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Carlos Reyes finds it hard to believe in miracles.
As much as he'd like to, they're a fantasy he uses to fuel his daydreams as he writes out tickets and files paperwork and gets relegated to crowd control. He's long since come to terms with the fact that they're not something he's able to have for himself. Since he was seventeen his whole life has been marred by hesitation, by loss, by fear and tip-of-the-tongue declarations that spilled out in the wrong moment. He doesn't deserve any of it, the kind of wonder that's otherworldly in nature.
Still, it doesn't mean he can't fantasize about the almost poetic way red and blue lights reflected on green irises in the rain. It doesn't mean he can't let fractured memories of a brief encounter guide him through the following days, standing a little taller on the off-chance the 126 will pull up at the same scene as him again.
Those eyes are still on his mind tonight as he strolls up the familiar path to the honky tonk. His vision adjusts quickly to the contrast between the dark shadows of the back hallways and the welcoming glow of the twinkling string lights and vintage neon, spotting Michelle in the crowd as she waves him over to the corner of the bar. She looks him up and down, humming with approval as she takes in the green t-shirt that he knows hugs his shoulders, fixing him with with an appreciative grin before ordering him a beer. There's a beat; where he allows the cool bottle to sweat in his palm as she takes a long swig from her own before he finally presses.
"So," he says, tapping his thumb against the neck of the bottle. "What's the occasion?"
It could be anything: another lead to follow, another flicker of a memory to chase. He holds his breath as he prepares himself for anything—for everything.
And then—something funny happens. He hears a melodic laugh and it's like his chest cracks right open; his skin catches on fire from the light that pulses out of the culprit: a dark head of hair, a sharp jaw, a strong set of shoulders that taper into a slender waist under a patterned button-down. It looks like the already short sleeves are rolled up, tight against biceps that flex as elegant hands wave in the air. And then he gets a better look at their profile, and oh. It's the same pair of green eyes from the call in the rain; the same pair of eyes that've had Carlos questioning everything. It's the same pair of green eyes that were shiny with adoration for his father—Captain Strand, Carlos recalls—before flickering with something darker, something he couldn't quite place.
His mouth goes dry, and he turns his eyes away from the group of new faces that have come to call the 126 home. He snags a blunt fingernail under the label on his beer and he tugs, feeling it fray against the cool glass as he tries to resist the gravitational pull that is the fire captain's son. Carlos feels flooded with something he can't quite name; something that he's been experiencing in waves since that night in the rain.
"I can't just invite you out for a drink anymore?" Michelle asks, drawing him back to the conversation just as she catches the bartender's eye and nods, accepting the shot glass that's pushed in her direction. Some of the tequila spills over her fingers as she brings it to her mouth.
Carlos quirks a brow at her. She playfully rolls her eyes in response.
"Okay, fine," she nudges their shoulders together, and he finally brings the bottle up to his lips. "I thought maybe we'd have a couple of drinks, and then we could go out there and—"
He chokes a little on his beer, and hastily runs the back of his hand over his mouth. "No way, Michelle, come on."
"How'd you know what I was gonna say?" Michelle asks, the corner of her mouth turned up, like this isn't a well-practiced dance between them.
"You know how I know," Carlos mutters. It took several drinks and a long night of teary conversation, but it's been a long time since they've established a dynamic where he can divulge to her about his love life; the ups and the downs. He feels like that's coming back to bite him, now that she's self-appointed herself as his wingwoman once she's a couple tequila shots in.
"Listen," Michelle says, tucking her long hair behind her ear. "I'm going to go over there and ask the captain to dance. When you find your chance, take it."
He opens his mouth to retort, but Michelle moves quickly. Carlos has time to watch from the sidelines as she moves elegantly across the room, ever a woman on a mission. He swallows and tries not to slink back into the shell of a person he was as a kid, as a teenager, always so full of want and so terrified of what it meant.
It's that fear of the past that has him making a split second decision.
There's another eruption of laughter, another clink of glasses, and when the group flocks to the dance floor after Michelle and Captain Strand, Carlos downs the rest of his beer. The captain’s son didn’t join in, lingering near his seat, and it feels like a sign. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, reaches up a hand to sort out the curls he already knows are carefully styled, and stands to full height as he chases desire on a completely ordinary Monday night.
Carlos doesn't really know what to say when he ends up standing next to the captain's son, but when the casual hey he tries not to sweat through earns him an appreciative double-take, he feels much more sure of himself.
"Hey," is the other man's response, and the way he speaks through a smile endears him to Carlos more than he thought imaginable. He's beautiful, too, in a way that Carlos can't quite grasp in the moment.
It feels like puzzle pieces are shifting into place as Carlos maintains what he hopes is a cool demeanour. He inhales deeply before asking, "Wanna dance?"
