suggest you look into counselling on the outside. You’ve made great progress in here, and I think you have further to go.”

“Don’t we all?” Tommy sneers.

“Let me be blunt. If you don’t address the trauma in your past, in ten, twenty, thirty years, you’re going to wake up one morning and see your father staring back at you in the mirror. You are high risk for substance abuse, and you’re too good at compartmentalizing. Sooner or later, that’s all going to come crashing down.”

Tommy stares at him and for half a second he wants to launch across the table and hit him. He’s smart enough to realize he’s just proved Juan’s point for him so instead he nods.

“I can put together a list of counsellors and programs in Pittsburgh if that’s where you plan to stay. You don’t qualify for any government programs because of your discharge, but I hear MMA fighters make decent money.”

Tommy scoffs. “Only if they win.”

“And you’ve only lost once. Something tells me you’re going to feel like you have something to prove once you’re out.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and looks away.

“One more thing, you know you’re not to have contact with any other inmates still inside, or out there. That goes for staff as well. Make sure you say your goodbyes well in advance of your release. It’ll help you move on or something.”

“Or something.” Tommy nods.

Despite Juan’s suggestion, Tommy puts off his goodbyes until the New Year. He’s a week out from his release when he works up the courage to stumble through his thanks to Kee. He’s flushing with embarrassment and Kee just grins at him over a platter of cut fruit.

Liburd still has a year to serve, but he’s happy for Tommy, telling him to stop being an idiot and find someone to take care of him. It’s good advice, even if it cuts a little deeper than Liburd knows.

Juan is the only other person Tommy’s grown close to, and he’s well aware that he’s just part of the man’s job so he simply tells him he’ll think about counselling on the outside. Juan tells him to stop being so sentimental and get out of his office.

On January 9th, Tommy packs up his few belongings and does his last shift in the kitchen. He’s jumpy and temperamental so Kee lets him make a lemon pie so he can focus on the dough between his fingers. When it’s done he serves a small slice to everyone in the kitchen and nods in thanks at their well wishes.

That night Tommy’s so nervous he barely sleeps. In his head, every noise is the guards coming to tell him his release has been pushed back, and what little sleep he does get is plagued by nightmares about being thrown back in solitary for some imagined slight. He wakes up in a cold sweat shortly after the realizes they’ve forgotten about him and he’s going to die in there.

He lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling, worried about seeing Brendan. About being on his own again. He’s had eight years of tightly structured living, and he knows if he strays from that way of life, he can say goodbye to his sanity.

He can’t let go of the small hope that even if Arthur didn’t wait for him, he might be willing to give Tommy a second chance. He knows it’s a longshot, but he has to try. He won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t know for sure that he did everything he could to make things right.

His final meeting with Juan gets pushed back in the morning due to an unscheduled lockdown and headcount. By the time he gets to Juan’s office, he’s practically vibrating with anticipation. Juan takes one look at him and makes him do breathing exercises for ten minutes, then meditate for twenty until Tommy’s a little less strung out and twitchy. He walks Tommy to the release desk where they return his personal items and let him change into the sweats and jacket Brendan sent for him.

His release interview takes forever and he swears the prison brass is dragging their feet on purpose just to mess with him. It’s two in the afternoon by the time he’s free, and the first breath of air outside the main doors has him sagging with relief against the chainlink fence.

It’s warm and moist outside and Tommy blinks up at the sky for a minute before he starts down the enclosure towards the parking lot. Duffle over his shoulder, he clears the side of the building and stops dead.

Arthur’s standing beside a dark sedan, looking nervous, but determined, and better than all the fantasies Tommy’s come up with over the past eighteen months.

His smile is unsure, but genuine, and Tommy can hardly breathe he’s so thrown.

Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets and cocks his head to the side. “You coming out of there, or do I have to come in and get you?”

Chapter Text

Tommy’s pretty sure he’s staring. His jaw might even be on the floor, but all he can do drink in this vision of Arthur before he disappears.

Arthur shifts from one foot to the next and looks around. “I think if you stand there any longer they might think you want to stay.”

Tommy blinks. He’s still in the chain-link corridor, about four feet from the actual exit. He tries to move forward, but his feet won’t budge and he can’t feel his toes.

“Tommy?” Arthur gives him a familiar, worried frown and something about that look on Arthur’s face breaks his daze and has Tommy pushing through the gate. He stops in front of Arthur, far enough away that he’s sure he won’t reach out and touch him, just to make sure Arthur’s real.

“Why are you here?”

Arthur bites his bottom lip and rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, I may have convinced your brother it was a good idea. I thought you might not be ready to face him yet. He told me you wouldn’t let him come visit.”

“But why are you here?” Tommy’s voice is hoarse, and his hands are shaking so he clutches the strap of his bag until the nylon cuts into his skin.

“Are you serious?” Arthur asks with a laugh. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Home?”

“Pittsburgh? That was the plan, right? That’s what Brendan said. But, hey, you wanna go somewhere else, we’ll go somewhere else, wherever you want.”

Tommy feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. Like someone’s got him in a chokehold and his vision is turning to black.

“You’re gonna drive me home,” he says, feeling the words out on his tongue.

Arthur kicks at the ground with his shoe. He’s back to looking nervous and unsure. “If that’s okay with you.”

“That’s okay,” Tommy answers immediately.

Arthur smiles, tentative and small, but it hits Tommy hard and it’s all he can do not to throw himself at Arthur.

“Okay, then. We should get on the road. You’re out later than they said you’d be.”

Tommy nods, crossing to the passenger side of the car. “Paperwork.”

“Everything in triplicate, right? Like they didn’t have eighteen fucking months to figure it out.” Arthur climbs in the car and slams the door closed. It’s the first bit of anger Tommy’s seen in him in a long time, but it warms him.

Tommy hums in agreement, doing his best not to stare. Only, he can smell Arthur now, and it’s stronger and more pure than what he remembers and he’s half hard in his pants just thinking about all the places that smell is concentrated. Those secret spots he used to seek out with his tongue, tasting Arthur, drinking him in.

“You wanna stop for food, or just get on the road?” Arthur starts the car and turns to him, and it’s there, between them. The same fire there used to be before Tommy’s world exploded and Arthur got caught in the blast.

“Get me out of here,” he tells him, looking away. He needs to put as much distance between him and the prison as possible.

“Right,” Arthur says slowly.

Arthur stops to fill up the tank and grab coffee on the way out of town. He brings back a cup for Tommy, along with what must be one of every confection the station had.

“What’s this?” Tommy asks when Arthur tosses him the bag.

Arthur shrugs. “Figured you might have missed some things while you were gone.”

Tommy paws through the bag and pulls out a Twinkie. “I didn’t eat this shit before I went in, why would I eat it now?”

“I don’t know, okay, I just thought … Nevermind.” Arthur grabs the package out of his hand and tears it open with his teeth, shoving one of the Twinkies in his mouth.

Tommy sets the bag between them, not sure how to take Arthur’s odd behaviour. Arthur punches at the radio buttons when the silence gets oppressive. He settles on a classic rock station and hums along, occasionally tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. They pass a sign for Harleyville about an hour later, and Arthur’s gaze flicks over to him.

