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PUT YOUR KEY IN MY IGNITION
Buck hadn’t been sure what to expect when Tommy proudly presented him with two front-row tickets to Jazzercise.
(He had, at that moment, stared at Tommy blankly, visions of his partner in a neon leotard and sweatbands rippling before his eyes before Tommy had clocked his expression and crushed his fledgling dreams with a wry, “It’s a jazz band, Evan”.)
Despite the disappointing lack of spandex aerobics-wear, Buck had been excited for their evening out. Frankly, he would have been happy to go along even if the tickets were for a kazoo band. Their shift schedules had been a bitch to coordinate lately, the universe seemingly conspiring to keep them from doing much more than meeting at each other’s places for some hurried, sloppy sex and impromptu breakfasts before parting ways. They kept in touch via the wonders of technology, as Tommy had grown used to Buck’s continuous stream-of-consciousness method of texting, but it wasn’t the same as having proper quality time together, and it was frustrating for both of them.
Hence, the Jazzercise date.
Buck liked jazz well enough. He’d done a Wikipedia-slash-Youtube deep-dive to prepare for the evening, so he felt pretty confident in labeling Jazzercise’s brass ensemble style as somewhere between post-war big band and seventies jazz. It turned out that Tommy was a long-time fan, and as good as the music was, half of Buck’s enjoyment came from seeing his reaction to the performance. He bobbed his head and tapped his feet and hummed along under his breath – not loudly enough to disrupt, but more like he was caught up in the moment and couldn’t help it. It made Buck feel awfully fond.
It was a classy date overall, effortlessly romantic in the way that Tommy-coordinated dates tended to be. (Buck hadn’t yet decided whether this was by virtue of Tommy’s not-so-secret love of romcoms or whether it could simply be chalked up to more experience.) The LA-hipster brewery venue was dimly-lit and intimate, decorated like something out of a 1930s gangster movie, and their seats had a perfect view of the stage. During the intermission, they helped themselves to some bar snacks and a mixed drink each, and since both of them had dressed up for the occasion, Buck was feeling kind of pampered. Tommy, for his part, was wearing a brown dress shirt that was unbuttoned far enough to flaunt his chest hair; Buck spent a considerable portion of the back half of the set eyeing that sliver of skin and fantasizing about spending the rest of the night with his face buried between those magnificent pecs.
Sue him, his boyfriend was sex on legs.
It was late by the time the show was over, much later than either of them had meant to stay out. Since neither had shifts the next morning, Buck was feeling like a teenager without a curfew. There wasn’t any cause to rush, nothing that was preventing them from having some fun. He managed to wheedle Tommy into a furtive corner of the parking garage as soon as the departing crowd thinned out, his thoughts already fixated on all the delicious things he intended to do when they got back to the loft. Nothing wrong with getting a small taste right now, of course.
“Really, Evan?” Tommy sighed, as Buck seized the opportunity to get his mouth on the hairy real estate that had been teasing him all night. He was playing at being unaffected – it was a little game they never tired of – but Buck grinned as he felt Tommy’s heartbeat quicken under his lips. “I didn’t realize baritone sax solos did it for you.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Mmm, you’re full of something alright,” Tommy murmured, tugging at the button of Buck’s slacks with one finger before reeling him in by his chin for a ferocious, open-mouthed kiss. Sequestered away under the dimly-lit landing, they lost a few minutes to the familiar rush of rumpled clothing and muffled, hungry noises. Buck’s hands started to instinctively wander into places that might be considered inappropriate for a parking garage, and he paused, unsure of Tommy’s reaction. Some kink in the comfort of their own homes was one thing; public sex without a conversation first was another.
Tommy caught his second of hesitation and said, sounding gratifyingly breathless, “There are probably security cameras in here.”
Buck took his tongue out of Tommy’s ear long enough to point out, “If you’re trying to discourage me, saying that is going to have the opposite effect.”
“Who said I was trying to discourage you?” Tommy offered him a toothy, shark-like grin, and Buck resolved to have that conversation sooner rather than later. “But we should go. Concrete floors are hell for my knees anyway.” He pulled away and smoothed down their shirts, softening the blow with a few more lip-sucking kisses as he hooked a big hand casually into Buck’s back pocket. “You want to drive us home?”
“Can I?” Buck asked eagerly.
