Work Text:
snoop died
Tom stares at his phone in confusion.
my dog, not the rapper Latts sends a few seconds later.
“Oh,” Tom says aloud, before he types back im sorry
It’s a long time before Latts texts him back. we knew it was coming
Tom doesn’t know what to say to that, so he sends a couple of heart emojis and a kissy face. He gets a heart back, which is more than he was expecting.
---
Latts stays in Waterloo. He wants to be there for the funeral, which in Tom’s mind is a bit overdramatic, but Latts is Latts, and he forms a deep emotional connection with almost every single dog he meets, so it’s really no surprise that Latts is having a funeral for his dog.
Tom offers to come down for the funeral, but Latts just gets all grumpy and embarrassed about the whole thing, so Tom elects to stay in Toronto and sends flowers to Mrs Latta instead.
Tom calls the morning of the funeral. Latts sniffles through a conversation, obviously still upset over his loss. Tom offers to drive down again, because it’s a Tuesday, and traffic shouldn’t be that bad, and also because he’s Latts’ fiancée, and a good one at that, but Latts just grunts his disagreement.
“It’s just a dog,” he says, even though he’s obviously been crying. “You didn’t even know him.”
“But he was your dog,” Tom argues, but Latts continues to tell him no, and that he’ll eventually make it back to Toronto, but he doesn’t know when. Tom frowns, but he doesn’t argue further.
When Latts does make it back to Toronto, two weeks later, he’s better, but he makes a sad face every time they walk past a dog. He has Walter to ease the pain, but Walter is Jimmy and Carol’s, and it’s not like Latts can just kidnap the dog, although Tom wouldn’t put it past him (or honestly be surprised) if he did.
To make things better, Tom tries to distract Latts with his other favorite things: music, food, and sex, but that sad look doesn’t leave Latts, not even when they’re walking to a show, or eating outside on a restaurant patio, and to Tom’s horror, not even when they’re racing home to fuck after spending a few hours grinding against each other in a club.
When Latts sees a dog his entire face drops, and although it only lasts a minute, Tom still notices. Latts’ unhappiness makes him unhappy; he’s already come to terms with the fact that Latts is his world, and he’d pretty much do anything to make him happy -- he’d fight the entire universe and kidnap a baby if that’s what Latts wanted.
Tom’s nearly started a bar brawl over Latts (Latts has an amazing ass, and guys think they can just touch it, even after Latts has repeatedly told them that they can’t), and god only knows how many fights on the ice he’s gotten into over Latts. Latts hasn’t asked Tom to kidnap a baby yet, but Latts’ next great love after dogs is kids, so Tom wears his best running shoes when they go out and gets ready to snatch a kid and dip.
The point is, Tom loves Latts, and he’ll do just about anything to make Latts happy. He’s pretty damn good at it too, if he does say so himself, but the death of Snoop has stumped him.
Latts is happy, Tom knows that, and he knows that there isn’t some magic fix to get over the loss of a creature that was in Latts’ life for fourteen years. Tom just wants to make things a little better for Latts, and wipe that sad look off his face.
---
Tom’s never lost a pet with significant value before.
He had a hamster in the fifth grade that died of old age, but he had been ten then, and he hadn’t really cared. Beau, his own family’s dog, is only four, and as far as Tom knows, is as healthy as can be, but Beau was adopted right on the crisp of Tom leaving for Plymouth. Beau greets him happily every summer, and Tom enjoys the dog’s company, but if something were to happen to him, Tom doesn’t think he’d have the same feeling of sadness that plagues Latts.
Not knowing what it’s really like to loose a pet leaves Tom unsure of what exactly to do to fix things. He tries the Internet for help, and all the suggestions seem good: talking about the grief, letting Latts know he’s there for him, preparing a memorial for Snoop.
“You’re being really fucking weird,” Latts says when Tom suggests they make a scrapbook about their favorite pets.
Latts doesn’t have a shirt on, which is wholly distracting. “You don’t even have a favorite pet.”
“I have Beau.”
Latts snorts. “Come on,” he says. “There’s a Snapped marathon.” He moves past Tom to collapse on the couch, effectively dismissing the conversation.
“They always show the same episodes,” Tom whines, but he joins Latts anyway.
“Yeah, I know,” Latts replies. He slides his feet down the couch to rest in Tom’s lap. “But I’ve got to learn from these girls’ mistakes if I ever want to kill you for your life insurance policy.”