“You look good. Not super bulky like you were,” Arthur shrugs. “But it’s good. It’s a good look.”

Tommy’s leaning his head on the backrest and he rolls it in Arthur’s direction. “Is it good, Arthur?”

Arthur shakes his head and grins, his dimples popping out. “Fuck you.”

Tommy looks him over, reacquainting himself with the sleek lines of Arthur’s body. “You look good, too.”

Arthur squirms a little in his seat, but his smile doesn’t fade.

“What’ve you been up to?” Tommy asks. He figures they’d better get the awkward out of the way if they’re going to survive the rest of the drive, and if he’s got no chance with Arthur, he’d rather know before he makes a fool out of himself.

“Um, I graduated. I’m working at an architecture firm now, and it’s good, I like it. I do mostly grunt work for little credit, but it pays and I’m learning a lot. I have to wear suits to work, can you believe that?”

Tommy hums his interest, watching Arthur’s throat bob as he swallows. He’d be lying if he said the thought of Arthur in a suit didn’t appeal to him.

“I moved. It’s nothing fancy, but it actually has an elevator, and a bike lock-up, so I’m not lugging the damn thing up to my apartment.”

“You bike to work in a suit?” Tommy asks, enjoying how Arthur’s voice grows deeper the longer he talks. Like he’s relaxing into being with Tommy again.

“Yeah, I even get a bonus for doing it. The firm I work for is really environmentally conscious, so it’s all Priuses and shit in the lot. And we recycle fucking everything, you’d love it.”

Tommy hums again.

Arthur steals a quick glance at him. “So, I think I need to tell you something. I just, I don’t want you to find out from someone else.”

Tommy tenses, sure this is where Arthur tells him he’s seeing someone. That he doesn’t have room in his life for Tommy anymore.

“They made a movie about you.” Arthur says, rubbing a palm on his pant leg.

Tommy frowns. “Don’t I have to give permission for something like that?”

Arthur chuckles. “It’s not that kind of movie.” He looks over at Tommy, eyebrows raised.

Tommy sits up. “What kind of movie is it?”

“Ah, it’s kind of a porno,” Arthur says, face going a little red.

“Kind of?”

“Well, no. It’s full-on hard core porn. Gay porn. About you and how you, um, pound your opponents into the mat.” Arthur presses his lips together, stifling a laugh.

“Did you watch it?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Arthur protests, but Tommy can see the guilt in his eyes.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you, I did not.”

Tommy stares at him until Arthur’s squirming again.

“Well, I had to watch it, didn’t I? Check for accuracy.”

“And?”

Arthur gives him a quick grin. “Not even close to the real thing. For one thing, you don’t talk that much during sex. Hell, you don’t talk that much any time.”

“It’s a real think piece, huh?”

“I swear, the guy has four lines, and he just shouts them over and over. It was ridiculous.”

“I can imagine,” Tommy muses, shaking his head.

“You really can’t. There’s this one part where you’ve got a Mad Dog lookalike bent over the ropes-”

“Stop! That’s enough, I don’t want to know.” Tommy covers his face with his hands as Arthur laughs at him. “Mad Dog, really?”

“Yep, and Koba.”

“I didn’t even fight Koba, Brendan did … no. Please god, tell me there isn’t-”

“No, I swear there’s nothing with you and Brendan. I was worried about that, too.” Arthur assures him.

“Can they do that? I mean, it’s obviously about me, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it's meant to be you. But it’s not, and that’s what makes it legal. Brendan looked into it when he found out.”

“Brendan knows. Fucking brilliant.”

“He didn’t watch it, if it makes you feel any better. But his lawyer did.”

Tommy groans and drops his head back. Any thoughts he’d entertained about Arthur jerking off to a porno about him are vanquished by the knowledge that his brother knows there’s a porno about him. Fuck.

“Anyway, other than that, the world is pretty much the same.”

“How’s your dog?” Tommy asks, desperate to keep Arthur talking.

“Good, actually,” Arthur smiles. “The vet says he’s not as old as I thought he was. He’s not underweight anymore, so he’s more active. He goes to daycare while I’m at work.”

“Daycare,” Tommy smirks.

“Shut up, he barks all day if I leave him at home.”

Tommy watches Arthur for a minute, wondering if Arthur would feel so foreign to him had he watched these new changes happen instead of dropping back into his life after eighteen months of total silence.

“I always wanted a dog,” Tommy says quietly, not sure he’s going to voice the thought until the words are out.

Arthur glances at him quickly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Never could have one. Not with my old man like he was.”

The radio’s on low enough that Tommy doesn’t have to speak loudly for Arthur to hear him. It’s intimate, but not overwhelming, and he knows if he wants a shot, he needs to offer Arthur something substantial. They can’t pick up and carry on the way they were. The world is bigger for them now.

“He was a drunk. A mean one.”

Arthur’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, making the leather creak, and he steals a quick glance at Tommy.

“He went to ’Nam and when he got back there wasn’t nothin’ waiting for him but disappointment and my mother. So they got married, had Brendan and me, and then he had two more targets for his anger.”

Arthur nods, staring at the road.

“He wanted me to be the best, you know. He brought that out in me, that’s why I needed him for Sparta. But he didn’t know how to be anything more than he was. I don’t think it ever occurred to him to try. Not until it was too late, anyway.”

Arthur nods and changes lanes to pass a camper.

“We left when I was fourteen. Brendan stayed behind. To be with Tess, I guess.”

“He told me that,” Arthur says, eyes straight ahead like he’s worried Tommy will clam up if Arthur looks at him.

“Did he tell you our mom died?”

Arthur’s jaw tightens, but he nods.

“I enlisted right after she went. I had nothing else to do and I needed to feel useful. I know some of the things they said about me on the news, but most of it’s bullshit.”

“They call you a hero.”

“I’m not a hero. Not even close.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about that, Tommy.”

“I know. You’re the only one who wouldn’t.” Tommy offers him a small smile when Arthur looks over.

“So we’re sharing, now. Is that what we’re doing?” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“Only if you want to. We didn’t much, before.”

“I kinda liked that about us,” Arthur says under his breath.

“Me too, but I’ve have eighteen months of people telling me that’s not healthy. Guess the idea stuck.”

Arthur stares at him for a few seconds before turning back to the road. “You talked about me? In there?”

“A bit.”

Arthur presses a hand to his mouth and nods. “Okay. Um, I used to have a dog. His name was Apple.”

“That’s a terrible name for a dog.”

“Shut the fuck up, it’s my turn,” Arthur says. “He got hit by a car when I was eight and my dad told me I couldn’t have another one after that because I took it so badly. I mean, I saw it happen, so of course I took it hard. I was a kid and he was so disgusted that I cried, he sent me away. I went to stay with my uncle in California. It was the worst summer of my life. I was a fucking showpiece to them. I think I could have dealt with it if they’d yelled, you know? But the silence drove me fucking crazy.”

Tommy shivers, thinking of Arthur giving him the silent treatment when Tommy pissed him off. He wonders if Arthur’s aware he does it.

