Work Text:
Leaning down over the balustrade of an ornate balcony, he's flicking the ash off a cigarette he's only smoked enough of to pull the fire through and keep lit, watching as the ember goes white on its way down, burning through its own fuel. He doesn't smoke. He never really has. It's just that smoking gets you a longer break in kitchen work, and Tommy's always been a damn good liar when it counts. This is the third wedding he's catered this month, and that's not even counting the funeral, the office party, and the bachelorette party, all considered smaller gigs despite the fact that they typically last just as long on an unlucky night. He's not back of the house, so he doesn't get the focus period of individual jobs, instead given days to prep rather than weeks. It's fine, though. He doesn't mind a job like this one- the rare joy of a genuinely happy wedding. He's never seen a couple so casually and comfortably in love, a companionship shared between them that made something hard turn cold in Tommy's chest, heavy and envious. He sits down on the tile of the balcony, his back against the railing, and closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back to lay it against the wood.
"Is this seat taken?" a soft voice asks perhaps a minute later, knuckles rapping down on a baluster not far from the one Tommy is resting his back against. He's worked food service for a little too long to startle that easy, so unless the guy is watching the cherry fall out of Tommy's cigarette when his hand fingers tighten and flick, he probably doesn't even know he's startled Tommy. Well, except, he winces a little when Tommy looks up at him, nose wrinkling like an apology is already forming in his mouth, and it's the strangest thing. Through nothing more than sight alone, he knows that he doesn't want to know the sound of the word sorry coming out of this man's mouth.
"Pull up some tile, it's all yours," he says, gesturing with his newly out, no longer smoking cigarette and patting the aforementioned tile gently. The guy laughs and uses the balustrade to lower himself to the ground, a careful half foot of distance between Tommy and himself. It's less than a lot of guys would leave, but more than an overt come-on kind of distance. Not that Tommy is hoping this random guy is trying to come onto him after less than a minute of interaction. It's just, well. He is pretty, though. In a boyish and shy kind of way.
His hair is silver and falls down in his eyes, wide and dark with just a little bit of natural mischief, as if this stranger just bleeds with it, mischief in perpetuity. He has a strong jaw, just a bit of stubble that rides the line between intentional and incidental, makes Tommy wonder if this is how he chooses to wear it, or if he's been busy with the wedding. If he's in the wedding party. If he'd like to dance. His name.
"Damien," the guy, apparently Damien says, dropping it as if he had known Tommy had been looking to pick it up. His expression has a sort of self-deprecating humor to it, only further confirmed when Damien holds his hand out for a shake, moving his other hand to the back of his neck to rub at it. Unable to stop himself from smiling, Tommy dips his head a bit, reaching across the space to grab Damien's hand in his own for a brief, firm shake.
"Tommy," he replies, vaguely gesturing to himself. Damien hums and takes a sip of his beer, nose wrinkling at the taste. Tommy raises an eyebrow.
"I'm more of a whiskey girl, but I don't think that's appropriate wedding alcohol," Damien explains, gesturing with the privately labelled specialty batch that the couple had commissioned just for their wedding. People with money, man. More money than sense, his mama would say.
"If I paid what they did for that mess, I'd be mad as hell if it was shit," he remarks darkly, grin pulling across his face when Damien laughs with him. He has a nice laugh.
"I wouldn't know," Damien says. Tommy tilts his head, question burrowing between his eyebrows. "I'm a plus one," he clarifies. Definitely not in on the inner workings of the wedding then.
"You're abandoning a date to pull up some tile with little old me? Must not be that good of a date, if you're stepping out with the caterer," Tommy says, speaking before he can think his words all the way through, as if that isn't the story of his goddamn life. Stepping out. Who even fucking says that?
"A friend of a friend needed a convenient, somewhat attractive date to make another guest jealous, and for some reason, the friend we share recommended me immediately. Courtney is always trying to get me to go out more, though. They mean well. Just, like, ever since she and my best friend, Shayne, got together and became confident together, the both of them just want me to be happy, and don't wanna see me rotting in my apartment with my cats, or whatever. Sorry, I've been talking for a long time. Maybe this beer is a little higher proof than I thought..." Damien says, trailing off and rubbing the back of his neck. Tommy snorts, struck fond. Wait a damn second.
