Hi! my name is Owl/Kat (she/her) and I'm a releapsing multishipper in my 30s who can't stop herself from writing (often smutty) stories about fictious characters and posting them here (or on a03 under the same username). I never want to stop -- love to all my mutuals, fellow writers & shippers, without you this would only be half as fun!
(Also apologies that I'm a lurker who will occasionally drop of the face of the earth when real life attempts to drag me back down to Earth.)
Please note: adult content ahead!
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All of my fanfics on tumblr
... and with the rating in brackets. (Currently only including fics up until June 2025)
Most of my fics can also be found here on a03
Everything I post here on tumblr is tagged with #owlishwritings or exclusive/abandoned snippets #owl's tumblr
Bucktommy (9-1-1)
Good Teacher: Short Bottom!Tommy ficlet. (E)
Keeping You: Buck just wants to keep this. (E)
Praise: This time, it's Tommy on the receiving end of some praise. (E)
Smutty Drabble (E)
The past: Something dark about the past. (M)
Naughty texts from Buck (M)
Want: Buck wants. (T)
Devotion: Tommy just wants Buck to stay safe. (T)
Bad News: Tommy is taking care of Buck. (T)
Long Day: Some negotiations between Tommy and Buck. (T)
Getting Hurt: Buck narrowly escapes getting hurt rather badly. (T)
Migrane: Tommy takes care of Buck (T)
Past Nightmares: Tommy had dealings with the NCIS in the past. (T)
Mafia AU
Inception AU
Charmed AU (ramblings)
Reconnection (E)
Buck's grief (T)
Rules (T)
Old Habits Die Hard (T)
Shovel Talk (G)
Falling Apart: Buck falls apart, Tommy's there to catch him (T)
Dreaming about you (E)
Saltommy (9-1-1)
At Work: Skirting the line about what you can get away with in the showers at work. (E)
About Begging: Sal giving up on telling Tommy not to beg (E)
Playing a Little Meaner: Featuring a toy, Sal being mean and some name-calling. (E)
Sal's lap (E)
Worship: Tommy worships Sal. (E)
Teasing (E)
Lazy Afternoons (E)
Suit: Sal is wearing a suit. Tommy is kind of losing his mind. (M)
Nightmares: Tommy still has nightmares from his time in the army. Sal is good at comforting him. (T)
Protective: Sal shows how protective he is about Tommy when some idiot spews nonsense at a scene. (T)
Love: Sal confessing (T)
Family Ties (T)
Kids: A sweet little something about Sal handling kids. (G)
Hugs and Kisses (T)
Gerrad's Orders (T)
Name (E)
Stop All The Clocks (T)
To Feel It Completely (E)
First Time Bottoming for Sal (E)
Salbucktommy
Probie!Buck (G, for this snippet)
Trip to Italy (E), Part II
Sterek (Teen Wolf)
Biker Boy Dreams: Stiles having a thing for Derek in leather (E)
How To Be A Tease: What it says on the tin. Stiles is being a tease. (E)
Caught in the Act: Scott getting an eye full of Sterek action. (E)
Gentlemen Don't Kiss and Tell: Discussion between Allison and Stiles about certain part of werewolf anatomy. (M)
A Head Filled With Voices: Which is about Stiles's self-worth. (T)
Lydia's reaction to Stiles/Derek (T)
Nature's Call (T)
Rockon (S.W.A.T.)
Touch-starved Rocker part I and part II (T)
Hungry Eyes: Five times they fuck, while it's still an affair - and one time after. An earlier snippet from this fic is here. (E)
Hard Truths: Annie finds out about Rockon and slaps Rocker. (T)
You're Not Tommy: Rockon + Evan, After the break-up Evan meets Rocker and Deacon. Also a sequel with Rocker calling Tommy. (E)
Jealous Deacon: One of Rocker's exes flirts with him, and Deacon gets jealous. (T)
Keep Me: Deacon is spending the night at Rocker's. (E)
Past Ghosts (M)
Who Hurt You (E)
First Time Bottoming for Deacon (E)
Rockie Verse II (T)
Other Ships
Tarlos, Jealousy (T)
Tarlos, Sleepy Passion (E)
Ruca (S.W.A.T) Toys: On their day off, Rocker and Luca test out a new toy. (M)
Ruca (S.W.A.T.) You Know: Luca knows just how to take Rocker apart. (E)
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💗
I love this! thank you! I just checked and I currently have 257 (oh god. how?) fics on a03 and that's not counting the ones that have never left tumblr. Let's see.