“I came out to my dad when I was seventeen. I didn’t have much of a choice when he caught me at a company party in his office with one of the junior interns. I was a little reckless back then; I’d do anything for his attention.”

“Reckless, huh? Guess that explains why you took me home with you.”

Arthur’s smile is sharp and the heat in his eyes cuts right through Tommy. “You complaining?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Tommy says with a smug smile.

“Anyway, I thought coming out would force him to deal with me, but he just kicked me out. Wrote me out of my own life like I’d never existed. A friend’s parents took me in until I graduated, and then I was on my own. My grades were good enough to get into university, but I could only go part time because I had to pay my own way. I wouldn’t trade the independence I’ve gained for anything, but I could have done without the occasional eviction. Finding places to sleep on campus without getting caught isn’t easy.”

“Do you regret not talking to him before he died?”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath. “No, not really. He wasn’t any different after I left so what would I have to gain? I tried to contact him for a few years, but after a while I just had to protect myself. I couldn’t leave myself open to his disgust, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tommy says, picking a package of Swiss rolls out of the bag between them.

“Don’t eat that shit, we’ll stop soon and I’ll feed you properly.” Arthur grabs it before Tommy can get it open.

“Is Brendan paying you to do this?”

“No,” Arthur says sharply. “What the fuck, Riordan?”

“No, I didn’t mean - is Brendan covering your expenses?” Tommy clarifies, a small thrill going through him when Arthur addresses him like he used to.

“Oh, yeah. I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted.” Arthur gives him a small smile in apology.

Tommy sits back and spreads out in his seat. “Good. I want a steak, so make it somewhere good.”

Arthur laughs, and the sound of it makes Tommy think this ride might not end badly after all.

Chapter Text

They pull off the interstate at Rock Hill, North Carolina, and Arthur rolls his window down at a red light to ask someone in the truck next to them where he can find a decent steak. Ten minutes later they’re being seated in a booth at the back of a dimly lit restaurant. The TV over the bar is set to CNN’s report on a school shooting in California.

“The biggest steak they have is twenty-one ounces. Jesus, can you eat that much in one sitting?” Arthur asks, grimacing at his menu.

“Right now I feel like I could.”

“We could have stopped sooner, all you had to do was ask.”

“And interrupt our little heart to heart?”

Arthur smirks. “Yeah, yeah.”

They order and sit in silence, Arthur watching him across the table. Tommy scratches the side of his head. Talking feels harder now that they’re face to face. At least in the car, he wasn’t on display for Arthur to pick apart.

“How bad was the food in there?” Arthur asks after a minute.

Tommy shrugs. “Not as bad as you’d think. They let me work in the kitchen and we got first pick.”

“Yeah? I bet you liked that. You know, you still owe me a meal.” Arthur says, and Tommy feels a flush rise up his neck.

“Your new apartment have a functioning kitchen?”

“In theory,” Arthur grins.

“You still can’t cook? How do you live, man?”

“On take-out. I’m not home for dinner much, anyway.”

“I’ll have to make you breakfast, then,” Tommy says quietly.

Arthur swallows hard, and draws in a measured breath. “Maybe.”

Maybe is better than he’d expected, so Tommy sips his water, eyes wandering back to the TV.

Arthur pulls out his phone and shows Tommy pictures of Patch. His new apartment looks sleek, but cozy, much like Arthur himself. When Tommy comments on it, Arthur ducks his head.

“I came into some money.”

“From your dad?”

Arthur scoffs. “Fuck, no. He wrote me out of will the second I was gone. My mom had a trust set up for me when I was born. I turned 25 while you were away and now it’s mine.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Tommy tells him seriously.

“Me too.”

Their food arrives, and Tommy takes his time with his steak, enjoying being able to cut it with an actual steak knife, not a butter knife, dulled from years of use. Arthur watches him take his first bite, then tucks into his own, slathering his baked potato in butter and sour cream. When the bill comes, Arthur leaves a generous tip and leads them back to the car.

“We may as well find some place for the night now. No sense in getting back on the interstate just to pull off again in an hour or two. It makes tomorrow’s drive longer, but I took the week off, so it’s not like we’re on a deadline.”

“You took the whole week off?”

“Figured you might need some time to adjust. Figured I might, too.” Arthur pulls out of the parking lot in search of a hotel.

Tommy tries to relax, but it’s early yet, and knowing he’s going to be within reach of a bed, with Arthur, has him on edge. It’s been a long time, but it’s not even the chance of sex that has him jacked up. He just wants to touch Arthur. Reacquaint himself with the terrain of his body and note all the differences since the last time. If he and Arthur share a room, he knows he won’t get a wink of sleep.

“Pull in here,” he says, turning in his seat.

“What? Why?” Arthur asks, but he’s already turning the wheel.

It’s a mini-mall with a hair salon, a cash advance store, and a tattoo parlor.

“Please tell me you need your nails done,” Arthur says, frowning at the neon lights in the tattoo shop window.

“I thought you were reckless,” Tommy says, getting out of the car.

“Reckless, not stupid. You have no idea if this place is clean,” Arthur argues, following him onto the sidewalk.

“Won’t know till we go in.” Tommy grins and pulls open the door.

He can practically feel the annoyance Arthur’s sending his way as he greets the woman at the counter. She’s in her forties and covered in ink, with silver hair cut short and a thousand-watt smile.

“Hello, ma’am,” Tommy says with his own polite smile. “You got anyone available right now?”

The woman’s name is Peggy, and she shows him her workbook, Arthur peering over his shoulder. Tommy tells her he just wants something small, and sketches out the insignia while Arthur wanders the parlor, studying the artwork on the walls.

“No problem, sweetie, I can do that up now,” Peggy tells him and turns to Arthur. “You wanting anything?”

“Me? God, no,” he says, then seems to realize how rude he sounds. “I’m not much for needles.”

“Wimp,” Tommy tells him, peeling off his sweater.

Arthur’s eyes roam over his chest and he licks his lips. “Can I watch?”

“Thought you didn’t like needles.” Tommy smirks.

“Shut up.”

Peggy has him lay on the table, right arm raised over his head so she can get at his ribs. The stencil is smudged and Arthur’s standing at his feet, looking dubiously at the tattoo gun Peggy picks up. He jumps when the buzzing starts and Tommy huffs a laugh.

“Hold still,” Peggy chides, dipping the needle in the ink and getting started.

Arthur watches her work while Tommy watches Arthur. He looks grimly fascinated at the process, and he asks Peggy question after question while she works. She answers them all, only taking her eyes off Tommy’s skin a when the needle skims a rib and he gives an involuntary jerk.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he assures her, eyes, going back to Arthur, who’s gone white as a sheet. “Arthur?”

“I’m good. Yeah, I’m fine.” He nods, eyes glued to the small patch of skin Peggy’s working on.

Over an hour later, Tommy gets up to check out Peggy’s work in the mirror. The skin is red and puffy, but her lines are solid and the stars stand out brightly on the blue background, the black 23 dark and clear over a red diamond.

Tommy thanks her, then looks to Arthur, who already has his wallet out.

“I’ll owe you.”