"Courtney and Shayne? Courtney Miller?" he asks, going out on a limb in a way that doesn't feel like going out on a limb at all. Damien's eyebrows meet his hairline.
"And Shayne Topp, yeah. You know them?" he confirms, to which Tommy nods a little harder and faster than he means to, excited by the connection if nothing else.
"I've known Court... God, it's gotta be for years now. I met Shayne later, and- oh my God, you're Damien," he realizes, a thousand and one stories told over dinner party and zoom call alike coming into focus. "You're a voice actor right?" he asks, steering it into a more professional sounding interest, and definitely not a reaction related to finally putting a face to some of Shayne's wildest stories. He'd seen a picture of Damien before, sure, but in stills from So Random! that Courtney had shown him, giggling and unable to string words together as they shoved their phone in Tommy's face. Damien looks different now. Older. Handsome. Flustering. Damien grins at him, pinching the bridge of his nose, his face downturned.
"I perish to think what tales you've heard from Shayne, but yes, I am a voice actor. For the most part. I've been doing some stuff with Smosh as well, thus the friend of a friend situation- my date works at Dropout, but you know, tangentially," he rambles a little, looking up at Tommy through his lashes.
"Huh," Tommy says, blinking. To Damien's raised eyebrow, he clarifies, "I've been doing some stuff at Smosh for a while now, too. Obviously, I haven't given up the day job yet, but Courtney has been convincing me to move onto the unstable side of the economy for years." Damien hums, nodding.
"Same, though mostly Shayne for me. We used to do camera stuff together, so he thinks it's good for me to branch back into on-camera stuff. He let it go a little bit when I started streaming on Twitch, but I still come around for videos. I guess we've just missed each other," he says with a shrug, far too nonchalant for Tommy to let him get away with. Come on. Camera stuff. Some people.
"Saying camera stuff and meaning the fucking Disney Channel is crazy work, but alright," Tommy can't help but comment, barking a laugh at Damien's rolled eyes.
"Yeah, that's fair. Courtney wanted to show you Shayne's baby pictures, then?" Damien asks, wry grin so charming that Tommy feels dazzled by it. He's realizing that, though, may just be his response to Damien Haas in general. It's weird that he knows Damien's last name and Damien doesn't know his, isn't it? Like creepy-weird. Fuck.
"I feel like it's weird that I know your last name and you don't know mine?" he posits, more of a question than an assertion of fact, not to mention absolutely apropos of nothing. ADHD is one hell of a drug, and his meds started wearing off hours ago. Damien snorts and dips his head closer like he's letting Tommy in on a secret, that mischief in his gaze still remaining but with something heady there as well. He feels a little dizzy with the weight of Damien's attention, far too close to him and yet still much too far away, aching to close the distance.
"I mean, I'll take your number instead," Damien says, the gravel of his voice rougher than it's been this whole time and Tommy rocks with it, startled into laughter.
"Fuck you, that was almost smooth," he says, because he can't let a moment happen without doing everything he can to lighten the goddamn mood. Damien doesn't let him, smiling, sure, but holding that steady eye contact, that stomach roiling, fizzy excitement of knowing Damien's eyes are on him. Once, a very long time ago, when he was somewhere in that nebulous age between 8 and 14 where you're absolutely sure you know exactly what you're doing and how everyone else is doing it worse, he reached forward and wrapped his entire hand around one of the bands of an electric fence. He only held onto it for a second, and it was a livestock fence, not like it was anything deadly, but it knocked him on his ass either way. He's glad he's sitting down when Damien's looking at him like this; he's old enough now to know danger when he sees it.
"Only almost?" Damien asks, eyes sparkling in the dim light emanating from his phone, open on the New Contact screen when he presses into Tommy's hand. Tommy smiles and takes it despite every first instinct telling him not to, telling him to be cautious, telling him that he's smarter than giving his number to a guy just because he has a pretty smile and a nice voice. He enters his number first, ruminating on what to put as his own contact name. In the end, he decides to go the simple route and just put his name, adding in his last name with only a moment of hesitation before he hands the phone back.