Tom flicks him in the ankle.
---
Latts goes back to Waterloo for a cousin’s birthday the same weekend Mony rolls back into town. Mony tends to come and go as he pleases, crashing on the couch and leaving money for groceries and beer when he leaves.
Mony chews thoughtful with a bowl of Fruit Loops as Tom tries to explain why he’s making a scrapbook of his dog. Tom plans to show it to Latts in hopes that Latts will be spurred into adding his own pictures of Snoop. “You sure that isn’t going to make him sad all over again?”
Tom puts down his glue stick. “Why would it make him sad?”
Mony shrugs. “Because you’re reminding him of his dead dog?”
“It’s supposed to be a way for him to grieve.”
Mony shakes his head. He takes a bite of his Fruit Loops and chews. “Looking at pictures of his dog will just make him cry all over again, you know, because the dog’s dead.”
“You’re awful,” says Tom, but Mony might be right. Looking at pictures of Snoop will just make Latts sad all over again.
Mony pats him sympathetically on the back. “Your scrapbook looks like shit, by the way.”
“Fuck you,” says Tom, but knows Mony is right. Scrapbooking is hard and he’s completely shit at it.
Mony pats his back again.
---
Tom lets the scrapbooking go. His scrapbook looks like shit, and like Mony said, there’s a possibility that the whole thing just might make Latts sad all over again, which is the complete opposite of what Tom wants. He throws the scrapbook away and gets rid of any evidence that he even attempted to make one in the first place.
Latts always stays in Waterloo longer than he plans, because he loves his family and is incapable of telling them no. He’s supposed to come back to Toronto that Sunday, but there’s a wedding at the end of the upcoming week somewhere in Kitchener, a distant cousin or maybe a family friend marrying their one true love, Tom isn’t sure, but Latts RSVP’d with Tom as his plus one, and even though Tom hates the drive, he promises that he’ll be there. That leaves Tom alone with Mony in the apartment for an entire week.
Hanging out with Mony is always an adventure. Mony always manages to find the weirdest things to do, or the most obscure places to eat at. He drags Tom along with him on Tuesday to eat at a new sushi place downtown, and that’s when Tom stumbles upon the puppy that will fix all their problems, or so Mony says.
There’s a local animal rescue set up in front of an old mom and pop pet store, three places down from the new sushi spot. Tom has no interest in adopting a pet, but he does leave a donation. As he’s fishing a twenty out of his pocket, Mony says, “You should totally get Latts a puppy, you dipshit.”
Mony has a puppy in his hands. It’s small and fat and adorable. He strokes its soft head affectionately.
"Put the puppy down Monahan,” Tom demands.
Mony holds the puppy up and hits Tom with his best puppy-dog face. “Willy, please adopt me so that I can make Latts happy.”
“Mony.”
“What?” says Mony, and kisses the puppy’s head. The puppy yawns and cuddles further into his arms. “Puppies make everything better, right?” He looks at the volunteer sitting behind a desk.
“Yes,” the volunteer agrees happily, but that’s only because she has to. “A puppy can be a great addition to a household.”
“His boyfriend’s dog died,” Mony tells the volunteer. The volunteer’s mouth turns down in a frown, and her eyes soften.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says. “Sometimes a new pet can fill the void left from the passing of a beloved family member, especially a puppy.”
Mony raises an eyebrow to say I told you so and kisses the puppy’s head again. “However,” the volunteer continues, “a puppy is a lot of work. You’ll need to potty train and maybe even crate train, along with obedience.” Mony frowns at her. The volunteer clears her throat. “Um, perhaps an adult dog might suit your lifestyle better. A majority of our dogs are housebroken, and we work with them on obedience.”
“That’s nice,” Tom says as Mony puts the puppy back in the pen with it’s siblings, “but I’m not really –”
“Jesus Christ,” cuts in Mony. “This guy’s name is Tater Tot.”
Mony lifts up a tiny, sandy brown dog with curly fur and a serious under bite. “This is an adult?”
“Yes,” the volunteer says, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “He’s a Yorkie mix.”
Mony can hold Tater Tot in one hand; he’s barely bigger than Tom’s shoe.
“Older dogs can help with grief as well,” says the volunteer, shuffling papers together. “Tater Tot’s already housebroken, and he knows simple commands like sit and stay.”
Mony hands Tater Tot to Tom. He’s just as small in Tom’s hand as he was in Mony’s, maybe even smaller. He’s always liked big dogs, and has always had big dogs. What if he accidentally steps on Tater Tot? He’d crush the little guy so easily.