“Fuck yeah, you will,” Arthur says, voice high and tight.

If Tommy didn’t know him so well, he’d think Arthur was about to pass out. But Tommy can see the slight bulge in his pants and he knows Arthur’s eyes only glaze over like that when he’s ready to manhandle Tommy into bed.

Tommy grins and waits for Arthur to pay, leaving his shirt off so he doesn’t catch the wrapping over the tattoo. Arthur thanks Peggy and walks out without even looking at Tommy.

“Put your fucking shirt on,” Arthur snaps, unlocking the car.

Tommy pauses, carefully pulling on the sweater before sliding into his seat. “Arthur?”

“Shut up. Just, don’t talk, okay?” Arthur’s jaw is clenched, and he pulls out of the parking lot roughly, the car jerking under his hands.

There’s a Holiday Inn a few blocks down and Arthur stops in the check-in lane and gets out of the car.

“Stay here,” he orders before slamming the door in Tommy’s face.

Tommy starts to panic when Arthur doesn’t come back. He thought he was reading him well, but it’s been eighteen months, and a lot can happen in that time. He’d said and done some really shitty things to Arthur before going to prison, and Tommy’s clearly made one misstep too many.

Arthur told him to stay in the car, but maybe Tommy was supposed to go in after him. Maybe Arthur needs him to fight harder for him, to prove that Tommy deserves him. He’s reaching for the clasp on his seatbelt when Arthur finally comes out of the hotel. He gets back in the car and throws a parking pass on the dashboard, moving the car to the covered lot and getting out again. Tommy watches him in the sideview mirror as he opens the trunk and pulls out a bag.

Arthur’s eyes meet his in the mirror when the trunk closes. “Are you planning to sleep in the car?”

His voice is hard and sharp, and Tommy hurries to follow as Arthur stalks to the elevator. Tommy slips between the doors just before they close and they ride to the fifth floor in strained silence. It’s what Tommy hates the most about being with Arthur. The coldness in Arthur’s eyes when he looks at him, and the stony silence he uses to punish.

Arthur leads him to a corner room, trying the card three times before the light blinks green and the door opens. He throws his bag on the closest bed and disappears into the bathroom. Tommy’s hands are shaking, and he just wants to curl up and quietly break down so as to not bother Arthur more. Instead, he sits on the other bed, the slippery polyester comforter cool under his hands. He’ll wait, and Arthur knows he will, and it’s really not fair, he decides, that Arthur’s doing this to him.

It’s not that he wants to be treated with kid gloves, but he’s spent the past year and a half forcing out his emotions, using his words, and Arthur’s lack of communication makes him angry. He decides he’s going to call Arthur on it when he comes out, but before he can plan what he’ll say, Arthur’s out of the bathroom and stalking towards him, not stopping until he’s got two handfuls of Tommy’s shirt, and he’s kissing him, hard and angry, and Tommy can’t do anything but go along for the ride.

Chapter Text

Arthur’s teeth are sharp against Tommy’s lips but his tongue is warm and his hands are everywhere, and Tommy’s wanted this for so long it’s all he can do not to scream with relief. He cups Arthur’s ass, dragging them closer and Arthur climbs into his lap, straddling Tommy’s thighs, his own legs spread open so wide Tommy imagines he’d be able to slide his cock right into Arthur if they were naked. The thought shocks him, bringing Tommy back to himself and he pushes Arthur to the side and jumps to his feet, pacing the room, chest heaving.

“What the fuck, Riordan?” Arthur spits, picking himself up.

Tommy shakes his head, half horrified that he’s rejected Arthur and now he’s going to leave Tommy there, alone and no clearer on what they were. What they might have been.

“Hey,” Arthur says, stepping into Tommy’s path. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy can’t look at him so he keeps his eyes on the floor, fingers laced behind his neck. “What are we doin’?”

“You tell me,” Arthur snaps, throwing up his hands. “I’m trying to read you, man, and you’re giving me nothing. I mean, a lot of the time you give me nothing until you’re on me, but I’m so fucking lost right now, I feel like I’m fumbling around in the dark.”

Tommy’s chest hurts at how frustrated Arthur sounds, but his heart is too wound up around the man in front of him to play this by ear. He needs to know what’s going on in Arthur’s head.

“Why are you here?” he rasps, stealing a glance at Arthur.

“I’m here because you don’t get to tell me you love me in a fucking Dear John letter, then just walk away.” Arthur jobs his finger at Tommy. “That’s not fair.”

“I didn’t walk away, I went to prison,” Tommy reminds him, his own anger rising.

“Yeah, you did. And for eighteen months I lived with total radio silence from you, not knowing what any of it meant. You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Arthur’s eyes are hard and part of Tommy wants to give in, just so Arthur doesn’t have to be angry anymore. Juan’s voice drifts through his head, Sink, swim, or be the captain.

“I didn’t know it would be such a short stretch.”

Arthur glares at him. “It sure didn’t feel like a short stretch.”

“I know, ‘cause I was the one inside. You were out here, living your life, finishing school, moving on. I was in there, stagnating.”

“You did that, Tommy, not me.”

Tommy reels back like Arthur’s just slapped him. He honestly never thought Arthur would be the one to throw what happened in his face.

“I’m not talking about why you were in there,” Arthur explains when he sees Tommy’s distress. “I’m talking about you refusing to talk to me. Shutting me out like nothing we had meant anything. You can’t tell someone you love them, then throw them away.”

Tommy swallows around the lump in his throat, staring hard at the shitty painting on the wall. “I thought it would be longer.”

“What?” Arthur asks, and he sounds tired all of a sudden, like all the fight has gone out of him.

“Desertion carries a sentence of 30 years. I thought no way I’d get less than that.” Tommy’s voice is raw and he’s surprised at the relief he feels. Even standing here arguing with Arthur isn’t something he thought he’d have when he wrote that letter and cut Arthur out of his life. “I couldn’t ask you to wait for me. It would have been cruel to both of us.”

“I, I didn’t know that,” Arthur says, sounding shaken. “I had no idea. But when you got a shorter sentence, why didn’t you contact me? I’ve been going crazy out here, Tommy. I missed you so much. I had no idea what to do without you.”

Tommy shrugs. “I thought it would be easier. To not think about whether or not you hated me for asking you to wait. You deserve better than that. I wanted more for you.”

Arthur steps into his line of sight, mouth set in a stern line. “All I’ve ever wanted is you, Tommy. I fucking love you and you left me behind.”

Tommy takes a shaky breath, nodding his head. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur tells him, stepping closer. “I love you.”

Tommy’s eyes flutter closed and he sways into to Arthur.

“Tell me you love me. I need to hear you say it. Words on paper aren’t the same.” Arthur whispers.

Tommy frowns. “I never said it in the letter.”

Arthur laughs quietly, his breath ghosting over Tommy’s face. “Like hell you didn’t. If you don’t think that was a love letter, you’re fooling yourself.”

“But I didn’t say it.” Tommy opens his eyes, regret flooding through him. He almost lost this. Lost Arthur and the future they might build together.