The other man looks at him again, and Carlos reads the surprise in his expression, even if he keeps his own features steady.
"Yeah," he says, his eyes a little wide, almost like his response has tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could quite catch up.
Carlos leads the way, his heart beating wildly as he stands tall. He allows himself to sway his hips like he does when he's weighed down by his utility belt, and brings them right into the middle of the dance floor.
"I'm Carlos," he says, easily melting into the line dance.
His dance partner seems more thrown off than Carlos had been expecting, missing a step almost right away. With his thumb pointed at himself, he says, "TK."
Carlos quietly studies the switch in TK's expression. He'd been so confident walking out onto the floor, a casual smile matching the spark in his eyes. Now that they're surrounded by patrons who've been line-dancing in this exact honky tonk every week for years, though, Carlos sees how he's starting to falter. TK looks around cautiously, and Carlos smiles at him warmly, reaching for him. He rests a hand low on TK's back to gently pull him into his space.
With his mouth close to TK's ear, Carlos murmurs, "Just follow my lead."
Carlos lets himself move, the music flowing through him just as it would on any other night out. He's only had one beer, but he feels drunk—heart racing, skin warm, free as the wind—just from the prospect of being out here with TK. He steps and claps and shimmies and turns on the beat, keeping his eyes locked with TK's to guide him through it all. After a few moments of stumbling, TK seems to get the hang of it as Carlos gestures at him to relax, to ease the line of his shoulders and just move. It feels intimate in a way that Carlos hasn't felt before, watching as TK picks up on half the moves and ignores the rest, his eyes dancing with light every time they stand face-to-face to shimmy their shoulders at each other.
Carlos bumps into him when TK turns right instead of left, and it's instinct to curl his hands around TK's hips and turn him so he's facing the right way. When TK does it again, his eyes shimmer as he stands his ground. They're so close like this, it takes Carlos' breath away.
"You're doing that on purpose, huh?" Carlos asks, ducking his head close to TK's so they can hear each other.
"You caught me," TK grins, looking at Carlos through his lashes.
Suddenly, he can't quite breathe. It begins slowly, like crackling embers. Carlos moves his hands from where they're still on TK's hips to tug at his belt loops, pulling him even closer as their lips ghost a mere few inches apart. There's other little things—a hitch of breath, the blooming flush of want, the deep pools of desire reflected in dilated pupils—but Carlos is too focused on the brush of TK's thumb over his forearm to do anything about it.
"I really wanna kiss you," TK whispers, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. Carlos senses the hesitation, the but hanging in the air as he glances around at the packed dance floor, and he gets it.
Something passes through them, then. Carlos doesn't know if it's otherworldly or a blind act of courage he isn't all that familiar with, but when he takes TK's hand, time around them slows. The twang of the guitars, the clink of glasses, the steady two-step stomping of boots...all of it sizzles into nothingness as TK looks at him with shiny eyes and pulls that lip between his teeth, jerking his head toward the shadowy back hallway where the bathrooms sit, tucked away and isolated from the noise of a rowdy night.
Carlos takes a leap, and much like their dance, leads the way.
The moment the door is firmly locked behind them, TK pounces; a caged animal set free, like he's been starving for something only Carlos can offer. Carlos makes a small sound as he's shoved against the wall, feeling the posters advertising half-price pitchers on Tuesdays crinkle under his back, but then he's being kissed, and the person kissing him is TK, and he can't really complain about that.
He's very quickly becoming obsessed with the way that TK's kissing him. He's steady and sure with what he wants, pulling Carlos' face this way and that to get the angle he desires. There's more to it that thrills Carlos too: the way he can grip TK's hips a little harder, here, and feel his thumbs dig into the bone; the way TK groans and pants and whines into his mouth, all of it vibrating against Carlos' tongue. He's so vocal, like these noises have been buried deep in his chest and waiting to break free, and Carlos decides to test the waters. He bites down on TK's plump lower lip as he shoves his leg between TK's, and the moan TK feeds into his mouth is sweeter than anything he's ever tasted.
"You—" TK starts, his voice tapering off as Carlos drags his lips along the sharp line of the other man's jaw, tasting salt as he grazes his teeth over faint stubble. "You're good at that."
Without thinking twice, Carlos says, "'m good at other things, too."
"Shit," TK moans, before cupping Carlos' face between his hands and dragging him upright again. His voice breaks as he claims, "You're so hot," before he presses their lips together again, sliding his tongue desperately into Carlos' mouth.
Carlos considers it all, as their mouths move together like they were born for this exact moment, each of their own small noises collecting and hanging heavy in the air around them. Multiple versions of what this night could be play out in rapidfire succession behind his eyes like little snapshots of time. In one, they're spread out against his sheets, and he's flat on his back, watching through half-lidded eyes as TK kisses down his neck, his chest, laving his tongue over each line of muscle he worked so hard for. In another—and he finds he spends more time here—he's turning TK's mouth slick and red and leaving him wanting more, his phone number a scrawl on a piece of paper that's crumpled in TK's hand.