Tater Tog wags his long tail and looks up at Tom. His eyes are a soft brown, and he reaches up to lick the stubble on Tom’s chin. The little card on his pen says that he’s five, and that he’s never had a forever home. “How much is the adoption fee?”
It’s costs thirty-five dollars to adopt Tater Tot. After Tom passes the background check and fills out all the paperwork, the volunteer hands over a certificate of adoption. “Show that to the clerk in the pet shop behind us and they’ll give you 10% off your entire purchase.” She also hands over a list of supplies, which means instead of getting sushi, Tom and Mony spend an unnecessary long amount of time in the pet store, buying everything Tater Tot will ever need.
Tom wants to tell Latts about Tater Tot right away -- he should have called as he was filling out the paperwork -- but Mony just rolls his eyes and tucks Tater Tot further into the crook of his arm. “Why don’t you just surprise him? You’ve already adopted the dog; it’s not like he can say no either way.”
“What if he’s not ready for another dog?”
“You probably should have thought of that before you filled out the paperwork,” says Mony, even though adopting Tater Tot was all his idea. Tom’s not even sure if he even adopted the dog for Latts, or if Mony tricked him into adopting the dog for him.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Mony says when Tom’s face must sour. “It’s Latts. He’s going to love Tater Tot no matter what.”
Tom can only hope. He collapses on the couch next to Mony, and fishes Tater Tot out from where he’s buried himself in Mony’s hoodie pocket. Tater Tot gives him a betrayed look, before he digs his way under Tom’s shirt to curl up on his lap, snout pressed against Tom’s stomach.
---
Tater Tot only has two days to settle into his new home before Tom is packing up their things and getting ready to make the drive to Waterloo.
Tom worries that all this change will cause Tater Tot unnecessary stress, but Tater Tot just sniffs at the passenger seat before curling up and settling down for the ride.
Tom’s pretty confident in his decision to surprise Latts with Tater Tot until he pulls into the driveway. It’s not just Latts who suffered the loss of Snoop; his entire family lost a brother, and it’s probably pretty rude to show up with another dog, albeit Tater Tot is supposed to help make things better.
Tater Tot yelps from his seat, and Tom sighs, because there’s really no turning back now.
He lets himself into the house, Tater Tot cradled against his chest. Latts is just coming out of the kitchen, smile on his face, because he always misses Tom a whole lot when they’re apart, even though Tom has to get him drunk to admit it, but he stops short when he sees Tater Tot. “What the hell is that?”
“Hi babe,” says Tom. “This is Tater Tot. He’s our new dog.”
“You bought a dog?!”
“Adopted,” Tom corrects. “I’d never actually buy one.”
Latts loves every single dog to ever exist, but he doesn’t look pleased to see Tater Tot. “Why did you—you didn’t even ask me.”
Tom strokes Tater Tot comfortingly. The little guy attempts to wag his tail, but when Latts fails to collapse into a puddle of goo, he stops. “I just thought he might help, you know.”
“Help with what?”
Tom shrugs. He holds Tater Tot up and kisses his head, hoping the cuteness will melt Latts’ heart. “With getting over Snoop.”
Latts’ eyebrows go up in disbelief, before his face settles on horror, and then anger. “You got a dog because you wanted me to get over Snoop?”
“The volunteer said that another dog could help with the grief.”
Latts’s face goes stone cold. Tom clears his throat nervously. “She also said that if Tater Tot didn’t fit with our family, I could always return him and they’d place him in a new home.”
“Did you name him Tater Tot?” Latts asks, going for aloof, but Tom can see his resolve breaking; he’s the farthest thing from immune when it comes to dogs.
Tom smiles into Tater Tot’s fur. “Nah.”
Latts steps forward. He examines Tater Tot, who wags his tail and goes to Latts easily when he reaches out to take him. The dog is goo in Latts’ arms; he tips Tater Tot back, and Tater Tot lies in the crook of Latts’ arm on his back, like a little baby. “Tater Tot is a mouthful.” Tom hums his agreement. “We should just go with Tater.”
“So we’re going to keep him?”
Latts kisses Tater’s belly. “I’m keeping him. I’m not sure I’ll do the same with you.”
Tom frowns and follows Latts into the kitchen. “We’re engaged.”
“Hmm,” says Latts.