9-1-1, Salbucktommy, Starved For Love is dear to me, because it has so many bits of my own heart hidden in there & I just live for the sweet domestic hurt/comfort trope.
9-1-1, Sal/Buck, Those Arms, Those Eyes is one of these brain children that I literally wrote in one sitting, mostly because everyone was screaming at me in the tumblr comments and I loved everything about it. Yum, readers' anguish.
I write in lots of different fandoms, but I'll stick mostly to 9-1-1 here. Still, let me point out that this one Teen Wolf, Sterek, Wolves Are Just Wild Dogs, Right? has part of my backbone and it was so much fun writing it.
9-1-1, Bucktommy, Grief is like a hurricane is deeply personal to me. This is what grief felt like to me back went it hit me the hardest.
9-1-1, Saltommy, Caught > gotta have one Saltommy on here, because I loved this dynamic hardest in the beginning. Sal's a little cruel in this one, but only because Tommy asked for it. And that feels very true to their relationship to me.
... and honestly i could name so many. I could also name a few that I severely dislike now (but then again, we all hopefully change and grow as writers so I guess that's just part and parcel of the whole thing.). But those were the first I saw while skimming over the list that mean something to me. So that's that.
I don't know who hasn't done this. NP tagging @thecarrott, @emakataken, @fuselsstuff @dosciencetoit and also tagging you right back @chimneyschewinggum. If you've done it already give me another five favourites!
Owl, if you are doing the 5 weird facts AUs, could you hit me with something for the early days of Tommy and Sal's friendship? How did they first start to trust each other? Does Sal know that Tommy is gay, and if so, how does that fact get revealed to him?
Horribly late. Again. Sorry. But thank you so much for that ask! I'll try to be coherent.
At this point, I've written so many AUs for Saltommy that I have a million ideas for how their friendships starts. But in every verse of mine, it's like this odd kind of gravity between them. Like they meet and look at each other, and they just... connect. Not quite the right way, because it takes work. But Tommy is drawn to Sal's dry humor and his no-nonesense attitude (maybe because in the early days, he's so busy hiding that his own bitchyness is always kept below the surface) and Sal is drawn to Tommy because he's just so real. Honest. (and Sal doesn't let himself think it but: sweet.) They both have such trust issues god.
Differnt verses, differnt family dynamics but I think I mostly ascribe to the fanon that Sal is close with his mum and has at least two sisters. Tommy only has a father that he doesn't talk to -- and I imagine Sal figures this one out quickly and simply includes Tommy in all his family outings after. Sometimes Sal is almost certain his mum likes Tommy more than him.
At work, they're partners. There is a level of trust that they just have to give each other immediately, and that's hard for both of them. But it grows. Slowly. Day by day. Eventually, they can talk with just a look or two. They're so seamless that even Gerrard can't find a way to break them up without him looking stupid.
There's this other layer to it, this odd "I trust you with my life but not with the tender bits of my underbelly". Because at work they play the part of "Gerarrd's boys" in different ways. Sal dials up the anger, lets it bleed into insults that he doesn't let himself double check. Where Sal burns hot, Tommy does icey ignorance best. They haven't quite managed to be good for each other by then, to be better.
At some point, they clash. Horribly. After Bobby essentially fires Sal, and Tommy stays. That's when the whole conversation about Tommy being gay happens. Out in the open. Because Sal knew, of course he knew, but he's not looking too closely at a lot of things about himself by then, and Tommy's essentially an extension of him at that point, so how could he have addressed it? -> and that, this conflict is the make it or break it for them in my head.
@emakataken and @thecarrott input on the saltommy friendship? I would love to hear your biggest headcanons.
For the Sal week (why is not the Sal MONTH ?!) : always SalTommy.
Could you write me a story set in the present day? Sal and Tommy have been together for years. One day, Sal becomes self-conscious about his body, about getting older.
He looks like Gino does now, with very short hair and a salt-and-pepper beard...
And he wonders if he's still attractive to Tommy. Who takes great pleasure in proving to him THAT HE IS, and spends the next few days either whispering sweet nothings in his ear or driving him wild with pleasure.
Again, thank you !
... so. This is horribly late and probably also not quite what you had in mind, but this ficlet had a mind of it's own and I really had no control over it once I started typing. Enjoy...?
Saltommy, Silver, M-rated
"Okay, seriously, is something wrong?"