Then, TK does something with his tongue in this current moment, and he's struck with it again, the heat of desire spreading like tendrils under his skin. It makes Carlos gasp, and his toes curl. Eager to return the favour, Carlos pushes TK backward until he's pressed against the other wall, and he grins when TK grabs at his shoulders and hums—pleased, surprised, all of it—into their next kiss. He presses his thigh more firmly between TK's legs, and TK grinds against it, a small sound ripping from his throat. TK curls his fingers into Carlos' shirt, and knocks their foreheads together so they can pant into each other's mouths.
Carlos doesn't do this. But then he reaches for TK's belt, and thinks, I do tonight.
"Can I—"
"Yes," TK says, out of breath, and Carlos inches back enough to take in the look on his face, the teasing question already on the tip of his tongue. But then TK nods downward so both of their gazes catch on the sight of Carlos' fingers on the buckle. "Please, okay? I need you to."
Carlos needs to kiss him again after that. And again, and again. When TK gently pushes at his shoulder, getting his head back in the game, Carlos slowly moves his lips downward. Faraway sounds of guitar riffs and loud voices spill under the door, but nothing matters more than the shaky breaths TK lets out as Carlos kisses down his neck, scraping his teeth and sucking hard over a spot low on his neck. It blooms deep red once Carlos pulls back, and there's something about it that makes him feel bigger, this visible sign of their time together.
"You're killing me here, dude," TK says, his voice heady and cracking down the middle when Carlos senses where he's going and puts more pressure between his legs. TK's move almost on instinct, seeking out friction as Carlos ducks his head to complete his mission of symmetry, leaving an identical mark on the other side of TK's throat.
TK's head falls backward against the wall, and Carlos spares a moment to take him in: his closed, fluttering eyelids and the warm flush that spreads from the tops of his cheeks up to his temples, where sweat has made some of his hair stick to his skin. He's overcome with the urge to one day kiss him and taste him everywhere. He draws his hands up from TK's belt to slowly hike up his shirt, revealing the lean lines of his torso and the soft give of his belly and the thin trail of hair that snakes down into his waistband.
With his gaze turned downward, Carlos takes the chance to cup TK over his tight jeans, where he's already hard and wanting. Carlos moves his hand in tiny increments, feeling the length of him, and is urged on by TK breathing hotly against his cheek as he keeps their foreheads pressed together.
The lights flicker above their heads as Carlos slowly unzips TK's jeans and digs his hand into tight red boxers, the dampness at TK's tip smearing against his fingers. He uses it to ease the slide as he works his fist down TK's length, slowly pulling him free from the confines of his clothing.
"Look at me," Carlos murmurs, his voice gone rough as TK draws his focus up from where he'd been watching his own cock disappear into Carlos' fist. When TK meets his eyes, something unlocks deep inside of him. Carlos kisses him messily, feeding off the pleasant moan that vibrates between their bodies. Just as TK pulls away to take in a breath, Carlos moves his lips along the hinge of his jaw and the shell of his ear. Working his fist properly up and down TK's shaft, Carlos directs TK again: "Now look at yourself."
TK does as he's told and moans as Carlos curls his fingers around his cock, watching as Carlos twists his wrist on an upward stroke. He drags his thumb over his messy slit, quickening his pace and then slowing down when TK's breaths start turning to airy gasps.
As he joins TK in watching, his mouth waters as he imagines tasting him. TK's so shiny and wet, so pink at the tip he's almost flushed red, and Carlos feels himself ache with arousal as he grinds his hips against TK.
He usually isn't like this. He usually offers to buy his date a drink, makes plans for dinner and then maybe hopes for something more. This is new, and refreshing, and a little bit like a dream. Tilting more into TK's space, captivated by pure want, he inhales sharply as he breathes in the scent of him.
"D'you have a condom?" Carlos grunts into TK's ear, gathering more precome and sliding it down TK's shaft.
"In my wallet," TK nods, digging his fist into the back of Carlos' shirt.
"Wanna get my mouth on you," Carlos says, much too enthralled by the thought of it now, and TK swears softly.
"Yeah—yeah, fuck," TK's breathing heavy now, as Carlos slides his hand away from TK's cock to grab and squeeze at his ass, pulling him in for another kiss. TK's nose bumps into Carlos' and their teeth are sharp when they clash, but they swallow each other's moans and it makes Carlos' head spin. After they separate, so TK can shakily reach for the condom and press it into Carlos' hand, he feels the heat of TK watching him as he slowly drops to his knees.