Tater sniffs around the kitchen when Latts finally puts him down, and then he forgets that Tom is a person who exists, and attaches himself to Latts, who for someone who was so brash with Tater before, falls helplessly in love within thirty minutes
Tater follows Latts about the house like a hopeless duckling, completely ignoring Tom unless Tom has food. He even forgets the safety that hiding under Tom’s shirt offered and instead buries himself under Latts’. Tom isn’t jealous, but he’s pretty damn close.
“You didn’t even like him at first,” he says the night before the wedding. “I’m the one who rescued him.”
Latts rolls his eyes. They’re squished together in his childhood bed, Tater curled somewhere under the sheets. Tom kind of wants to kick the dog out, because he hasn’t seen Latts in a week, and because it’s the two of them squished into one bed in the middle of summer, Latts has decided to sleep in nothing but his boxer briefs. Tom just really wants to make out, but it feels even more wrong to make out with the dog in the bed than it does to make out in Latts’ childhood home.
Tom glares at where he thinks Tater is. “Stop being jealous of a dog,” says Latts. “It’s gross.”
“You’re gross,” mumbles Tom.
Latts puts down his tablet. The sheet covering his left knee moves as Tater changes positions. He reaches under the sheet and pulls the dog out; Tater squirms as Latts sets him at the foot of the bed. “Stay,” he commands, and then swings one leg over Tom to straddle his waist.
“What are you doing, you harlot?” says Tom. “The dog is watching us.”
Latts rolls his eyes and smooths the hair from Tom’s face. “Thanks,” he says. “For getting Tater.”
“It was Mony’s idea,” Tom admits, sheepish. He taps his finger against the soft skin over Latts’ hip, and then rubs the skin with his thumb. “I just wanted you to be happy again.”
Latts kisses him, soft. “I was happy.”
“You always looked really sad every time we passed a dog,” replies Tom. “Even that one time after I blew you in the alleyway. We turned a corner and saw that German shepherd, and you looked like someone had just ripped your heart out, not sucked your brains out through your dick.”
“I’m always going to be sad about Snoop,” says Latts. His eyes soften in grief, but he ducks his head to kiss Tom again. “But Tater will help.”
As if summoned by his name, Tater noses his way between them. He seems to sense that Latts is sad; he licks his chin comfortingly a few times, and when he’s satisfied that Latts is going to be all right, he slides off of Tom’s belly and jumps off the bed. He grabs Latts’ discarded shirt and disappears under the bed.
“You better not be chewing on that,” Latts calls. There’s silence from under the bed.
“Hey,” Tom says, when Latts makes to move. “It’s only a shirt. He probably just wants something to sleep with.” He slides his fingers down the back of Latts’ briefs. Latts gives him a look, but he makes an appreciative noise as Tom cups his ass.
“My parents are just down the hall,” Latts murmurs into a kiss. “Our dog is under the bed.”
Tom grunts against Latts’ mouth. He can’t fuck Latts in his childhood bedroom, not with his parents right down the hall, but he can do other things -- he can bite and kiss at Latts’ chest, suck a hickey onto his throat as he wraps one large hand around Latts’ cock and strokes, covering Latts’ mouth with his own to stifle Latts’ moans as he comes.
“You’re awful,” breathes Latts against Tom’s mouth as he comes down from his orgasm. Tom grins against his mouth, but the grin morphs into an ‘o’ as Latts slides down his body and mouths at his dick through his boxers. Tom bites his fist, one hand in Latts’ hair as Latts sucks him to orgasm.
When Latts wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and collapses next to to Tom, Tater emerges from under the bed. He yelps and bites at Tom’s hand until Tom swoops him up one-handed and drops him somewhere on the bed.
Latts’ breath ghosts hot over Tom’s nipple as Tater curls up on his stomach. “At least he knows to scram when we have sex,” Latts says gruffly.
Tom snorts his agreement. He pats Tater on the head. Tater licks his hand and then places his head on an ab.
Tom nods off, and when he wakes, it’s the middle of the night. Latts has rolled away from him in his sleep. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, face squished into Tater’s body where Tater is curled up on the pillow next to him, head lying over Latts’ neck protectively.
Tater’s tail swings back and forth lazily as Tom rearranges himself to tuck up close to Latts. Latts mumbles something in his sleep as Tom kisses the top of his spin. Tater yawns and closes his eyes, and as Tom buries his face into Latts’ hair, he thinks, yeah, they’re going to be all right.