Sal had his back to Tommy when he asked, pulling down his shirt rather quickly. Like an amateur, he even winced a little at the question, caught off guard. But he was a coward before he was that, so Sal asked in a tone that wasn't innocent at all: "What do you mean?"
He heard Tommy get up from their bed. That was what made Sal turn to him -- never put your back toward your ene-- oh god, what a stupid thought, what the hell, what--
"Tori," Tommy used that nickname like a weapon, like 'I see you', and Sal didn't usually hate that, but right now he did. He fought the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest, made himself meet Tommy's questions with a calm that was professional at this point, even if he didn't mean it at all.
Tommy beat him to the punch, never letting Sal formulate any proper deflections: "You're not hiding an injury, are you?"
"What? No!" Sal responded, wrong-footed. "Don't be ridiculous."
That eyebrow of Tommy's had a life of its own, Sal could have sworn. It was like having a whole different conversation with the bitchiest person you'd ever met multiplied by ten. Yeah, no, Sal took that back. It wasn't the eyebrow, that was all Tommy, telling him with a look alone: It's happened before.
Sal sighed, squared his shoulders and pulled the shirt back over his head. "Look. I'm all good, it's fine."
Predictably, Tommy reached for him. A hand on Sal's flank, running down, right there over the parts of his middle that were squishy. Particularly right now, after he'd kind of jumped from one infection to the next. All these co-workers with kids.
Tommy hummed, hands settling on Sal's hips, like it made no difference, like he couldn't tell at all.
"Take the rest off," he asked, and it was almost flirty. But Sal didn't really focus on that. A short, sharp laugh left him.
"Buy me dinner first," a flat jab, one that Tommy countered with: "Since I put a ring on your finger, I buy you dinner at least twice a week."
There was an opening there, a fight Sal could start. He almost went for it, too, but then he made the mistake of meeting Tommy's gaze. Fuck it all to hell, he looked worried.
Sal cupped his face. "Hey. I promise I'm not hurt."
Tommy considered him so very carefully. Like, Sal was precious. Sal knew that Tommy loved him; he trusted that, he did. But there was so much grey already at his temples, his back was all fucked-up, and he'd gained at least five pounds around his middle alone.
"Won't you tell me?" Tommy asked, quietly, sweetly.
Childishly, Sal shook his head. But his arms looped around Tommy's neck, head tucking close, revelling in the warmth of his favourite person. Well, yeah, he'd done this to himself, but Sal still ached for the attention.
"No?" Tommy prompted. "Is it a secret?"
Sal squeezed his eyes closed, feeling foolish and anxious and almost ready to break away and hide in the closet. Ha. Another irony right there. He didn't respond.
"Can you whisper it to me?"
The urge to bare his teeth was almost stronger than the need to get this horrible pressure at the back of his throat out, to voice the things Sal had been repeating to himself inside his head for the whole week. What if they sounded small outside his own head? Or worse, what if they were even bigger?
"It's stupid," he hissed, and Tommy made a disagreeing little noise, arms warm around Sal as he hugged him. It was both better, because Sal would not want Tommy's hugs and worse, because it brought them into contact directly. Body against body.
"I'm sure it's not, if it has you this worried."
Sal felt a smile tug at his lips despite himself. Leave it to Tommy to say something like this and mean it. God, he was being so foolish.
"I'm old," he whispered. "And unattractive."
"Mhm. Okay, I lied," Tommy responded. "It might be a little stupid."
Sal slapped a hand against Tommy's side, but Tommy didn't let go of him, even as he couldn't help the snort that left him.
"Rude," Sal muttered.
"Not as rude as that little voice in your head telling you lies."
Sal said nothing for a long moment, then: "Rude."
"You said that already," Tommy teased. "Baby. My sweetheart. My silver fox."
Sal pulled himself free and heard how incredulous he sounded when he pointed a finger straight at Tommy's face. "You saw!"
Tommy's fingers were in his hair a beat later; the pads of his fingers reaching up along Sal's scalp while his thumb lingered over Sal's temple. He shivered, feeling the touch tingle in completely different parts of his body. Sal was too surprised to shake the touch off.
"I saw, and I think it looks good," Tommy insisted. "That's what has you worried? Sal, we're almost the same age. I'm going grey, too."
Sal stuttered out: "That's not-- I-- it isn't--"
"It's the same," Tommy insisted, back in his space. Or perhaps it was Sal in his space, because he'd never moved back, never put distance between them again. He couldn't.
