Another Sun, Even More Beauteous
Written for @kinaaaard who wanted to see Buck and Tommy on vacation in Italy. 💜 It's about 3400 words, so it's posted in its entirety on AO3, and here's the beginning:
“We're never going back,” Evan decides, stretching his arms over his head as he walks. He pauses briefly to go up on his toes before easily making up the steps Tommy took ahead of him with his long legs.
“I think that might not be allowed,” Tommy says, taking his hand. “But I know what you mean. Though I don't know if my stomach can take it.”
They've been in Rome for four days, and Tommy's pretty sure he's eaten more in those four days than he has in the previous four weeks. They're currently walking off an amazing meal from the little restaurant on Tiber Island, and Tommy might spend the rest of his life chasing the high of that torta di ricotta.
He went to Italy once in high school with Nonna to go to her sister's eightieth birthday party. It had been fun, and he'd loved meeting what family they had left back in the small town on the coast south of Amalfi. He'd fallen in puppy love with a boy who worked at the restaurant his cousin owned, and they'd had one kiss the night before Tommy flew home.
Now he gets to experience it with the man he loves, and they kiss anywhere and everywhere they can. The shy looks with Enzo had been sweet, but nothing beats the full force of Evan smiling at him while they walk through a piazza or museum. He just wishes Nonna could meet him. She'd met Enzo and hinted that the was a nice boy, but Tommy had been shy, young, and terrified. She would've loved Evan. He probably would've had to compete with her for his attention. He knows he would've lost, and he would've been happy to.
“When should we start heading back? We need to pack,” Evan says.
“Mm, an hour?” Tommy looks at his watch. “The train’s pretty early.”
They're taking a train down to Catania, because Rome is their bookend destination with a stop in Agropoli after Sicily to see Tommy's cousins. They flew into Rome, they'll fly out of Rome. It's three weeks of vacation, and Tommy understands why Evan wants to stay. He also knows, though, that Evan would be itching to work within about a month.
Evan is a dream to travel with, though. He doesn't pack too much, he likes to go to places off the beaten path instead of gravitating toward tourist traps, he charms every person they come into contact with, and he'll learn everything he can about anything. Tommy had listened to Evan talk about Tiber Island their whole way there. In another life, Evan would've been an amazing teacher.
“What?” Evan asks.
“Mm, just thinking,” Tommy says, looking over at him with a smile. “About you.”
Evan flushes and ducks his head as he smiles just before he glances back at Tommy. The sun is sitting low on the horizon, and he's bathed in a wash of gold. It's a sight Tommy wants to remember forever. He wants to be an old man and remember the beauty of Evan Buckley in the setting sun on the streets of Rome.
“What about?” Evan asks, more shy than teasing, like the setting is making him feel more vulnerable, too.
“I like being here with you, I like listening to you talk about what you've learned. And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
“We just went to the Borghese Gallery yesterday,” Evan points out, his smile widening. “So that can't be true.”
He stops and tugs Evan off the walkway and to the wall of some shop that looks closed. “No, it's true,” he says, dragging his hand up Evan’s arm to his jaw.
Evan’s lips are parted slightly and so pink, and his eyes are soft with happiness. He would've been a muse to some painter back then, his face rendered forever for people to admire. And Tommy gets to be the one he smiles at and kisses and travels with and loves. When Tommy kisses him, Evan inhales sharply through his nose and wraps an arm around his neck, kissing him back.
When Tommy pulls back and takes Evan with him, their hands still linked, Evan tucks in closer and kisses his shoulder.
“Can we go to the hotel?” he asks, and Tommy wraps an arm around him, smiling.
—
