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chicgeekgirl89 · 1 year

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The Luck o’ the Irish

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand

Summary: St. Patrick's Day with a Kindergartener means only one thing: Leprechaun traps. And Carlos isn't thrilled with the results.

A/N: I teach K-5 music and St. Patrick's Day is BY FAR the biggest day of the year. They've been making traps all week long and I couldn't help but write a little something for the boys.

Read on AO3

Carlos stares at the monstrosity on his kitchen table. It’s an eyesore and it hurts him to even be in the same room with it. Maybe if he just…

He stands and walks closer, eyeing the offending object with his hands on his hips. He’s reaching out to try and adjust a couple things when he hears T.K. coming down the hall, causing him to whip around, hands held innocently behind his back.

“Okay, it took three books and the goodnight song, plus an extra monster check and a drink of water, but he’s down,” T.K. says as he rounds the corner. He spots Carlos and his eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Carlos says. “Nothing. I was just looking. Three books? It’s supposed to be one.”

“Well I had to bargain him down from six. He’s definitely your kid,” T.K. says with a smile as he starts making hot water for tea.

That their kid loves reading as much as Carlos does makes Carlos’ heart soft with happiness on a regular basis. It’s amazing to see pieces of yourself in the tiny human you’re raising.

Unfortunately Carlos does not see a single piece of himself in the abomination that takes up a third of their table. He frowns down at it again, then sticks out a finger to swipe at some errant glue.

“Don’t touch that,” T.K.’s voice says behind him and Carlos can’t take it anymore.

“We can’t let him take this to school tomorrow.”

“Because…you want bring shame on our family by having our child to be the only one in his class that doesn’t have a trap to catch the leprechaun?”

“T.K., his teacher is going to take one look at this and think we’re terrible parents! It’s a disaster!” He looks down again at the pile of floppy, wet cardboard and paper. “Look at this ramp! It’s not even close to ADA compliant, it couldn’t bear the weight of a fly let alone a small mythical creature. He didn’t even cut straight lines or use any of the stickers I got him.”

Carlos points to the unopened packages of shamrock and gold star stickers that he’d purchased to adorn their child’s masterpiece. As it turns out, their kiddo isn’t interested in arts and crafts at all. He’d spent fifteen minutes on the thing, sticking some green paper to the outside of a box, and then emptying an entire bottle of glitter glue (Carlos’ reluctant compromise to having glitter in their house) at the bottom of a paper towel tube he’d haphazardly placed along the side.

“Well first of all, I think it’s a slide, not a ramp, and considering that no creature, mythical or otherwise is going to be inside of it, I don’t think we need to have the safety inspector come out,” T.K. tells him. “And I’m sure his teacher has seen worse.”

“It looks like a five-year-old did it.”

“That’s because our son is a five-year-old,” T.K. tells him as if he’s a small child too. “This is what five-year-olds do.”

“Not me,” Carlos says defensively. “My school projects were masterpieces. Whatever this is, he gets it from you.”

“Are you saying you’re perfect and I’m a mess?”

“No, I’m saying I’m fastidious and you have a more carefree approach to life,” Carlos tells him. “What if I redo it and we tell him the leprechaun came early and helped fix it up?”

T.K. raises his eyebrows. “The leprechaun came to help build his own trap? I don’t think our kid is going to buy that one babe.”

He’s right. Their child may not be a Picasso, but he definitely outsmarts them both on a regular basis. “Let me at least try and get some of the glitter glue out of it. It’s never going to dry.”

“I think that’s the point. The leprechaun goes down the slide and gets stuck in the glue.” T.K. takes a sip of tea, sending his husband an amused look over the rim of the cup.

“You’re enjoying this,” Carlos accuses.

“A little.”

“It doesn’t bother you that our son is going to school with a subpar project?”

“Nope,” T.K. pops the ‘p’. “For three reasons. One, I know most of the other kids are going to have projects that look exactly like this. Two we always said we’d let our kiddo be his own person; clearly arts and crafts are not his thing right now and that’s okay, plus he’s very happy with how it turned out. Three, we promised that when we had kids we wouldn’t be those parents who do their kids’ work for them. It’s his project, not ours.”

Carlos deflates a little. “Those are very good reasons.”

“I know they are.” T.K. walks over and hooks a finger into the waistband of Carlos’ sweats, tugging him close. “And you do too. You’re just blinded by your perfectionism and need for aesthetically pleasing artwork.”

Carlos blows out a breath and tries to release all of the anxiety that’s pent up inside him. “You really don’t think his teacher is going to think we’re bad parents?”

“Babe you bought her like forty boxes of tissues and helped with the Halloween parade and the holiday party. Plus you freaking sewed costumes for the class play when you don’t even know how to sew. I think she likes us just fine.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Carlos says, running his hand up and down T.K.’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be when our son is the first Kindergartener in the history of Maplewood Elementary School to catch a leprechaun,” T.K. teases, making Carlos chuckle.

His laughter quickly melts away and turns to horror as the words sink in. “Oh god, what if he’s upset that he doesn’t catch one? How are we going to explain that to him?”

“Okay Papa, that’s enough stress for you tonight,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s go to bed.”

“T.K. he’s already asking questions about Santa, what if he thinks we lied to him?”

“Carlos.”

“Maybe we should tell him in the morning. Be up front with him.”

“Carlos.”

“I don’t want him to think—“

He’s cut off when T.K. grabs his face with both hands, kisses him hard, then looks him directly in the eyes. “If you come to bed with me right now, I promise you will forget all about this.”

Words like that still make his stomach flip, even after all these years together, and he melts into T.K.’s touch. “Oh yeah?”

T.K.’s eyes glint with mischief. “Oh yeah. You, Carlos Strand-Reyes are about to get very, very lucky.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #Future Tarlos #Dad Carlos #Dad T.K.#Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand #Fluff #Tarlos Fluff #Domestic Tarlos

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lightningboltreader · 1 year

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The New York Taste Expert

“So,” Enzo begins after the waving subsides, “we wanted to catch you up on this week’s day care lesson.”

He holds up a printed certificate with Jonah’s name scrolled in large letters above a collage of food drawings.

Read more on AO3.

For @tarlosweeklyprompts 3/19: Sour

#tarlos fluff #twpmarchdailyword #lightningboltreader writes march ficlets

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rangergurlgleek1211 · 2 years

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Here it is, my Third prompt from my tarlos prompt series and this one was requested by the lovely @tarlos-spain. Who requested That first night TK, that night when I saw you at the bar I told myself “I’m going to marry him” and lots of fluff. I hope you enjoy this.