Arthur’s hand brushes his temple, fingers dragging down to cup Tommy’s jaw. “I knew. I knew every time you touched me. You’re not as mysterious as you think you are, Riordan. I can read you like a book.”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy says, cocking his head up. “What am I saying right now?”

Arthur sucks in a deep breath, his eyes roaming over Tommy’s face. “That you missed me.” Arthur presses a soft kiss to Tommy’s cheek. “That you want me.” Another kiss to Tommy’s jaw, lips gliding over his chin. “That you-”

“I love you,” Tommy says in a rush and Arthur’s face lights up, his eyes shining, dimples on display. He’s even more beautiful than Tommy thought he’d be.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” Tommy whispers, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s. “I love you.”

Arthur wraps his arms around Tommy, holding him tight while Tommy tucks his face into Arthur’s shoulder, saying it again and again into the skin of Arthur’s neck.

“Geez, Riordan, be cool.” Arthur laughs, squawking when Tommy lifts him off the floor.

Tommy tosses him on the bed and crawls over him until he’s caging Arthur in with his arms and legs, dipping his head to kiss Arthur, deep and long, trying to make up for lost time. Arthur’s hands sneak under Tommy’s shirt, but they’re slow and sure, like he’s mapping out the changes in Tommy’s physique while they kiss, gentle and unhurried, like they have all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

They end up talking a bit more, Tommy telling Arthur about the things he learned to make in the prison kitchen, and Juan’s special brand of fearsome and determined counselling techniques. Arthur tells him about finishing school and the new bike he bought himself when he got his job. Arthur talks about his dog, and the friends he’s made at work, and Tommy hides his face against Arthur’s chest, cheeks burning as he asks whether or not Arthur’s dated while he’s been away.

Arthur laughs, pulling Tommy up to kiss him. “What part of in love and pining do you not get?”

“So, no one?” Tommy says, not quite believing him.

“I couldn’t even think about it, Tommy, not until I knew where we stood,” Arthur assures him. “My doctor was puzzled at my reoccurring wrist sprains, though. I think he was starting to suspect.”

Tommy chuckles, circling Arthur’s wrist with his fingers and kissing his palm.

“What about you?” Arthur ask, tentative, but measured, like he’s bracing himself.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to even jerk off in prison?” Tommy asks, tucking Arthur’s hand against his chest. “It’s not like it is on TV. There’s hardly any privacy and it’s a written warning if the guards catch you.”

“But was there anyone?” Arthur stares at his hand on Tommy’s chest.

“Just you,” Tommy swears.

“Yeah?” Arthur smiles at him, his hand rubbing small circles on Tommy’s pectoral.

“When I’d let myself. It was hard to think about you sometimes. But when I did, well. It was hard to stay quiet.”

Arthur’s smile turns smug and Tommy can see the desire in his eyes, just like it used to be when Arthur would arch into him and take Tommy apart, one piece at a time. Instead of pursuing anything more, Arthur lays his head down on Tommy’s shoulder, draping his arm over Tommy’s waist, careful not to put pressure on the tattoo.

They fall asleep like that, fully clothed, but warm and content, and when Tommy wakes in the early morning, Arthur’s curled up behind him, moist breath soaking unpleasantly though his shirt. He’s laying on the side with the new tattoo, and the skin is stretched uncomfortably. He needs to get up and wash the area, maybe jump in the shower before Arthur wakes.

He slides off the bed, stilling when Arthur makes a snuffling sound and rolls into the space Tommy’s vacated. He strips out of his clothes, checking the tattoo in the mirror. It’s a little red, but starting to scab over so he turns on the shower and steps under the spray. He takes his time soaping up and washing his hair, reacquainting himself with a life that includes ample hot water and no time limits. He’s rinsing the suds from his body when the bathroom door opens and Arthur shuffles in, squinting in the bright light.

“Why the fuck are you awake?” He grumbles, lifting the toilet lid and sitting down to take a piss. “It’s barely six.”

“Habit.” Tommy shrugs, smiling when Arthur yawns. “Didn’t want to smell like prison anymore.”

“Hmm, good point.” Arthur closes the lid and strips, opening the shower door and bullying his way into the small space. “Mmm, warm.”

Arthur plasters himself to Tommy, pressing him into the cold tile and letting Tommy hold him up.

“I need clothes,” Tommy tells him, angling his head out of the spray. “All I have is what I went in with and what Brendan sent me.”

“Your stuff’s in my bag. Brendan got it from your dad after Sparta, and he gave it to me to bring,” Arthur mumbles.

“Have you met him?” Tommy asks, smoothing his hand down Arthur’s back. It feels so good to have Arthur in his arms again that the prospect of Paddy meeting Arthur doesn’t seem too terrifying right now.

“Who, Paddy?”

“Yeah,”

“No, Brendan said he wanted to meet me, but he told him that wasn’t up to him. You weren’t there to tell me what to do so I didn’t pursue it.”

“When has what I said ever stopped you from doing something?” Tommy asks, staring down at him.

“Family is different. I defer to you,” Arthur pulls back and kisses him. “Let’s go back to bed. It’s too early to be up and I’m going to need more sleep if we’re going to make it home today.”

Tommy shivers at the mention of home, like Arthur just expects Tommy to stay with him. It makes him weirdly emotional and he kisses Arthur harder, pouring his gratitude into the act. Arthur makes a pleased noise in his throat and opens his mouth, letting Tommy in.

Tommy chuckles into Arthur’s mouth when Arthur yawns so wide his jaw cracks. “Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Arthur agrees, his eyes travelling over Tommy’s naked body. “But later…”

“Later.” Tommy brushes his fingers over Arthur’s hip.

They dry off and crawl under the covers, Tommy sliding his leg over Arthur’s and making him grunt.

“So heavy,” Arthur grumbles, rubbing his face on his pillow.

Tommy falls back asleep quickly, lulled by Arthur’s deep breaths and the warmth of the body next to him. When he wakes a few hours later, he’s comfortably groggy. The room is still dark and quiet, and Arthur’s curled up behind him again. Tommy smiles, knowing Arthur probably rolled him over in his sleep like he used to when they would huddle together on the shitty bed in Arthur’s one room apartment.

A hesitant hand strokes his waist, and he knows Arthur’s awake. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched him like this and Tommy’s content just to lay there and let Arthur do what he pleases, so he feigns sleep, remaining pliant and still. The hand moves again, firmer this time as it rubs over the hollow of Tommy’s hip joint. Arthur moves down the front of Tommy’s thigh, fingers splayed over the muscle, down to his knee and back up, sliding around to the back and cupping his ass lightly.

Tommy hums lightly, pushing into the touch a little. Just enough to encourage. Arthur immediately squeezes harder, kneading his cheek before moving back the the hip joint. He presses a kiss to Tommy’s shoulder blade and repeats his path over Tommy’s body, fingers digging in a little harder this time. When Arthur gets to his ass, Tommy arches his back minutely and Arthur takes the hint, dipping his finger tips into the cleft of Tommy’s ass.

Arthur’s hesitant in a way he’s never been before and it makes Tommy’s chest hurt. He can’t find the words to reassure Arthur, so he rolls forward, hiking up his knee to open himself up further.