It feels holy, to flex and curl his fingers into TK's hips as he pulls him even closer. It feels a little stupid, too, to be doing this in a public bathroom, but then TK is whispering his name and reaching down to push his fingers through his curls, and nothing else matters.
Carlos rips open the packet and slides the condom down over TK's cock, and as he pumps his fist a couple of times, TK continues playing with Carlos' hair. Carlos turns his head into TK's hand and kisses the heel of his palm, and when he catches sight of TK's brow furrowing a little above him in response to the instinctive act of tenderness, Carlos turns his focus to kissing low on TK's stomach, down near the front of his hip. He drags his teeth there too, and is spurred on by TK's sharp intake of breath. The moment recovered, he glances upward. "You're sure?"
"A thousand percent," TK confirms, lightly tugging on Carlos' hair again, making Carlos wonder if it's written all over his face how much he likes it. His mouth watering as he nods, Carlos licks his lips and curls his fingers around TK's cock again, this time to guide the tip into his mouth. TK exhales shakily, and murmurs a quiet "oh, fuck," as his head thuds backward once more.
He goes slowly to savour it, imagining the sweet, salty tang of the real thing in place of latex. His eyes fall shut as he traces around the head with his tongue, slowly taking TK inch by inch as the rich music of his moans fill the air. Carlos makes it halfway and works back to the tip; he looks up for a brief moment and sees TK open his eyes just a sliver, before taking him down to the hilt.
There's the addicting feeling of TK's cock hitting the back of his throat, and he inhales sharply through his nose as he works his tongue and hollows his cheeks. TK seems to be incapable of keeping quiet, fisting Carlos' hair with one hand and scrambling for purchase along the wall he's pushed back against with the other.
"Carlos," TK moans as Carlos coats his cock with saliva, getting him even messier as he bobs his head. He keeps hold of the base of TK's cock with a loose fist, pumping his straining shaft as he sucks over the head. TK whines again, an endless litany of Carlos Carlos Carlos, and Carlos feels every nerve ending alight at the sound of his name coming from this man's mouth in broken syllables.
He uses his free hand to hold steady on TK's hip, the added pressure seeming to drive the other man even wilder. He slows his pace until he's just licking over TK's sensitive crown while his fist does most of the work, before he moves his tongue lower and into the little ridges beneath the head. Then, he nearly gags as he takes TK to the root once more, feeling a sense of pride as it takes TK's breath away with a gasp, his stomach quivering.
"You're so good," TK starts babbling, his fingers holding firm in Carlos' hair. It's just this side of painful, and Carlos delights in it, feeling pleasure tingle down his spine as TK continues praising him. "Your mouth, oh my God, ba—"
He stops himself abruptly, a groan tearing out of his throat as Carlos hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, his lips meeting his fingers at the base of TK's cock. Carlos wonders what he looks like, on his knees for a man he properly met fifteen minutes ago, but when TK strokes over the corner of Carlos' mouth where he's slick and straining, any care he might've had flies out the window as his stomach twists with want.
"'m close," TK says, and Carlos doubles down on his efforts. He groans when TK pulls at his hair, loosening some of his curls, the sound against his shaft, and TK lets out a breathless noise when it happens. Carlos does it again, on purpose this time, as he moves his hand from TK's hip to palm at his ass, gripping him firmly, keeping TK buried deep while he swallows around him. TK swears loudly, and bucks his hips. "Carlos, I'm gonna—"
He makes a pretty sound as he comes, and Carlos wishes he could capture it and bottle it up. TK's hips rock as Carlos keeps his hand firm on TK's ass, kneading it subconsciously, feeling his release spill into the condom and so badly wishing he could have a taste. Next time, he thinks dangerously, as he pulls back and heaves a breath, working a fist over TK's shaft once more as he rides the wave of his pleasure until he becomes too sensitive.
Carlos' knees ache from the hard, tiled floor, and he tries not to think about how many times he's going to need to run these jeans through the wash to make them feel clean again. Instead, he focuses on TK's sparkling eyes and flushed skin, everything about him seeming to glow.
"Come here," TK murmurs, once he's disposed of the condom and tucked himself back into his boxers. His palms are firm as they cup Carlos' face, his thumb brushing over Carlos' slick bottom lip as he presses their groins together as they kiss.
Carlos' lips are tingling and he's sure his voice is going to sound fucked out, but here's this man kissing him senseless, and he can't bring himself to care about anything else in the world. TK bites down on Carlos' lip, and moves his hands down to palm at his ass, before he slowly inches toward his zipper as he urges Carlos backward against the wall with a thud.
His breath catches in his throat as TK sets those shiny eyes on him, dancing with something light and playful and maybe a little teasing, and says, "My turn."
Maybe, he thinks, as TK Strand slowly sinks down to his knees and looks up at him like he might be something special, maybe miracles exist after all.