Prompt: That first night TK, that night when I saw you at the bar I told myself “I’m going to marry him”

Read here on A03:

Preview:

he next morning Carlos is lying awake in bed, still in awe and shock after the night's events. He asked me to marry him. I’m really engaged. He thought to himself, glancing over at his still sound asleep fiancé. Wow, Fiancé, I’m never going to get used to thinking or saying that.

“I can hear you thinking from here” Tk whispered slowly, opening his eyes, smiling.

“That obvious huh”

“I don't even need to look at you to know your staring babe” Tk giggled.

“Well, I can’t help staring at such a cute face in the morning”

“Did I really do that last night” Tk smiled up at Carlos?

“You sure did, wait you're not regretting it now are you!!” Carlos asked worried to hear Tk’s answer.

“Baby Breathe, I’m so happy it did. I was worried I had dreamt the whole thing” Tk asked worried, his anxiety peeking its ugly head for a moment.

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sanjuwrites · 1 year

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the prompts fic is here!

thanks to @chaotictarlos for the encouragment <3

#911 lone star #911 lone star fanfiction #tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fluff

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angryangeldreamsalad · 3 months

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I was re-watching s3e7 alright and can we all take a second to appreciate how adorable it is that the second the fight broke out Carlos went to protect TK and make sure he's ok🤭🤭🤭

(Also for some reason I rlly liked Owen in this episode he had such crackhead energy)

#carlos reyes #tarlos #tk strand #911 lone star #owen strand #paul strickland #marjan marwani #judd ryder #mateo chavez #tommy vega #nancy gillian #s3e7 #fluff #ao3

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nancygillianmvp · 22 days

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thank you for the tag @sznofthesticks

here’s some of the WIP where I gave tarlos a pet again I’m hoping to have this finished by easter

tags under the cut

He settles the bunny in a shoebox on the end of his bunk, but it doesn’t take long for it to hop across and crawl into his lap.

“Aww, somebunny loves you; I’m sure that’ll be a great comfort when Carlos divorces you for bringing home another pet without asking,” Nancy teases as she appears in the doorway.

“You’re the worst, Nancy.”

“Okay, in that case, I guess I won’t tell you that I saw Carlos’ car out front and that you have about a minute to get your story straight about the rabbit,” She says.

“Can you distract him for a minute?” TK asks, pulling on the AFD hoodie strewn across the bunk's end and carefully stashing the bunny inside the pocket. He can already hear Carlos’ boots on the stairs.

“Too late,” Nancy smirks as she heads out the door toward the stairs. TK hears her greet Carlos as she passes him on the stairs.

open tag and no pressure tagging @fallout-mars @welcometololaland @firstprince-history-huh

#WIP wednesday #I will never stop writing fics about tk bringing home pets from calls #and I’m not sorry about it #tk strand #nancy gillian #nancy gillian and tk strand friendship #let carlos reyes have a pet to you know pet please i am begging #I know they have Lou2 but carlos deserves something he can pet #my writing #911ls #911 lone star #carlos reyes #tarlos #fluff

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sznofthesticks · 2 months

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rating: T words: 1.6K pairing: tarlos

written for @paperstorm's valentine's prompt list: #20 - Song Fic: inspired by your favorite cheesy love song

i think of cheesy love songs, i think of paper rings - taylor swift, so that's my inspiration here.

TK is stressed about wedding planning and Carlos reassures him <3

read on AO3

i want to add, i've been really distancing myself from swiftieism in light of recent events. but i still love this story so i posted it anyways and will be keeping it up.

#valentine's day fic #tarlos fanfic #tarlos #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #this is pure fluff with just a little bit of crying #carlos reyes #tk strand

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rosedavid · 8 months

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shine some light on my day

“We need to get up.”

“No.” TK twists his hand in Carlos’ sleep shirt. “Just wanna kiss you.”

Carlos tries again. “We have work.”

“So?”

...

TK and Carlos spend the morning getting ready together.

Tarlos | 9-1-1: Lone Star | 3K words

Tag list under cut

@wandering-night19 @danieljradcliffe @thisbuildinghasfeelings @illbeyourreasonwhy @jddryder@goodiecornbread

#911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fanfic #911 ls #tk strand #carlos reyes #fanfiction #911 ls fic #fluff

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detective-giggles · 5 months

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For Better and Definitely for Worse

Ahhhh! My first fic in forever! A double fill for @badthingshappenbingo “vomiting” square and for @tarlosmonthlyprompts custom bingo “Grand Designs and Cuddles”. @noxsoulmate thank you for the beta and the title. 😘 thank you for reading!

🤢🤢🤢🤢

Carlos parks the Camaro as close to the bay doors as he can without actually being in the way, should an actual emergency occur while he’s inside.

He slips inside unnoticed and hurries up the stairs, running into Owen on the landing.

“Hey, how is he?” Carlos asks.

Owen shrugs and pats him on the shouler. “Good luck,” is his response. “But let me know if you need anything. I have a killer recipe for-”

“We will let you know, thank you,” Carlos says, ducking into the bunkroom.

Nancy and TK are both curled up on individual bunks with their backs to each other. Tommy is sitting at the edge of Nancy’s bunk, trying to get her to drink some water.

“Hey, guys,” Carlos says softly.

“Hi babe,” TK whispers. “We’re dying.”

Tommy rolls her eyes. “You’re not dying.”

“We’re dying,” Nancy agrees.

Carlos steps up to the bunk and runs a hand through TK’s hair. It’s sweaty and matted to his face but Carlos still presses a soft kiss to the top of his head. “So, what force of nature was strong enough to take down the most bad-ass paramedics I know?”

“The new deli on Columbus,” Tommy says, then adds, “Food poisoning.”

“Oh, shit,” Carlos murmurs. “How long does that take to clear up?”

“Twenty-four to forty-eight hours and he should start feeling like himself again. Bedrest should be fine, and you can give him some over the counter meds but keep him hydrated.”

Carlos nods solemnly. “Nance, do you need a ride home too?”

“I’m taking her home with me tonight,” Tommy says. “I just wanted to make sure you got TK picked up okay.”

“I’ve got him,” Carlos promises.

TK sits up too fast and groans pitifully; he braces his elbows on his knees and sucks in a couple deep breaths. He reaches out a hand and feels around blindly; Carlos grabs the emesis bag and shoves it under TK’s face and holds it for him while he vomits.

“Sorry,” TK murmurs. Carlos rubs his back, gently, and TK leans heavily against him.

Carlos winces as behind them, Nancy is also puking her guts out.

“Come on,” Carlos says, “let’s get you home.”

Tommy promises to clean up the bunk room, leaving TK to apologize pitifully again. Carlos grabs TK’s duffel and slings it over his shoulder, while steadying TK with his other hand. Tommy hands him another emesis bag for the road.