Arthur chuckles quietly. “Shameless,” he whispers against Tommy’s skin.

Tommy hums softly, breath hitching when Arthur’s fingers dip lower. Tommy’s body is already starting to burn, Arthur’s touch coaxing his nerves into a frenzy. He’s half hard against the sheets by the time Arthur runs the pad of his finger over his hole. Tommy jerks, grinding his hips into the bed.

“Jesus,” Arthur breathes, mouthing down the knobs on Tommy’s spine. “I missed you so much.

Tommy nods, already beyond words. His body is covered in goosebumps and he wants to scream. Arthur’s touch is so much more intense than he remembered and he wants Arthur to pin him to the mattress and fuck his way back in, reminding them both of how right they are for each other. He doesn’t know if they have lube, and he doesn’t care. He wants to feel it when they leave, every bump in the road reminding him where Arthur’s been.

Arthur licks the small of his back, pressing Tommy’s legs further apart. His tongue moves lower and Tommy keens.

Arthur moves back up. “Tommy? Is this okay?”

Tommy thrashes, wanting Arthur back where he was, but unable to ask.

“Babe, it’s been too long. I need to know you want this.” Arthur’s panting, but his hands are firm when he stills Tommy’s hips.

Tommy pushes up onto his elbows, looking down through the gap between his arm and torso to where Arthur is waiting, eyes dark and wide, lips red and lush.

“Please,” he rasps. “More.”

Arthur nods, holding Tommy’s gaze as he lowers his head and nips at his ass cheek. Tommy closes his eyes, lowering his chest back to the mattress. His back is arched sharply, spine popping loudly when Arthur runs his tongue down his cleft.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, pulling back.

“Arthur,” Tommy groans, reaching back to push Arthur’s head back down.

Arthur chuckles and spreads his cheeks, licking lightly over Tommy’s hole. Tommy whimpers, struggling to get his knees under him. Arthur’s finger follows his tongue, rubbing gently and pressing against him.

“You’re gonna be so tight,” he says, wonderingly before diving back in to lick at Tommy.

Tommy tucks his hands under his knees, pulling them further apart so Arthur has better access. Arthur hums his approval, but keeps his movements slow, like he’s content just kissing Tommy’s ass, no thought as to what comes next.

Tommy tries to relax and match Arthur’s pace, but his dick is hard now and all he can think about is Arthur’s mouth on him. He worms a hand between him and the mattress, but Arthur’s fingers are like steel around his wrist.

“Just wait.”

“I can’t,” Tommy gasps, trying to tug his hand away. “I can’t, I need...”

Then Arthur’s there, laying over Tommy back, his own cock nudging against Tommy. “What do you need, baby?”

Tommy bucks up, trying to get Arthur’s cock closer to his ass.

“Whoa, calm down. What’s wrong,” Arthur slides to the side and rolls Tommy over.

“I need to come.” Tommy reaches for his cock again, but Arthur’s faster and Tommy whines.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Arthur says, staring at Tommy’s straining cock.

“Eighteen months,” Tommy growls, using his strength to force his arms up from where Arthur’s holding them down.

Arthur’s eyes widen and a hungry look steals over him. He moves to straddle Tommy, but Tommy’s too far past stopping to play and catches him around the waist, getting Arthur under him so he can slot his cock between Arthur’s cheeks and grind.

“Fuck,” Arthur gasps, arching to see if he can throw Tommy off.

Tommy may not be as big as he was, but he’s still got a good fifty pounds on Arthur and he’s not moving unless Tommy wants him to.

“Will you fuck me?” Arthur whispers, hips moving in time with Tommy’s thrusts.

Tommy stutters to a stop, a flare of anxiety going through him.

“It’s fine if you can’t,” Arthur says hurriedly. “You’ve just never been this dominant. It’s fucking hot.”

Tommy moves his hips slowly, turning the thought over in his head. Arthur’s warm and receptive, and Tommy wants to give this to him, but he can’t. Not yet. He lowers his head, pressing a kiss behind Arthur’s ear.

“Soon,” he whispers.

Arthur turns his head, smiling warmly. Tommy pulls back, letting Arthur roll onto his back, closing his eyes when Arthur cups his face.

“Whatever you want, Tommy.”

“I want to come. Let me come and you can do anything you want,” Tommy swears.

“Anything, huh?” Arthur laughs.

Tommy groans. “You gonna make me ask again?”

Arthur grins wickedly. “Well, you know how much I love hearing you beg.”

Before Tommy can respond, Arthur’s shuffling down the bed and taking Tommy’s cock in his mouth. Tommy moans, pressing his face to the mattress as Arthur sucks him slowly. Arthur’s hands move to Tommy’s thighs, tugging him until he’s braced on his knees, fucking into the hot chasm of Arthur’s mouth under him. Arthur slows him down, fumbling for something near Tommy’s head. Tommy opens his eyes and reaches for the bottle of lube peeking out from under the pillow.

“Arrogant bastard,” Tommy huffs, passing him the bottle.

Arthur grins around his cock and slicks up his fingers. He massages Tommy’s hole until Tommy’s torn between thrusting into his mouth and pushing back into his hand to make Arthur breach him. It’s been a long time, and Tommy knows Arthur’s being careful, but if he doesn’t do it soon, Tommy’s going to go insane.

Arthur relaxes his throat and slides the tip of his finger into Tommy’s ass, letting Tommy work himself back and forth, controlling his own pleasure. It’s a novel feeling, using Arthur’s body like this, and Tommy’s soon plunging his cock between Arthur’s lips, sinking in until Arthur’s eyes are watering, then grinding back on his finger, trying to locate his prostate.

“Another,” Tommy begs, fucking Arthur with shallow strokes, letting him catch his breath. He’s surprised he hasn’t come yet, considering how fucking good Arthur’s tongue feels as it rubs over the head of his cock, but the stretch of a second finger makes him clench his teeth and bear down, pulling him further back from the edge.

As soon as Arthur’s all the way in, Tommy squeezes around him, thrusting faster and deeper into Arthur’s throat. His need is ramping up again, and Arthur’s humming around his cock, eyes wide and intense, urging him on.

“Another,” Tommy demands, and Arthur answers him immediately, the tip of his third finger nudging in alongside the other two. “Ah, ah, fuck.” Tommy pants, trying to relax against the intrusion.

Arthur thrusts his fingers, slow, but firm, working his way into Tommy as he hollows his cheeks and raises his head so Tommy can be still and focus on feeling what Arthur’s doing to him.

“Fuck, yes,” Tommy groans once the pain turns to pleasure, and he pins Arthur’s forehead down, shoving his cock in as far as it will go. It’s strange for him to feel so in control during sex, but he finds it’s not as intimidating as it once was. It’s like he’s in control of his movements, but only because Arthur’s allowing it. He thinks about fucking Arthur like this. On his back, unable to move because Arthur’s asked him not to, while Arthur grinds down on his cock, milking pleasure from Tommy’s body, demanding it in the way only Arthur can.