"And, I put my last name in, so now you'll have to text me so I'll have your number and we're even," Tommy demands with a grin, only emboldened by the way Damien's face has only gotten pinker as they've sat here. The other man nods seriously, not moving his phone screen out of Tommy's line of sight as he taps the screen to send a message. He does move it out of Tommy's view once he begins typing however, which isn't to say that Tommy does not try to lean closer to see, grinning when he makes Damien laugh. Damien holds a hand out and catches Tommy's shoulder, typing with one hand before hitting send and placing his phone down next to his thigh. He doesn't take his hand off Tommy though, and Tommy hasn't stopped leaning his weight into it, and he's not entirely sure what's going on, if he's honest.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. Of course it does. He stops leaning his weight into Damien, but Damien doesn't take his hand away, fingers remaining warm and reassuring splayed across his shoulder and collarbone. Go out to dinner with me? the text notification says, turning Tommy's face red before he's even gotten his phone unlocked.
"Too direct?" Damien asks. Tommy snorts, fully giving into the impulse to move in closer to Damien, close enough he can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"You think texting me while sitting close enough to kiss me is too direct?" he asks, maybe a little too direct himself, but exactly what he meant to say. He lets this moment make him brave. Damien blinks at him, obviously flustered, and Tommy grins. It seems Damien can't help but smile back at him, flustered beyond his wits or not. Tommy tilts his face up, daring Damien closer. Damien does him one better, the hand on his collarbone slipping up to cup Tommy's face, growing suddenly shy again when his thumb swipes across Tommy's bottom lip, something between fear and reverence in the softness of his touch. In all this fragility, with the delicate nature of this quiet, strange intimacy, Tommy loses his patience, closing the gap between them.
Damien tastes like private label specialty batch, but more than that, Tommy can taste the warmth and heat of him, lost in the push and pull of him before he can find his feet beneath him. Damien's hand on his jaw is hot and heavy but reassuring, giving Tommy the bravery to push into him even more, til he's on his knees just to kiss Damien harder, and Damien's other hand makes a home of his hip, pulling him closer still. Tommy's knees fall on either side of his hips now, the velocity of bone hitting tile slowed by the care Damien shows for him, the consideration. Unthinking, Tommy's hand trails up the back of Damien's shirt, which had come untucked from his pants somewhere between getting onto the floor with Tommy and taking Tommy off the floor, as it were. Damien smiles against his mouth, breaking the kiss, except for the fact that he kisses Tommy again right after like he can't help it, pressing another and another quick kiss before holding Tommy's face away from his own, red and fucking adorable, and Tommy wants more from him than a kiss. He wants more from Damien Haas than a night. He wants more.
"So you cater?" Damien squeaks out, pitched high with a flustered rose proliferating his entire face. Tommy bursts into laughter, unable to help himself as the tension leaves him all at once, and hides his face in Damien's shoulder for a moment. Damien reaches for him, pulling Tommy til he's relaxed and leaning into Damien's side, which he takes to happily. Wrapping his arm around Tommy, Damien smiles himself and giggles, a giddy and unrestrained, beautiful sound. God, Tommy wants to keep making him laugh.
"I do. Mostly bartending and overhead, but I still typically fall under the role of caterer because the company I work for is a catering company. My cooking is... less good. But passable! I've lived on my own for a good little while, so I had to learn. That and the actual catering staff think I'm skinny as a rail and need to be taught to cook for and feed myself. For whatever reason," he trails off, nervous laughter spilling out. Damien hums and squeezes around his shoulders.
"Passable is good. I would also refer to my kitchen skills as passable, so it's not like I can talk shit," he says warmly, nosing briefly at Tommy's temple as if that isn't devastatingly cute. The fingers of Tommy's opposite hand come around to cling to the fabric of Damien's dress shirt, folding him into the other man.
"Maybe we could learn together sometime," Tommy suggests, his voice coming out thin and reedy with his face still hidden. Damien squeezes him just a little again, like physical affection and providing pressure is the best way he knows how to reassure people. It's working, so it's not like Tommy can talk shit, but he's never really met someone like Damien, someone who made him feel comfortable enough to partake in such casual affections the very instant they met his gaze. Well, perhaps not the very first moment. But incredibly soon thereafter.
"Is that a yes to dinner?" Damien asks, pulling Tommy back out of his head succinctly. He sweeps his eyes over Damien, letting himself leer a little at this beautiful man and his pretty eyes, handsome running cute when Damien blushes, catching Tommy's eyes briefly before he ducks his head, avoiding the eye contact. Tommy can't help but lean forward, catching Damien in another warm kiss.
"How do you feel about breakfast?"