Tommy had brought out his candy-apple 1969 Chevrolet Corvette and let Buck take the wheel on the way to the venue. It handled like a dream – everything from the shiny rims to the patent leather seats had been painstakingly restored and refitted by Tommy himself. It had taken him three years of work and more money than he would admit to spending, but it was undeniably a gorgeous piece of machinery. Buck didn’t have a special love for classic cars, but his hands were practically sweating with the prospect of getting to drive it back to the loft.
“Of course,” Tommy said indulgently, slipping his hand out of Buck’s pocket – though not without giving him a hearty squeeze first – as they approached the stairs to their ramp level.
Buck couldn’t help but pump his fist in triumph. “Race you!” he called over his shoulder, already barreling down the steps two at a time. He didn’t look back to see if Tommy was giving chase, but Tommy’s surprised bark of laughter followed him down the stairs, spurring him on until he bounded out onto their level.
It wasn’t hard to find the Corvette. Buck had parked it carefully next to one of the security stations by the elevators, and he giddily slowed to a jog as he pulled up alongside it. Only then did it occur to him that he’d forgotten to take the keys with him. Tommy was absolutely going to give him shit for that.
“Hey, dude.”
The unfamiliar voice wasn’t enough to startle Buck, but he took an instinctive step back before he saw the tall, stocky figure lounging against a truck two spots down.
“Hey, man,” Buck said. “Were you at the show too? It was pretty great.”
The guy pushed off the truck and moseyed over. “Is that car yours? It’s nice.” He came closer. Buck noticed his jacket – it was an expensive leather one, and it looked kind of strange paired with the sweatshirt and baseball cap. Out of place. Not that he was judging a stranger’s fashion choices, of course.
“It’s a really nice car, dude,” the guy repeated. “What is it, a ‘66? ‘67? The bodywork looks professional.”
“Uh. Thanks,” Buck said, starting to feel uneasy. He was used to the Corvette receiving admiring and envious looks on the street from strangers, but this guy’s expression bordered on predatory. He’d been prepared to recite Tommy’s usual spiel about the car that he gave to interested onlookers – he’d heard it enough times by now to have it memorized – but something was telling him it was a better idea to shoo this man off politely. “You’re close, it’s 1969.”
He nodded at the guy and stepped nearer to the driver’s side door, hoping it would make him realize that he was too close. The guy did move back, and Buck turned his head to see where Tommy was.
It was a mistake.
Given that he wasn’t expecting it, he almost smashed his face on the car roof when the man shoved him against the Corvette. He reared back, ready to elbow him off, and froze when he felt something cold and sharp press against his neck from behind. He could hear the guy panting against his back, out of breath from the brief struggle. A thin grunt escaped his mouth without his permission as the knife blade pressed down harder; he felt serrated edges scraping against his Adam’s apple as he tried to crane his neck away from it.
“Evan?” he heard Tommy call, and it was maybe the first time the sound of Tommy’s voice had ever made his stomach curdle with dread. “I think you forgot something important.”
“Shut up, and give me your keys,” Dude hissed in Buck’s ear.
“I don’t have them,” Buck protested, and of course that was when Tommy emerged from between two parked cars a row down. His hands were in his pockets, his cheeks still flushed from their makeout session, and he looked amused – at least until his eyes zeroed in on Buck and his weapon-wielding friend.
The expression that came over Tommy’s face made every hair on Buck’s body stand on end.
The three of them stood there in a weird, awkward standoff for what felt like an eternity before Tommy raised his hands slowly, palms up and open. “Easy now,” he said, cool as a cucumber. “Tell us what you want, and we’ll give it to you.”
“You know him?” Dude muttered, and he didn't wait for Buck to answer before he pushed him harder against the car. “Dude, stay right there!”
Tommy’s stance went rigid, his face hard, and he didn’t move apart from a terse nod of acknowledgement. Buck could hear the dude’s breathing picking up again. It was easy to see why. Buck’s partner was a gentle giant, but strangers did tend to find him intimidating. Especially, Buck supposed, when Tommy was staring at them like he’d enjoy nothing more than punting somebody’s ass off the roof of the parking garage.
“Just stay there,” Dude said, his voice pitchy and nervous. He jostled Buck with his other hand. “Give me your wallet. Your phone. Whatever you’ve got on you. Hurry up!”