“Better take two, actually,” TK mutters. Carlos agrees and grabs a second bag, stuffing them both in his pocket.

Together, they make it out of the bunk room. TK climbs down the stairs slowly, with Carlos’ hand on the small of his back. He slides into the Camaro while Carlos tosses his bag in the back andby the time Carlos joins him, TK’s sitting stiffly in the seat, eyes closed and groaning softly.

“Hand me your seatbelt,” Carlos prompts.

TK takes a second but waves him off. “I’ve got it,” he mumbles. Carlos watches as he secures his seatbelt and then he does the same before pulling out on the road.

They have to pull over twice so TK can puke and Carlos isn’t quite sure how he can have anything left to get rid of; but maybe he doesn’t since the second time they stop, TK just dry heaves into the bag until Carlos coaxes him back into the car so they can finish their drive home.

Finally, they make it back to the loft, and TK slowly makes his way into the building and into the elevator, with Carlos close behind. They have the elevator to themselves and mercifully, the movement doesn’t make TK sick again.

As soon as Carlos unlocks the door, TK hurries inside and makes a beeline for the bathroom, stepping out of his shoes and dropping his hoodie on the floor along the way.

Carlos grabs his phone and finds his grocery delivery app. He knows his husband’s favorite flavor of Gatorade and orders half a dozen, some Pepto, saltines, and a case of water, leaving a hefty tip with the promise of more if they can deliver in less than an hour. Although the store’s not far, he’ll pay a little extra if it means not leaving TK home alone.

He puts TK’s shoes in the closet and cleans out his duffel bag, stashing it away until the next shift TK’s well enough to attend, although he knows it’ll be a few days.

Carlos grabs a bottle of water and TK’s pajamas, and then knocks on the door.

“Please don’t come in,” TK begs.

“I have water for you,” Carlos says.

The door opens a crack, just enough for TK to stick his hand through. Carlos hands him the items and TK murmurs a thank you before slamming the door shut again.

Carlos isn’t really sure what to do, other than stay close in case TK needs him, and he sits down on the sofa to wait. The groceries arrive in less than 45 minutes and Carlos shoves the Gatorade and some water in the fridge, glad to have something to do.

He decides to make himself some toast while he’s in the kitchen, so TK doesn’t have to watch him eat later and he also texts to check up on Nancy, knowing TK will want to know how she’s holding up.

Owen calls twice to check up on TK and honestly, Carlos is a little surprised he doesn’t just stop by the loft. Carlos assures him TK is fine and he seems to accept that answer, but tells Carlos to call him if they need anything.

Carlos finally relaxes when he hears the shower start and it isn’t long until TK emerges from the bathroom after that. He’s in the pajamas Carlos had given him, his hair is damp, and he still looks miserable.

“Hey, baby,” Carlos says.

TK whines and shuffles towards the couch. He curls up on his side, resting his head on Carlos’ lap. Carlos pulls the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covers his husband with it.

“Want to watch some TV?” Carlos asks, hoping to distract him long enough that maybe he can fall asleep.

TK nods and Carlos grabs the remote, turning the television onto reruns of their favorite show.

“Hey, let me get up and I’ll grab you some water or something,” Carlos offers.

TK shakes his head and snuggles impossibly closer to Carlos. “I’m okay,” he says. “I think. Have you heard from Nancy?”

“She’s doing okay too,” Carlos tells him, while running his fingers through TK’s hair. “Tommy says she hopes you feel better soon and your next two shifts are covered. And I’ve called in too.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” TK whispers. “But I’m glad you did.”

Carlos chuckles and slips his hand under the blanket, rubbing TK’s side.

While TK watches the TV, Carlos watches TK. He makes it just past the second commercial break before his eyes slip closed. Carlos relaxes just a little bit more and settles in. He’s a little too old to sleep on the couch - they both are - and he knows his back will scream at him tomorrow. But for now, he closes his eyes and hopes TK sleeps through the night.

#tarlos #bthb #vomiting #tmp custom tarlos bingo #fluff #sick TK #caretaker Carlos #911 ls fic

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heartstringsduet · 11 months

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oh michelle sweet woodruff for the flower prompt 👀

When suddenly, you can type 1k+ in an hour no sweat but you can't step into your WIPs. Thanks for prompting me dear Tessa. Also, woodruff is pretty famous in Germany to flavor drinks and jelly.

Sweet Woodruff. Humility “Promise me you won’t laugh, but…"

If you asked people what Carlos Reyes was known for, they’d say cooking (only TK would answer “loving me”). It wasn’t a rarity for TK to bring homemade lunch and to have only half of it left because Marjan wanted to “test its spice level”, “Mateo wanted to see “if it tastes like my Tia’s cooking” and Paul tasted to see if his version of the dish was better than Carlos’. Once TK started coming home with a grumbling stomach and a sour mood, Carlos started packed extra. They called it the 126 portion. Half for TK, half for everyone else.

So when the bakery Captain Vega had ordered cakes for Evie and Izzy’s birthdays cancelled last minute, and the stress filled the rig like it was mixed into the air, TK suggested, “Carlos is off today. He could make the cakes.”

Cap looked at him briefly from the passenger seat, her arms still wound tightly around her chest. “Really? Is he a good baker?”

“He’s an amazing cook.”

“A cook does not make a baker though,” Cap mused.

“If his baking is half as good as his cooking, the girls will be in heaven,” Nancy said from the back of the rig, making TK beam in pride and nod.

“I don’t want to just put this on him-”

“Let me ask him!” TK offered. “I’m sure he’ll love to make something for the girls. And we all know they’re a little in love with him still, so getting their crush to bake them the birthday cake? Two birds, one stone.”

“Two cakes, one dreamboat of a baker,” Nancy chimed in.

Carlos agreed, reluctantly. TK could hear hesitancy in his tone and his pauses. It didn’t help that once he said yes, Cap listed her girls’ dietary restrictions and wishes with Carlos on the speaker. One raspberry chocolate cake - gluten free - no sprinkles but lots and lots of crushed candy on top and cut into the shape of a heart ; one classic birthday cake but with an ombre effect on the outside of the three layers. Even TK gulped at the detailed instructions and he had never baked a single cake before.

“I realize what a tall order this is- just- never mind Carlos,” Cap interrupted herself, “Just get a normal and a chocolate gluten free cake mix and call it a day. Those were just the wishes we gave to the catering but - they’ll love anything you make. I'm sure of it.”

“No,” Carlos told her. “No, of course they’ll get the cakes they wished for. It’s their birthday.”

It’s past midnight when TK comes home, weary bones carrying him up to his apartment but the smell of baked goods resuscitate him. He can almost taste the vanilla sprinkles batter on his tongue, feel the raspberry buttercream on his hands, the still warm dough of the pieces of cake Carlos had to cut away for the heart form.