Tommy comes suddenly, his mind stuck on feeling Arthur sink down onto his cock, hotter and tighter than his mouth is right now. He thrusts in deep, the soles of his feet tingling, fingers digging into the sheets while Arthur’s throat spasms around him. He’s still thrusting into Tommy’s ass, steady and firm, marking a path for himself.

Tommy pulls back with a curse, the last spurt of come dribbling over Arthur’s mouth. Arthur swallows and grins up at him, his tongue coming out to lick Tommy from his lips. Tommy curls down, following Arthur’s tongue with his own, slipping inside to taste himself. He groans when Arthur’s fingers slide out, but then Arthur’s manhandling him onto his back and pressing his cock inside, and all Tommy can do is gape up at him, his heart in his throat.

“So fucking beautiful,” Arthur says, pressing in and in until he’s fully seated, Tommy’s hole fluttering around him, adjusting to the intrusion.

Tommy grabs Arthur’s ass, raising his hips to get him to move.

“Shh, shh, stop a minute.” Arthur drops kisses all over Tommy’s chest, stilling him. “You’re so tight. I need a minute.”

Arthur’s shivering, so Tommy pulls him down, wrapping his arms and legs around him until Arthur’s sprawled across his chest, skin slick under Tommy’s hands. He makes shushing sounds until Arthur starts to move, a slow slide in and out of Tommy, lighting up Tommy’s nerves everywhere they’re rubbing together.

“I missed you,” Arthur says, stretching up to kiss him.

Tommy bends his knees, pulling Arthur along until he’s tucked under Tommy’s hips, thrusting deeply as they mouth at each other, gasping when Arthur hits Tommy’s prostate and he clenches around him.

“More,” Tommy clutches at him.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Arthur,” Tommy pants. Before long, his cock is stirring again, and he’s never been so happy to be sober in his life.

Arthur slows down, teasing Tommy’s prostate until he’s hard and leaking between them. Tommy starts to pull at his cock, moving his hand in the small space between their bodies. He’s nearly twice Arthur’s size, but he feels small; boxed in and hidden by Arthur’s body. It’s safe, and warm, and Tommy feels settled in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“I love you.”

Arthur grins down at him, wrapping Tommy’s legs around his waist so he can lean in closer and kiss him properly. Tommy’s palm is gliding over his cock, letting Arthur’s thrusts propel his touch as they kiss, Arthur’s tongue in his mouth and his cock in his ass, and then Tommy’s coming again, gasping at the sensation, and Arthur speeds up, nearly folding him in half so he can plunge in deeper. Tommy whines at the battering against his prostate and another stream of come spurts onto his belly.

“Fuck, Tommy, fuck,” Arthur groans, hips stuttering.

Tommy drops his knees open wider and pulls Arthur closer, his cock sinking in that last inch, until Arthur’s hip bones are pressing against the back of Tommy’s thighs and he’s gasping and pumping in with short, jerky thrusts, spilling into Tommy as he comes. Tommy holds him up until Arthur stops shaking, then he pulls him down onto his chest, grunting when Arthur slips out of his ass.

“I want to plug you up,” Arthur mumbles against his sternum.

They’re sticky, and sweaty, but Tommy chuckles and brushes his hand through Arthur’s hair. “Next time.”

“Yeah? We could drive cross country, stopping at national landmarks so I can fuck you and put the plug back in.” Arthur’s voice is low and slurred, but there’s a giddy quality to it that only happens after he’s spent himself in Tommy.

“You’re twisted,” Tommy tells him, squeezing his neck.

Arthur turns to grin up at him. “Only for you.”

“I love you,” Tommy says, earnestly.

Arthur crawls up to kiss him, covering Tommy’s face with small, quick presses of his lips. “I love you so fucking much, Riordan. Don’t ever leave me again, okay?”

“Never,” Tommy vows.

Chapter Text

40.

Tommy’s laying on the floor of their home gym, indulging Tilly in a game of tug of war when Arthur gets home from the office.

“Tommy?” Arthur calls and Tommy hears him head up the stairs to the second floor.

Tilly tosses her head, nearly tearing the knotted rope from Tommy’s hands. They adopted her a year ago after Scratch passed away. She’s a wily little thing who never seems to tire and lately she’s been Tommy’s favourite distraction. He gets his arm around her neck, playfully bringing her to the mat until she licks his face and he lets go. She springs to her feet, growling for show and looking for more. Tommy wryly thinks she reminds him of himself, once upon a time.

“Riordan!” Arthur calls, and even two floors down, Tommy can hear the exasperation in his voice.

He stares up at the ceiling, picturing Arthur going from room to room, looking for him. Tommy’s not hiding, exactly. He’s just putting off the inevitable.

“Jesus, you’re not even showered.”

Tommy tilts his head back to where Arthur’s standing at the bottom of the stairs in his charcoal suit. Even upside down, he makes Tommy’s mouth water.

“Please tell me you’ve packed,” Arthur says, coming over to pull Tilly away and send her upstairs.

“You look good,” Tommy tells him, grabbing his hand. “Come down here.”

Arthur gives him a stern look and tries to pull Tommy up, but there’s a smile hiding underneath his frown. “I am not lying down on that floor, it’s soaked with sweat and God knows what else.”

“You can lay on me, I’ll protect you.” Tommy grins, pulling harder on Arthur’s wrist and hooking his ankle around Arthur’s shin.

“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave in the next half hour.”

Tommy shrugs, running his bare foot up and down Arthur’s calf. “Then we’re late.”

“Tommy, you promised him you’d be there.”

“And I will. On my time.” Tommy rolls onto his hip, getting both legs around Arthur’s waist. Arthur has just enough time to swear before he’s falling to the mats and being covered by Tommy’s body.

“You bastard!” Arthur says, voice strained by Tommy’s bulk pressing him to the floor. “You’re all sweaty.”

“You like me all sweaty,” Tommy reminds him, forcing his face against Arthur’s neck to suck a bruise into the skin above his collar.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Arthur laughs, shoving his face away.

Tommy pins Arthur’s arms to his sides and works his way down to his zipper, mouthing at the prize tucked away inside.

“You’re being childish.”

“So?” Tommy asks, pressing his mouth over the growing bulge in Arthur’s pants.

“This is not a normal response to having dinner with your family,” Arthur sighs, giving in and relaxing in Tommy’s grip.

Tommy lets go of Arthur’s wrists to open his pants and pulls him out through the slit in his underwear. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tommy tells him and slides his mouth over Arthur’s cock.

Arthur’s hands immediately thread through Tommy’s hair, urging him to go deeper, slower, and anything Arthur wants that Tommy can give him. Now, just like every time for the past three years, Tommy is more than willing to oblige. It’s not that they haven’t ever fallen out of step with each other, but this, the sex, the intimacy, the raw desire, has never wavered.

Even when Tommy came out a year after prison and Arthur seemed three seconds from walking out the door because he just couldn’t take the threats, and the criticism, and all the hate that was lobbed their way, the sex was still mind blowing. Arthur doesn’t like it when Tommy says it’s what kept them together, but that doesn’t make it a lie.