Buck’s fingers stayed steady as he reached in his pockets, broadcasting his movements, but he fumbled his phone somehow anyway. He watched helplessly as it clattered to the pavement. Dude made a derisive noise before he kicked Buck’s foot.
“Pick it up,” he snapped, and Buck was momentarily taken aback until he realized that the guy was still fixated on Tommy like he expected to be suplexed at any second.
“Okay, okay, I’m getting it,” he said, probably too loudly. Dude just scoffed, so he obediently bent to pick up the phone. The knife followed him unsteadily down and then back up; Tommy’s flinty stare was locked on it.
Dude pocketed Buck’s wallet and phone and then addressed Tommy impatiently. “Your stuff too. Put it on the hood and then back up.”
Tommy walked forward slowly and placed his wallet and phone on the hood, keeping his hands deliberately in view. For a brief second, they were close enough to exchange a loaded glance.
You okay? Tommy’s worried eyes asked.
Buck summoned up a faint smile, hoping to reassure him. As far as disasters went, a carjacking was hardly going to crack the top five. Assuming, of course, that they got out of this without Dude trying to give him a second tracheotomy.
Dude started patting around Buck’s pockets himself; Buck tried not to flinch. “Where are the fucking keys?” he demanded.
“I’ve got them,” Tommy said coldly. “I’ll put them on the hood.”
He did, the brightly-colored plastic helicopter keychain that Buck bought for him last month clinking against the metal cheerfully. Dude seemed to relax at the sight of the literal keys to his escape, and Buck started to think that maybe they would be able to go home with no damage to anything but Tommy’s insurance premiums.
“Back up,” he ordered. As soon as Tommy retreated, he snatched up the wallet and phone. He didn’t take the keys – he told Buck to pick them up, which he reluctantly did.
“C’mon,” Dude said, urging Buck around the hood toward the driver’s side. “Unlock the door, dude.”
Oh, Buck thought. Oh, fuck no. I am not getting in that car.
The same suspicion seemed to have occurred to Tommy, because there was visible panic in his eyes for the first time since they stumbled into this mess. Before Buck could do something impulsive and stupid, though, Dude said, “Just open the door, turn the car on, and back up, got it?”
Buck did so gratefully, sparing a second to apologize to Tommy in his head for the loss of his cherished car as he turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. Before he could back up properly, Dude shoved him out of the way, threw himself into the seat, and reached for the gear shift. Buck stumbled, but Tommy was there to catch him before he fell on his ass. They watched as the Corvette peeled away with tires squealing, jerking wildly back and forth before it zipped around the curve of the parking garage and disappeared down the ramp.
Buck felt a bit stuck, standing there with Tommy’s heart pounding wildly against his back. He wanted to ask him if he was okay, or tell him that they should hunt down a phone and call the police, but what came out of his mouth was, “We can’t even call an Uber.”
Stupid as it was, that seemed to wake Tommy from whatever daze he was in too.
“Evan.” Tommy squeezed Buck tightly enough that he lost his breath for a second. “Oh my god.” When he pulled back, Buck turned around immediately and tried to latch onto him, not ready for the hug to end. Tommy held him off, though, and the pads of his fingers brushed tentatively against Buck’s neck. “You’re bleeding, baby.”
“I am?”
“Not much,” Tommy said, and he sounded shaky. “Looks like a scratch. Hold still, let me see it, Evan.” He prodded at it, and Buck held still, too rattled to put up a fight. He didn’t have any protests in him anyway, not with how Tommy’s chest was heaving under his hands. “It’s shallow. I don’t think it needs stitches. Jesus Christ.”
Buck grabbed his neck, pulling him down until their faces pressed together. Tommy’s breath was puffing reedy and quick against his cheek, but he rubbed his hands soothingly up and down Buck’s arms – as he got his breathing under control, Buck found himself calming too, their bodies coming down in sync.
“Wow,” Buck mumbled. “I can’t believe that just happened.” He felt Tommy’s lips press against his sweaty forehead and leaned into the touch. “We need to call the cops. Oh, fuck, Tommy, your car.”
“And our phones and wallets and house keys,” Tommy said darkly, and Buck groaned with renewed despair.
Sitting in the nearest police station at one-thirty in the morning certainly hadn’t been how Buck had intended to finish out the evening.