"What else?" Tommy prompted, and he was still petting Sal like he was a stupid cat, and it felt nice, and Sal wanted to be touched, so his mind went 'fuck it', and he said: "I gained weight. I look like--"
"Like you're comfortable," Tommy said immediately. "Like you're well-fed and well-loved, and you are. I love you. So much, Tori."
For that one, Sal kissed him. Because he needed Tommy to shut up, but also because he really needed to kiss him. Sal always did.
When Tommy squeezed the roll around his middle, Sal jumped and tried to escape, but Tommy held him right there. Sal gripped Tommy's arms, but he was caught, secured.
"Is this what we're talking about? The love handles? Tori," Tommy's voice dropped into that register that was so full of dirty promises. "Let me show you just how much I love these."
Tommy did show him. Repeatly. Right until Sal begged. And then a little while longer after that.
This one you might have seen before, but I promise it has grown.
Sal/Buck, Seduction Game, E-rated
Sal ducked his head a little to hide the wide, pleased smile that threatened to give away the last few hidden parts of his game. So this was what it felt like to be stared at with hungry-dark eyes, undressed so completely that it was almost a physical sensation.
Not that Sal didn't know. Buck had a way with those clever eyes, seeing so much, speaking so plainly.
"Hey, baby," he called out without fully turning.
Sal turned to strain his pasta, effectively putting his back to Buck, and getting a deliciously stunned noise in response. One which he also tried hard not to react to. At least not too obviously.
"I didn't think you'd be this early. Was your shift--"
"You're naked," Buck said, voice heavy.
Sal gave in, letting that grin split his face wide while he was still plating things. "I'm wearing an apron."
Just the apron. But still. An important distinction. He could hear Buck swallow.
Untethered Verse, Part II, Salbucktommy, WIP (M-rated)
"What are you doing here?" Sal asked when he found Buck leaning against his car about a week after they'd quietly disappeared from Sal's apartment, while he somehow managed to talk himself out of hyperventilating over shitty breakfast.
Buck lifted his hands in a universal gesture of 'i mean no harm', only Sal knew that was a lie, because the smile of that boy was so disarming that Sal knew his guard was half down before he could steel himself.
"Can we talk?"
Sal hesitated. "Where did you leave--"
"Just me," Buck said. "Let me invite you to dinner? I know a place around here."
A cruel instinct made Sal want to sneer something like 'do this a lot, do you?', only he bit down on it, because even in his fucked up head, he realised that it was a bit too obviously showing his hand. Or perhaps Buck knew anyway. Still, he didn't waver.
"Alright," Sal allowed, not even sure how he hadn't ended up at a resounding 'no'. It was something about Buck. This ridiculous puppy of a man, who smiled brightly and immediately promised to text Sal the address from his car.
"See you in a bit!"
He wasn't wrong. Sal arrived at the dinner-style place less than twenty minutes later and parked next to Buck's jeep. Perhaps there were some backroads he didn't know of, because Sal was very sure he'd pulled out of the parking lot at the firehouse first.
If Sal's nondescript irritation at the situation as a whole showed at all, Buck didn't let on. He just led Sal into the restaurant, and never once, between going inside and sitting down and ordering, stopped keeping up a conversation that was somehow easy and flowing without becoming superficial. Sal couldn't pin him down. Not at all.
"Did you know that spider silk is one of the strongest naturally occurring materials by weight?" Buck asked, with his chin resting in his palm. It looked lazy, almost, but the way he kept considering Sal was too calculating for that. "Once a net is spun, it's structurally sound. Durable too."
"I feel like you're trying to make a point," Sal said. "There's no need to lead me to make my own conclusions; you could just tell me."
Buck gave him a lopsided grin. "Have you always been this alike? Or is it because you've been partners for so long?"
The way Buck said that word, partners, was heavy beyond reason. Back in the day, Sal had realised its weight once, just once, and then forced himself to shove it all back down and never think about 'this is Tommy, my partner' ever again.
"It was like that for me with my partner for a while. Eddie," Buck went on, when Sal made no move to reply. "But that one ended a bit badly. He moved. Then came back. He has a bit of an anger issue."
Sal controlled his flinch. But something must have shown in his expression, because Buck's eyebrows rose. "It's a different story."
"When I left the 118, it was out of anger as well," Sal heard himself say, aware that the words could cut him, but unable to stop himself. Damn those pretty curls and the honest expression on Buck's face. Part of Sal wanted to give away much, much more than just a few minor truths about the past.
"That's not how Tommy tells it," Buck said. "He said Bobby transferred you because you were too good at leading."