Still in shift, TK had texted Carlos ‘DO NOT wash away the batters and creams from the bowls. DO NOT’

Carlos hadn’t replied. But as he steps in, TK’s mouth falls open. The kitchen is in a state he’s never seen it before. He didn’t know they had this many bowls to begin with. This many utensils, even this much counter space to put everything on. It’s a wonder the sugar container hasn’t fallen over yet.

Carlos doesn’t even seem to hear him come in. When TK walks closer, the tense form of his husband gets added to by a frown, sweat on his brows, as Carlos leans down and raises a trembling hand holding a cake lifter toward the edge of something TK can’t see from this angle.

He waits until Carlos releases an unhappy sound and straightens back up to say, “Hey babe. Are you okay? How are the cakes looking?”

When Carlos turns to him, full bodied, there is a gleam of something that can only be called madness in his eyes. “The cakes?”

“Yes…the cakes?” TK tries for humor “Unless you’re building a bomb over there?”

He walks over and attempts to enter the kitchen space but Carlos suddenly steps into his way. “No. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” TK asks, dread slowly sinking in at how truly distressed his husband seems. “What is going on?”

“The cakes aren’t done yet. I- I tried. I searched for a recipe, finally found the perfect one, gluten free, one naked cake. I got all the ingredients. I stuck to the recipe. I swear I did! But the batter was too runny and then I kept it in too long so the top burned and then i had to start again but I over whipped the buttercream and when I finally got the cake layers done they were still too hot so the new batch buttercream ran and I had to go back to the store and get new ingredients to-”

TK takes Carlos face in both hands, just like Carlos would when TK spiraled. “Hey, hey, breathe baby, breathe.”

Air whizzes out, high and sharp but Carlos seems to relax the more free breaths he takes. TK never lets go of his face. He swipes a thumb over the flour dusted cheek until Carlos’ skin regains its normal color.

“Now, are you still working on both cakes?”

Carlos shakes his head, then winces. “One is done but-”

“Come on, show me? I’m sure it’ll be tasty. It’ll be beautiful.”

Carlos looks down at the ground. “They’re really not.”

“Shh. You’re just too hard on yourself.”

Carlos closes his eyes with a sigh. He kisses TK’s wrists, then he leads him into the kitchen. The chaos is even worse in the center of it.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” Carlos asks, blocking the cake with his body.

Before TK has a chance to reassure him, Carlos has turned back around with a plate in his hand. The cake on it looks a bit uneven, crumbs are mixed into the chocolate buttercream outside and Carlos has overdone it with the colorful candy topping. If TK squints, and truly, mostly because he knows it’s supposed to be, he can guess the uneven arches on top make it heart-shaped.

He is still smitten with his husband; not a day goes by he’s not in awe of something mundane Carlos does. Just today he marveled at how quickly and accurately Carlos flossed.

The cake isn’t picture perfect, isn’t what he knows Carlos had envisioned. TK still wants an exact copy of it for Valentines.

“Babe, Izzy will freak out. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not perfect.”

“Carlos, you tried to save their birthday, you made the cakes they wished for. They’ll better be over the moon for them, or I will eat all of it myself in revenge.”

TK goes over to the chunks of chocolate cake that lay discarded on the crowded counter. He takes it and dips it into the pink cream in the bowl next to it. It’s sweet, rich and delicious. “I love it.” He walks over, gives Carlos a kiss. Carlos tastes like birthday cake batter. “They’ll love it. I’m sure they will.”

Carlos finally seems to relax, a tightrope cut through until tension leaves exhaustion. Even tired he manages a small smile. “The last time you had too much cake you spent a few painful hours in the bathroom. So maybe don’t try again?”

TK huffs. “That was one time. And I’m sure the cake was expired or something.”

“Uhuh.”

“Come on. You want me to help with the other cake or not?”

“Please. But again, promise not to laugh because this one looks worse.”

It does look worse. TK smiles a bit, but then they both make sure that the second cake looks at least decent enough to save Carlos’ reputation. The 126 will ask for a Carlos Cake for each of their birthdays.

#michelle writes #flowers in the window #tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos drabble #tarlos fluff #why do these always end up so LONG #I vow to make the next one short

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chicgeekgirl89 · 7 days

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Fandom: 911 Lone Star Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes Rating: T Summary: In the early days of their budding relationship, Carlos and T.K. discover some of each other's more adorable characteristics. Or, five times Carlos learns adorable things about T.K. and one time T.K. learns something adorable about Carlos. A/N: So what had happened was, I wrote "Glasses and Smut and Your Naked Butt" and then I had too many cute little scenarios to fit into a 5+1 so I wrote a second one. Cheers! Read on AO3

Kitty

Carlos has never met anyone who can go from zero to sixty the way T.K. can. He barely has the Camaro in park before T.K. is leaning across the console, pulling him in for a dirty, dirty kiss full of tongue and teeth and desire. Normally Carlos would protest this kind of activity in the car, but they’re right in front of the condo, it’s late, and therefore unlikely that anyone will see them.

So he lets T.K. go on and doesn’t say a word as he somehow maneuvers himself across the console and into Carlos’ lap, which, quite honestly, is where Carlos wanted him for the entirety of dinner anyway. He’d been so enchanted with the idea of actually dating T.K. instead of just being his fuck buddy that he hadn’t quite thought through how hard it would be to keep his hands off of him in public.

“Put the seat back,” T.K. says breathlessly in between kisses.

Carlos follows his orders, both of them slowly reclining downward toward the backseat, while somehow managing never to fully detach from one another. Carlos’ breath catches as T.K. bites into his earlobe. “Do you want to take this inside?” he finally asks, when it seems like T.K. isn’t going to be content with just a heavy make out session.

T.K. pauses long enough to flash him a smirk. “No. Live a little Reyes.”

If anyone else uttered those words Carlos would push them off and call it a night. But T.K. Strand has cast some kind of spell on him, so Carlos lays back and watches greedily as T.K. sits up and starts to take off his shirt. His eyes follow the motion of T.K.’s hands as they slowly work at his buttons and then suddenly freeze. “Oh my god!” T.K. yells.

“What? What?!” Carlos asks in a panic, sitting up abruptly and almost hitting his head on the car’s roof.

“There’s a cat!”

“There’s—what?” Carlos asks in confusion, his heart still pounding away in his chest having imagined that T.K. was seeing an ax murderer or a bear or Mr. Johnson who sometimes walks around with his bathrobe open.

“There’s a cat out there!”