They were allowed to make some calls to cancel their bank cards, but otherwise there wasn’t anything to do but sit in uncomfortable plastic chairs and drink stale coffee while they waited to make their report. One of the officers gave them some antiseptic and bandaids, so Buck cleaned the tiny cut with Tommy’s assistance; he felt better having it sanitized and couldn’t help but be grateful that they wouldn’t have to spend any time in the ER tonight.
Small mercies, etcetera.
They sketched out a few hushed plans – they would call Eddie for a ride back to Buck’s loft, and they’d go out to buy new phones in the morning. Buck had a spare key to Tommy’s bungalow, thankfully, but the locks would need to be changed as soon as possible, since their mugger now had Tommy’s address and his keys if it occurred to him to use them. The IDs and cards would have to be replaced later, and they’d need to get temporary paperwork until their driver’s licenses could be reprinted. There was a lot to do, but it made Buck feel better to have a concrete course of action to follow. For now, though, they waited.
Tommy was very quiet, holding Buck’s hand between their laps. Buck rubbed the thick calluses on his palm and thought about how much time and hard work his boyfriend had put into that car. He loved that car. He practically babied it. And now it was gone and probably wouldn’t be found without at least some damage being done to it. Buck felt a moment’s intense regret that he hadn’t waited for Tommy or at least thought to look around the lot first. At least then, the thief might have had second thoughts about approaching them.
“I’m so sorry about the Corvette,” he said, breaking the heavy silence.
He felt Tommy’s body jerk slightly. “I don’t care about the Corvette,” he said sharply. He paused, shook his head as if to clear it, and then stroked his thumb against Buck’s wrist with an apologetic look. “I can get another car. I can’t get another Evan.”
Buck squeezed his hand. He couldn’t say that he’d been terrified in the moment, exactly (and it probably said something about him that he didn’t quite have the self-preservation instincts that other people did), but he hated that Tommy had been afraid for him. He certainly wouldn’t have reacted so sensibly if it had been Tommy who’d had the knife to his throat. “I’m okay, Tom.”
“I just feel like I should have done something more.”
Buck had to laugh. “Absolutely not. As much as I enjoy seeing you pull out those Muay Thai moves, I’d like to remain unstabbed.”
Tommy’s mouth curled up in one corner. “That’s fair.”
“You did the right thing, not fighting back.”
“And you kept calm. That was well done.”
“I guess. Thanks.” He turned his head and smothered a yawn in Tommy’s shirt, suddenly exhausted. “Oh, here comes the adrenaline comedown. I was wondering when that was going to happen.”
Tommy’s pleasantly heavy arm settled around his shoulders, providing him with a comfy, cologne-scented pillow. The lone cop at the reception desk turned her stare onto them, but Tommy must have given her his patented unimpressed look, because she immediately averted her eyes and went back to typing on her computer. “Take a nap if you need it, sweetheart. We’ll probably be here for a while.”
“Mmm.” He let his eyelids drift shut and then cracked them open again. “You know, you can admit that you’re a little upset about the car too.”
“Evan.”
“No, really. You put a lot of money into that thing. You buy special imported European wax for it. I thought you were going to cry when that old lady backed into it at Trader Joe’s and scuffed the paint. You gave the car a nickname."
Tommy’s exasperated sigh ruffled through Buck’s hair. “Alright, I’m a little upset about the car. Happy?”
“Happy’s not really the word I’d use, but I’m trying to commiserate here.”
“And I appreciate your incredible sacrifice,” Tommy said dryly, but the kiss he dropped on Buck’s head took the sting out of it. “Big Red is a distinctive vehicle. I doubt they’re going to wreck her when they could get a lot of cash reselling her. I have the feeling she’ll turn up somewhere. And if I have to start over from scratch, I’ve got a good insurance plan.”
“Well, if you do, I could help you restore Big Red Junior.”
“I might take you up on that. You’d do a great job handing me tools and looking pretty.”
Buck checked to see whether the cop was looking; she wasn’t, so he discreetly bit Tommy’s shoulder in retaliation. He felt Tommy’s chest shake as he tried not to laugh.
“Brat,” Tommy whispered.
“You love it.” Buck closed his eyes again and let himself sag into the big, warm body next to him. They’d figure everything out tomorrow.
“I do,” Tommy said, a smile in his voice.