Tommy bobs his head, enjoying the salty-sweet taste of Arthur on his tongue, the velvet smooth feeling of him rubbing on the roof of Tommy’s mouth, and he knows nothing could be better than this. No amount of money or fame can replace what he and Arthur have built. No awards on the wall (and there are several) or promotional deals (fewer, but not by much) would ever be worth giving Arthur up. And that’s exactly what Tommy told him when he said he wanted to come out.

It wasn’t that Arthur wasn’t supportive, he was just worried. Worried about Tommy and his career, worried about thrusting their relationship into the spotlight. Tommy’s not the first out fighter in the MMA, but he’s definitely the most high profile and there was a lot at stake. Arthur knew how badly Tommy would react if he was forced out of the sport, and wanted to do everything he could to protect him.

Arthur arches beneath him, fingers tightening in Tommy’s hair. Tommy knows the signs by now and he pulls off to lick and suck at the sensitive skin of Arthur’s scrotum. Arthur’s legs will only spread so far with his pants still in place and Tommy’s mouth is leaving wet spots on Arthur’s underwear. Arthur swears and kicks at him before helping Tommy shove his clothes out of the way so he can spread his knees around Tommy’s shoulders and lift his ass for more attention.

Tommy raises his hand, glancing up to watch his fingers slide into the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s sucks hard, his tongue rubbing between the fingers to coat them in saliva. Tommy retracts his hand and quickly repositions it behind Arthur’s balls, stroking back to his hole. Arthur doesn’t like to be teased like Tommy does, doesn’t find pleasure in being driven to the edge over and over again. He’d rather Tommy get him off quickly so he can torture Tommy until he’s hard enough to fuck him again.

Tommy presses in with both fingers, taking the head of Arthur’s cock back into his mouth to ease the stretch. Arthur’s still soft and a little open from last night and he takes the fingers with barely a complaint.

Tommy pulls off, thrusting hard into Arthur. “Okay?”

“Don’t stop,” Arthur pants, shoving Tommy’s head back down and bucking into his waiting mouth.

Tommy presses his fingers in further, rubbing across Arthur’s prostate and feeling him throb against his tongue. Two more thrusts and Arthur’s fingers tighten in his hair, holding Tommy in place while he comes in thick spurts down his throat. Tommy pumps his fingers through the squeeze, swallowing around Arthur until he’s lying limp and sated on the mat.

“It’s a shame about your suit,” Tommy says into his hip, laughing when Arthur snarls.

“I can’t believe you’re this determined to make us late,” Arthur pants.

“Thanksgiving isn’t until tomorrow, we’ve got lots of time.” Tommy crawls up Arthur’s body to bite at his ear.

“We still have a five-hour drive ahead of us. I wanted to get there before it got dark. Plus, I told Tess we’d be there before the girls went to bed.” Arthur grunts when Tommy collapses on his chest.

“I don’t want to get there too early,” Tommy admits, brushing his thumb over Arthur’s clavicle. “It gets awkward.”

“No, you get awkward. I quite enjoy your brother and his family.”

“S’not just them this time,” Tommy says quietly, snapping his fingers at Tilly as she comes down the stairs.

Arthur’s hand sneaks into the waistband of Tommy’s shorts, resting on the swell of his ass. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Brendan and Tess will understand.”

“The girls won’t.” Tommy reaches out for Tilly, scratching her behind the ears. He’s grown quite attached to his nieces, and he’s been looking forward to seeing them. It’s all the other shit that comes with the visit that rubs Tommy the wrong way.

“Tommy, I can’t make this decision for you. But if we’re going, we need to get cleaned up and go. If not, you need to call Brendan.” Arthur sounds tired and Tommy can’t blame him. Every time they make the drive to Philadelphia Tommy goes through the same cycle of anger and self doubt. He still feels out of place around his family, like he’s some kind of severed branch on their family tree that grew stunted and askew before it was grafted back on.

Tommy’s worked hard to come to terms with the reasons Brendan stayed behind all those years ago, but his heart can’t stop being broken knowing Brendan didn’t believe they could make it out together. That he thought Tommy and their mother would come crawling back when things got hard. Tommy can’t forgive Brendan’s absence from their lives and Brendan won’t forgive Tommy for leaving. It’s a stalemate that puts a strain on these shared holidays Arthur and Tess insist on.

Tommy and Brendan try, but it’s inevitable that they run out of things to say to one another. To make things worse this year, Paddy will be there. He’s nearly five years sober this time and has apparently found someone who’ll put up with his sorry ass. Her name is Gilda and Tommy wonders if she has any clue the powder keg she’s walking into.

“Do you need me to make you a list of talking points?” Arthur asks when Tommy’s been quiet too long. “Because I will. Number one: the deal you just signed with Tap Out is worth three times what Brendan won at Sparta. Two: the kitchen renovations. Three: your new fighter is three and twelve thanks to you. And four: your boyfriend is the most patient man on the fucking planet.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh when Tommy rolls fully on top of him, pinning Arthur to the floor.

“Fiancé,” Tommy corrects, staring down at him.

“I hate that word, but yes, number five: we’re getting married.” Arthur smiles brightly, leaning up to kiss Tommy.

“We could stop and do it on the way,” Tommy suggests. “Then they won’t argue with us about it.”

“Tommy, they’re not going to argue with us. I hate to break it to you, but your family actually likes you and wants you to be happy. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but it’s true.”

“You’re going to be my family soon,” Tommy whispers, pressing his nose into Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur scoffs. “I’ve been your family since the day we met, fuck you very much.”

Tommy grins, biting gently at Arthur’s jaw.

“You need to get in the shower and I need to change.”

“Shower with me,” Tommy says, trailing kisses down Arthur’s neck, loosening his tie and undoing buttons as he goes.

“I get in the shower with you and you won’t be able to sit through the car ride.”

Tommy grins.

“We’re going,” Arthur tells him sternly, trying to shove Tommy off him.

“Fine,” Tommy sighs, rolling to the side. Arthur gets up, standing in the middle of the room with his pants and underwear around his ankles, looking utterly ridiculous and making Tommy’s pound. He doesn’t think he’ll ever completely believe that he gets to have this. Arthur, his career, the life they’ve built. After all the shit he’s been through, all the people he’s lost, and all the bridges he burned, he’s finally gotten everything he’s ever wanted.

“Are you coming or not?” Arthur holds out his hand to Tommy.

Tommy pretends to think about it until Arthur kicks him softly with the toe of his shoe. “I like turkey.”

“You do. And if we spend Thanksgiving with them, we can skip Christmas,” Arthur points out, grunting with the effort of pulling Tommy off the mat.

Tommy wraps his arms around him, burying his nose in Arthur’s hair. “Promise me somethin’?”

Arthur pulls back to kiss him. “Anything.”

“If I give you the signal, you get me out of there immediately.”

“What’s the signal?”

“Me saying anything at all to Paddy.”

Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. “Sure, babe, whatever you want. Now get your ass in the shower.”

They’re halfway up the stairs when Arthur speaks again. “Was today leg day?”

Tommy pauses, looking back at him. “Yeah.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah, we’re gonna be late.”

Tommy grins and pulls Arthur the rest of the way up the stairs.