Before Carlos can formulate a response, T.K. has vaulted off of his lap and out of the car leaving Carlos shocked and alone. He takes a second to adjust his pants before getting up and following his boyfriend.

T.K. is kneeling on the sidewalk, hand outstretched, making little “pspsps” noises.

“T.K. what are you doing?” Carlos asks, shifting back and forth, still trying to alleviate the situation in his pants that his boyfriend started but did not finish.

“There’s a cat. Look! Come here kitty, that’s right, who’s a good kitty?”

A black cat with white markings on its chin and paws wanders over to T.K. and starts to rub up against his hand. “Oh, god, T.K. be careful, it could have fleas,” Carlos says.

“You don’t have fleas, do you? No you don’t,” T.K. says, using a voice that Carlos has never heard before. “It’s too well taken care of to be a stray. No collar though. Do you know whose it is? It must be one of your neighbors.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Carlos says. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“We can’t leave it!” T.K. says. “It must have slipped out. Someone will be looking for it. It can’t stay out here all night alone.”

“T.K.,” Carlos sighs. “What do you want me to do? It’s late. We can’t exactly go knock on doors.”

T.K. fixes him with a look as he scoops the cat up into his arms and cradles it like a baby, the cat perfectly content to let him. “Are you a police officer or not? Start police officering.”

“Pretty sure cats are more of a firefighter thing,” Carlos says wryly.

T.K. squares his shoulders. “Carlos. This baby is out here alone and afraid. We need to find out who it—” T.K. glances down at the cat’s belly and back up, “who he belongs to and get him home.”

Carlos feels a smile twisting at his lips. T.K. looks adorable standing there in the glow of the streetlight, fiercely protecting an animal he met two minutes ago. It’s precious really.

“He might belong to Mrs. O’Grady,” Carlos says. “She has like five cats. Let’s go see if her light is still on.”

“Thank you,” T.K. says in relief. “Come on little buddy, let’s go find your home.

Mornings

The first time Carlos wakes up with T.K. next to him, it’s one of the most thrilling moments of his entire life. He feels warm and safe and happy and there’s a sense of victory in it too because T.K. has held him at arm’s length for so long. To finally see his patience rewarded feels like a huge step forward. Staying the night is something couples do. It’s permanent, not just chasing a high.

He watches T.K. for a while, memorizing how he looks in the soft light of the morning, the way his mouth hangs open a little bit, his arms and legs splayed out awkwardly across the mattress, his hair a glorious wreck.

This is a T.K. that few people get to see, and Carlos is elated to finally be one of them.

Eventually nature calls and he slips from his bed to take care of business and then go make them some coffee. He assumes T.K. will wake up and wander out when the smell starts to waft upstairs, but he doesn’t.

Carlos goes to check on him and finds him in exactly the same position as half an hour before. He chalks it up to a very successful night of sex and heads back down to start working on french toast.

He takes his time, enjoying the feeling of cooking for someone other than just himself. Another thirty minutes roll by as he cooks and there’s still no sign of T.K. when he’s done.

He plates up their French toast, bacon, pours them each a cup of coffee, setting it all on the table before making his way upstairs.

T.K. has wrapped himself in the sheet and pulled it up over his head like a cocoon. Carlos smiles and is tempted to snap a picture, but instead he kneels on the mattress and gently pulls the blankets away from T.K.’s face. “Good morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to T.K.’s forehead.

Nothing.

He sits down on the mattress and puts his hand on T.K.’s hip. “It’s time to wake up,” he whispers teasingly, shaking him a little bit.

Still nothing.

What the hell?

Now he’s actually concerned. “T.K., hey,” he says, shaking him a little more harshly.

“Gowayyyy.”

The words are slurred together and punctuated by a swipe of T.K.’s arm that narrowly misses hitting Carlos in the ribs.

Okay, so at least he’s alive. That’s something.

“I made breakfast,” Carlos says softly, brushing his fingers through T.K.’s hair. Surely that will be enough to get him going.

It only gets him another grumble.

Carlos sits back, struggling to decide if he’s amused or disappointed. He’s just about decided to go back downstairs and eat his breakfast alone when T.K.’s arm slaps the empty expanse of mattress between them and then a sort of muffled sound escapes him, that bears a passing resemblance to, “Come here.”

Carlos’ eyebrows rise and he has to stifle a laugh as T.K.’s arm flops around again and then finally connects with Carlos’ thigh. He curls his hand around it and gives a feeble tug, not enough to actually move him, but enough to indicate that he wants Carlos to come closer.

“I’m confused. Do you want me to leave or stay?” Carlos asks in amusement.

T.K. turns his head so that he’s facing Carlos, even though his eyes are still closed, and gives another tug. Carlos chuckles and obliges, sliding down so that he’s parallel to T.K. on his side.

T.K. immediately curls into him, mashing his face into Carlos’ chest and hooking a leg over his hip. Carlos quirks a fond smile and runs a hand through T.K.’s hair.

“D’you mke me brkfst?” T.K.’s voice is scratchy but slightly more intelligible now.

“I did,” Carlos says. “I thought it would be a nice way to start the day.”

T.K. hums into his chest and then, with a valiant effort, opens his eyes and squints up at Carlos. “I hate mornings,” he says.

Carlos bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out,” he says, stroking a hand through T.K.’s hair.

His eyes close again and he snuggles more tightly into Carlos. “What did you make me?”

“French toast and bacon. And coffee.”

T.K. hums against him. “That sounds good.”

“Sooo…are you going to get up and eat it?” Carlos asks.

“I’m trying.”

“This is you trying?”

T.K. cracks one eyelid. “It’s a process.”

“So I see. How do you manage to get up for calls at work?”

“That’s different.”

Carlos fails to see how, but he doesn’t push it. “What if I bring your breakfast up here?”

That gets him two eyeballs. “You don’t like food in bed.”

That’s true. The thought of crumbs between his sheets makes Carlos shudder. But breakfast is ready and T.K. is not, and he looks so damn cute all bed rumpled and sleepy that it’s making Carlos throw some rules out the window. “I’ll make an exception this time.”

T.K. rolls onto his back, a smile on his face as he stretches and puts his hands behind his head. “This house comes with five star service.”

“This is a special occasion. Don’t get used to it,” Carlos says, giving him a peck on the nose before rising to go get their food.

But the fact is, T.K. could ask Carlos to bring him breakfast in bed every day for the rest of his life and he’d do it. That’s just how it’s going to be.

Chat

Carlos is pulled from sleep by someone’s voice. At first he thinks he might have fallen asleep in front of the TV or maybe with a podcast going. But the more he rouses, the more he realizes the sound isn’t steady and clear enough to be either one of those.

He blinks a few times, trying to get his bearings. His room is dark, it’s clearly still the middle of the night, and T.K. is pressed up against him, head pillowed against his chest.

The sound stops and Carlos listens intently, his heart now speeding up in his chest as he tries to figure out if it was real or a dream. If it was real…is there someone in the condo?

He’s about ready to slide out of bed and grab his off-duty weapon to go investigate when T.K. lets out a big snuffling sound and then says, “nthebthtb.”

Carlos relaxes at the realization that the sound was just his boyfriend and gently brushes a hand over his arm. “You okay babe?” he whispers into the darkness.

T.K.’s face contracts into a scowl. “‘nthe bathtub.”

“What?”

“Put it in the bathtub.”

The words are clearer now, but Carlos is beyond confused. “Put what in the bathtub?”

T.K.’s head whips up and turns in Carlos’ general direction, his eyes still closed, his neck bent at an awkward angle. “The alligator!”

Carlos shifts so that he’s sitting more upright and looks down at T.K. with raised eyebrows. “T.K. there’s no alligator.”

“No you…you have to put it in the bathtub,” T.K. demands again.

He looks so distressed that Carlos has to bite back a laugh. “Okay, I’ll put the alligator in the bathtub.”

T.K. mumbles something unintelligible and snuggles in against Carlos again before whipping his head up one more time. “And socks!”

“The alligator needs socks?”

“No.” T.K. pauses for so long that Carlos starts to worry that he’s going to get a crick in his neck before finally saying, “Don’t let him eat…the purple ones.”

Then he flops back down and lets out a snort before seeming to go fully back to sleep, leaving Carlos amused and very curious.

Carlos has an early shift and T.K. is still sound asleep when he leaves, so he doesn’t get to mention anything about their bizarre middle-of-the-night conversation until he gets home at the end of the day.

“Hey babe!” T.K. says cheerfully, coming to give him a sweet kiss as he walks through the door. “I made Italian wedding soup and got bread from that new bakery down the street. Should be ready in like fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Carlos says as he finishes removing his shoes. He reaches into his work bag. “I got you a present.”

T.K.’s already halfway back into the kitchen, but he turns back, surprise on his face. “A present? Wait,” he frowns. “Did I forget something? Is today—“

“Relax,” Carlos says with a chuckle. “You didn’t forget anything. This is a just-because gift.”

T.K.’s face brightens again. “Oh well in that case, gimme gimme!”

He holds out his hands and Carlos drops a small plastic bag into them. T.K. reaches inside and pulls out a pair of bright purple socks. “Wow, thanks babe!”

“I promise not to let the alligator eat them,” Carlos says, trying to smother the smile on his face.

T.K.’s brow furrows. “What alligator?”

“The alligator in the bathtub.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Did you hit your head today?” T.K. asks. Then he freezes and addresses himself, a concerned look on his face. “Wait, did I hit my head today?”

Carlos full on laughs and decides to put him out of his misery. “Last night in the middle of the night you woke me up to tell me to put an alligator in the bathtub. And then you were very insistent that he not eat purple socks.”

“Oh my god.” A blush forms on T.K.’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I—sometimes I sleep talk. It used to happen a lot when I was a kid and I mostly grew out of it, but once in a while it still happens. Usually only if I’m really tired. It’s been so long since I’ve spent the night with anybody, I didn’t think to tell you.”

He looks so adorably embarrassed that Carlos reaches for his hips and pulls him in so their bodies are flush against one another, needing to touch him. He quirks a smile. “That,” he says, “is very cute.”

“No it’s not, it’s embarrassing,” T.K. says, squirming a little bit. “Sometimes I say really weird stuff.”

“Trust me when I tell you that is not the weirdest middle of the night conversation I’ve had,” Carlos assures him. “You wouldn’t believe how many drunk and stoned people think they’re Jesus when they’re hauled into lock-up at three am. I’ll take your alligators any day.”

T.K. snorts. “I have definitely never claimed to be a deity.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow and bites his lip before saying, “That’s true, although I do seem to remember you saying the Lord’s name an awful lot when we went to bed last night.”

T.K. shoves his bicep good-naturedly. “What I say in the throes of passion is supposed to stay in the throes of passion Carlos.”

“So what you’re telling me is that anything we say in bed is privileged information?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm, good to know.”

Thief

Where the hell is his APD t-shirt?

Carlos stands in front of his closet, hands on his hips as he stares into its depths, completely baffled. He’d worn it to a workout two weeks ago and he’s sure he put it into the laundry. He had to have. He’s checked his gym bag, the trunk of the Camaro, his locker at work, the laundry basket itself, and the washer, just in case it had gotten stuck to the side and he hadn’t noticed. It’s been three full days of searching and now he’s sure. It’s not here.

It’s not anywhere.

Which doesn’t make any sense. Because t-shirts don’t just get up and walk away.

It’s not that big of a deal. It’s only a t-shirt after all. One from his brief stint on the department softball league a few years ago. It’s just that Carlos is a careful, meticulous person. There’s a system to his laundry. And now, after all these years, it’s really eating at him that it might have failed.

He’s about to dive back into round five of removing every single thing from his closet, when he hears the front door open. “Carlos? You home?”

It’s T.K.’s voice and it sounds off, meaning Carlos immediately abandons his search and goes downstairs to soothe whatever has his boyfriend’s spirits down.

T.K.’s doing that thing where he kind of pulls back into himself, and it takes some coaxing for Carlos to tease the full story of his shitty day out of him. Then there’s cuddling, kissing, dinner, and more kissing before Carlos offers to run T.K. a bath and let him relax for a bit.

He’s finishing up the dishes when T.K. comes back downstairs and wraps his arms around Carlos’ waist from behind. He smells like the lavender scented soap that Carlos left out for him and Carlos breathes it in before turning around to give him another kiss. “Better?” he asks, running a hand through T.K.’s hair, down to cup the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” T.K. says. “Thank you.” He looks up and Carlos can still see some vulnerability in his eyes. “Is it okay if I stay here tonight?”

It’s on the tip of Carlos’ tongue to tell him he can stay every night for the rest of his life if he wants, but he’s learned T.K. well enough to know now isn’t the moment. “Of course,” he says instead. “You’re always welcome here.”

He’s about to ask if T.K. needs to borrow something to sleep in, but then he looks down and the words die on his tongue. He takes a step back, brow furrowing.

“What?” T.K. asks. “Is something wrong?”

“Is that my APD shirt?” Carlos asks.

He already knows the answer, but he’s so surprised it’s the only thing that comes out.

“Um…no?” T.K. says, trying for innocent and failing miserably.

“T.K. it has my name on the back,” Carlos says.

“There are lots of people with the last name Reyes in Austin.”

“Right and I’m sure so many of them played on the department softball team in 2018,” Carlos replies. “Where did you find it? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“It was in your drawer,” T.K. says, but he’s no longer meeting Carlos’ eyes.

“It was not in my drawer,” Carlos says. “I looked. Several times.”

T.K. shrugs. “Well you’re welcome that I found it then.”

Carlos narrows his eyes. “You didn’t find it. You stole it.”

T.K.’s jaw drops. “Carlos. You’re accusing me, a brave, loyal member of the AFD, who serves his community on a daily basis, of stealing?”

“It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact,” Carlos says, tapping a finger against T.K.’s chest. “You stole this out of my laundry.”

“Not sure those charges are going to stick in court, officer.”

“T.K.” Carlos growls out his name.

“Okay, fine, I stole it!” T.K. says. “I was getting ready for work here last week after you left and I realized I’d forgotten a shirt to wear to the station. It was in your clean laundry basket so I grabbed it and wore it. I was going to wash it and bring it back but then…”

He looks embarrassed so Carlos softens his gaze and drops the teasing facade. “Then what?” he asks gently.

“It was just so soft and comfortable and…it kind of felt like being with you. Even when I wasn’t. So I kept it.” He looks up and scrunches his nose a little. “Sorry?”

Carlos is speechless. His heart feels so soft that it’s making his knees go a little weak. He cups T.K.’s face in both of his hands. “You don’t need to be sorry. You can keep it.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asks.

“Yeah,” Carlos assures him. “But we can also find a drawer for you, if you want. So you can keep some of your own stuff here.”

“You’re just saying that so I don’t steal more of your clothes.”

Carlos scrunches his nose, making a silly face so T.K. knows he’s teasing. “Maybe. A little.” He presses a kiss to T.K.’s lips. “But it’s also because I want you here.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says softly, that warm, reassured glow back in his eyes. “So…is this when I tell you that I also have a pair of your shorts? And some socks?”

Filibuster

T.K. is sitting on the couch when Carlos comes down from his shower. This is a little surprising only because Carlos thought T.K. might join him in the shower. It doesn’t usually take much more than a light hint. Often the phrase, “I’m going to take a shower” is enough to get T.K. on his feet and stripping off his clothes, but today he’s right where Carlos left him, staring at his phone.

“I’m making stuffed peppers for dinner. Does that sound good?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah, sure,” T.K. says quickly, like he’s very distracted. “Did you know there’s a type of tarantula that keeps frogs as pets?”

Carlos blinks a few times, as he takes this information in. “No, I did not know that,” he says, heading for the kitchen to find the peppers.

T.K. gets up and follows him. “There’s this type of frog in South America that evolved to taste bad. So tarantulas won’t eat them and instead they keep them to eat all the bugs and stuff around their homes and keep their spider babies safe. They’re like a tiny little tarantula pet cat.”

Carlos turns around and nearly knocks T.K. over, not having realized that his boyfriend was standing so close behind him. He reaches out and gently moves him out of the way as he heads for the stove and begins to prep the filling for the peppers.

“I just think it’s so cool, two completely different species living together like that,” T.K. continues, hopping up onto the counter, that hyper-focused look in his eye. “Nature is amazing. Forming symbiotic relationships all the time.”

“That is cool,” Carlos says. He chops the peppers in half and rinses them out to remove the seeds.

“Sharks have that too,” T.K. continues. “Those little fish that attach themselves on and eat all the scraps from the shark’s meals. What are they called?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll look it up.”

For a moment there’s only the sound of ground turkey sizzling on the stove as T.K. busies himself in his phone. “Oh right. Remora fish.”

“Of course,” Carlos says in amusement. “How could I have forgotten that?”

“And rhinos! With the birds that are always hanging around!” T.K. sighs. “They’re so cute.”

Carlos walks over and pats the side of T.K.’s thigh. “Move please,” he says mildly, waiting until T.K. shifts over enough that he can get into the drawer that’s hidden behind his legs. He extracts the spoon he needs and then taps the space again indicating that T.K. can move back, which he does, still talking. “We had a pet frog in my class when I was in third grade. His name was Sir Henry. He died on the hundredth day of school.” At this T.K. looks a little glum. Then he perks up. “But my teacher got a hamster after that and we got to vote on a name. We picked Pikachu.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I wonder if hamsters have a symbiotic relationship with another animal,” T.K. says, picking his phone back up again. “Hm. Nope,” he says after a minute. “But, hamsters will eat their babies if you don’t separate them. Oh! Did you know that it’s illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland? You have to have two because they’re social animals and they’ll get lonely. But then in Peru people eat them for special occasions. Isn’t that crazy how different those two countries are?”

“Almost as crazy as spiders keeping frogs as pets.”

“I wish I had a pet frog,” T.K. says. “Do you think Buttercup would eat it?”

“I’ve seen Buttercup eat his own poop. Yes. I think he would eat a frog if he could catch it. Do you want your filling spicy or not spicy?”

“Spicy,” T.K. says immediately. “I have an old aquarium tank, it could live in there and I wouldn’t take it out if Buttercup was around—wait, do frogs get lonely? Would I need to get two? What if they had babies? Then I’d have hundreds of frogs and I don’t think the tank would hold more than a couple.”

“An overcrowded frog tank does seem uncomfortable. Do you want dressing on your salad?”

“Do you have that organic balsamic still?”

“I think there’s some left.”

“That then please.” He steals a piece of carrot and pops it into his mouth, talking around it. “Maybe I’ll get a tarantula instead. I think a tarantula would be okay by itself.”

“Please do not get a tarantula,” Carlos says with a soft chuckle.

This catches T.K.’s attention and he smiles. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

Carlos wipes his hands on a towel and goes to him, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of T.K.’s legs. “I’m not afraid. I just have a healthy respect for them.”

T.K. eyes him, his mouth twisting into a smile. “You’ve been letting me talk about spiders and frogs for like half an hour.”

“I have.”

“You don’t think that’s annoying?”

Carlos kisses the tip of his nose. “Not in the slightest. You’re cute when you chat at me.”

The fact is he loves it. His home has been so devoid of this wild energy and now that it’s here he doesn’t know how he ever lived without it.

T.K. drops his eyes, a slight flush creeping over his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I did miss you in my shower though,” Carlos tells him. “So next time you decide to go down an internet rabbit hole, maybe you could do it when I’m not all naked and wet.”

T.K. bites his lip, his eyes lighting up. “I will work on my timing.”

+1: Hangry

T.K. is delighted to be picking Carlos up for a change. He’s borrowed his dad’s truck for the night (he’s going to get his own car soon…ish…) to surprise Carlos with a fun evening out.

“Hey,” he says excitedly as Carlos slides into the passenger seat, leaning in for a kiss. “You look great.”

Carlos is in jeans and a black polo that is juuuuuust a tad bit too tight in the best kind of way. It nearly distracts T.K. enough to cancel the date and drag Carlos back upstairs to his bed instead, but he forces himself to focus. He knows Carlos has had kind of a rough week at work and he’s determined to make tonight extra fun to make up for it.

“Hey,” Carlos says, his smile genuine, although there’s a little tightness around his eyes that T.K. wants to soothe away with his thumb and butterfly kisses. “Thanks for picking me up. It’s good to see you.”

The way those words melt him inside. Carlos is so good at saying little things that to anyone else would mean almost nothing; but to T.K. they mean the world. He still hasn’t quite gotten used to how much Carlos likes having him around.

“How was your day?” T.K. asks as he pulls out into traffic, carefully navigating between cars that are driving way too slowly for his taste.

“It was um,” Carlos stumbles over his words as T.K. hits the brakes and then accelerates around a Ford Fiesta that he deems far too slow. “It was fine. Just one of those weeks, you know?”

“Yeah,” T.K. says sympathetically. “Well don’t worry. Tonight we’re going to forget all about work. I promise.”

Minutes later T.K. neatly swings them into a parking spot. “Oh,” Carlos says in confusion as he takes in where they are. “I thought we were going to dinner.”

“We are,” T.K. says. “But, I thought we’d do something fun first. I haven’t played mini golf in forever!”

The 126 had driven by the course on a call the other day, the brightly colored animals and windmills catching his eye out the engine’s window. It seemed like the perfect way to spend an evening. Just relaxing and being silly with each other.

“Right,” Carlos says, something strange flickering in his eyes.

“You hate mini golf,” T.K. says, feeling crestfallen. “Damn it I should have asked. I’m sorry. It just looked so fun and you’ve had a hard week and I—“

“T.K., T.K., take a breath,” Carlos says, reaching over and taking his hand. “I don’t hate mini golf.”

“We don’t have to stay,” T.K. says, still sensing some odd hesitancy in his boyfriend.

“No let’s do it,” Carlos says. “I haven’t played in forever either. It’ll be fun.”

He’s already sliding out of the car, so T.K. follows him, pushing aside the doubt he’s feeling. Hopefully Carlos’ reticence is just work related.

Hopefully.

They grab some clubs and balls (T.K. chooses green, Carlos picks blue) and then head out to the first hole.

It goes well enough for a bit, they’re both moderately terrible. Carlos keeps hitting his ball too gently so that it comes rolling back toward him instead of up and over all the little hills, while T.K. takes to swinging with all his strength, his ball ping-ponging around into other greens so he has to go chasing after it.

“That’s a mulligan!” he declares for the third time when his ball hops an embankment and goes splashing down into a little pond.

“You can’t call them all mulligans T.K.,” Carlos says with a sigh that sounds a tad impatient.

“Why not?” T.K. says. “Who are you going to report me to? The police? Oh wait. It’s a little late for that.”

He means it to be flirty but Carlos just gives him sort of a strained smile and a half hearted “haha.”

When they get to the next hole Carlos’ ball does the same thing it’s done every other time and comes rolling straight back out again. “Are you kidding me?!” he cries, a little too loudly and angrily.

T.K. frowns at him, trying to get a read on what’s happening here. Carlos seems off. Like super off.

T.K. walks up and places his own ball down, but before he can swing Carlos says, “Can you please take a step back?”

T.K. lowers his club. “What?”

“You’re too far into the green. It’s cheating.”

He blinks a few times. “Cheating? First I can’t call a mulligan now I’m cheating? It’s just a game Carlos.”

“Yeah, a game that has rules that you’re not following,” Carlos insists. “You’re not supposed to be that far into the green. And don’t think I didn’t see you basically slide your ball into the last hole instead of putting. That one shouldn’t even count.”

“Okay, what is going on here?” T.K. says, feeling annoyance snap sharply at his good mood. “You’re kind of being a dick. If you didn’t want to play mini golf you could have just said so.”

“I told you I like playing mini golf!”

“Well you’re definitely not acting like it!” T.K. fires back. “You’re acting like you’d rather be anywhere else!”

“Why are you putting words into my mouth? Just take your turn and play fair T.K.!”

“Uh, excuse me?”

The pimply faced teenager who gave them their clubs and balls earlier waves at both of them. “Can we help you?” T.K. asks.

“Hi, yeah, I’m sorry, we’ve had some complaints that you two are fighting. Can you try to keep it down? This is a family establishment.”

T.K. looks at Carlos whose face is going red with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Won’t happen again.”

The kid leaves and T.K. frowns, putting his hands on his hips. “What is going on with you?” he asks. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos says sullenly, refusing to meet T.K.’s eyes.

His stomach suddenly gives a loud rumble and all the pieces click into place in T.K.’s brain. “Oh,” he says, annoyance and anger settling back down where they belong. “Okay. I get it.”

He turns and heads for the car.

“What? Get what?” Carlos asks as he follows along, confusion evident on his face.

T.K. stops next to his dad’s truck. “You’re hangry.”

Carlos sputters in indignation. “Hangry?”

“You know. When you get so hungry that the entire world feels like it’s shitting on you and you get all cranky until you eat something. Did you eat lunch today?

“I—“ Carlos considers this. “No. We had to skip it because a call came in.”

T.K. nods in satisfaction. “See? Hangry. Don’t worry. We’ll get you all fixed up in no time.”

He drives to their favorite taco truck. His dinner plans had been bigger and fancier, but this is an emergency. He plops Carlos down at a picnic table (still protesting and whining away, only furthering T.K.’s satisfaction that he’s right) and then marches over to the truck to order two of everything.

He waits until Carlos has wolfed down one birria taco and one fish taco before speaking. “Better?” he asks.

Carlos wipes his mouth on a napkin and reaches for a third taco, chicken this time. “These are so good,” he replies, shoving half of it into his mouth like a man who hasn’t been fed in months. “Thanks.”

“Mhm. So next time, maybe just tell me you’re hangry instead of acting like you put your cranky pants on to see me,” T.K. says.

The sigh that leaves Carlos is long suffering. “I already said I was sorry in the car.”

“Buuuut you didn’t tell me I was right.”

This gets him a withering look. “Do you really need to hear me say it?”

“I mean…I wouldn’t hate it.” God he loves teasing this man. It’s so easy to get a rise out of him.

Carlos huffs. “Fine. You were right. Thank you for feeding me because I was hangry.”

“Aw, you’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #Cats and Chats and Did You Steal That?!#Cute Boys #Domestic Fluff #Boyfriend Era #911 Lone Star Fic

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