Sal looked up from his food, a little stunned. "It feels like that's a little biased."
Buck shot back immediately: "Sure. Because Tommy cares about you."
Sal had walked into that one. Barreled straight into the knife that was always right there, just waiting to cut him. Sal should know better at this point.
There was a merciful streak in Buck because he pivoted the conversation. Not quite without letting on that he was doing it, but still. Sal asked him about work, and Buck sighed, making a motion with his hand that indicated it was all a bit difficult even before he admitted it. Sal really had no leg to stand on in demanding more details, so he didn't.
When they finally paid and left, the parking lot was already mostly empty; it distinctly felt like that was by design. Or if it wasn't, Buck at least took hold of the opportunity before Sal could even fully gather it was one. One moment, he stood next to his car, trying to find a way to say goodbye without being too mean or too honest.
The next, Buck stepped into Sal's space, hand curved around the side of his neck, and kissed him. Unhurried, open-mouthed, like he had all the time in the world. Sal could feel the kiss hook into his heartstrings, and it was hard to fight the meaning behind it.
He swallowed hard when Buck let him go. "You and Tommy are together."
"Will you keep using that as an excuse?" Buck asked, unimpressed. "Tommy knows I'm here with you."
Sal laughed, a jaded sound. "So what? Is it an open relationship now? And you've decided to play—"
"No." Buck backed away a little, something sharpening in his voice. "It's just you. You know that."
Something shifted in Buck's expression, quick and quickly gone. He looked almost hurt. Sal's mouth snapped shut.
Buck sighed. "Honestly, you want to know what's funny? You both do the exact same thing. He soft-pedals to avoid scaring you off. You bolt before he gets the chance. I'm surprised you're even talking to each other still."
"Hey—"
"Oh?" A flicker of something that wasn't quite a smile. "So when Tommy called you a friend because he didn't want to spook you, you didn't flee your own apartment because you wanted to be more than that?"
Sal took a step back, out of Buck's immediate reach. He felt unbalanced, and it took a moment before he found his anger: "You're—"
"A nosy bastard?" Buck's grin took an edge. "Nah."
He held Sal's gaze, and something in his expression settled, not softer, exactly. Quieter. More dangerous for it.
"I already love him. And I could fall for you so easily."
The silence stretched. Buck let it.
"So yeah," he said finally. "I'll push a little."
A funny thing was happening in Sal's chest. One which he felt entirely objected to, weathering an uncontrolled storm. He did that well, usually. But 'I could fall for you' and 'easily' wasn't a combination of words Sal had heard before or even thought he'd hear.
"Think about it," Buck pressed, still pushing. "Here, give me your phone."
Sal did, too unbalanced to resist Buck's open hand, palm to the sky with an ease that belied the weight of what he was offering. Maybe Buck didn't realise it, or maybe he was always this open with his affection. Sal could believe it with everything Tommy had told him.
"There," Buck said and handed Sal's phone back. "You have my number now. Think about it. If it's too hard to talk to Tommy, text me."
"What makes you think that texting you is easier?"
Buck's smile was instant, wide and true. "You don't love me yet, Tori."
Yet. Like inevitability. So fucking confident. Sal could have teased, could have said something about arrogance. But Buck was the furthest thing from that, and the implication was startlingly clear.
You love him.
When Buck touched his arm just above his elbow and pressed another quick peck to the corner of Sal's mouth, he was still absolutely frozen.
"Text me," Buck said, and Sal's gaze fell from those startling eyes to the screen of his phone. He'd saved his contact as 'Evan'.
Escaping to the bathroom had been a mistake. Sal should have booked it for the door and just left the flat. His flat. With his best friend, whom he’d been in love with for fucking years and said best friend's boyfriend right there in Sal's bed.
Fuck.
That was bad enough in itself, but it was all worse than that. they’d held Sal, and kissed him, and Tommy had gotten him off while Buck was kissing him —
Double fuck.
The scalding hot shower Sal took, mostly because he felt like crawling out of his skin, did little to solve the whole problem. It kind of made it worse. If that were possible.
After towelling off and cleaning up and berating himself for letting this happen at all, Sal was debating just staying in the bathroom. But maybe he could just sneak through the bedroom, go right for the door without even glancing at the bed. That was a plan. A weak one, but a plan.
One which derailed the moment Sal saw Tommy sitting on the bed lazily, facing the bathroom door. He gave Sal an arched eyebrow and a look that said: „Are you really freaking out about this now?“ The answer to that one was yes, yes, Sal was freaking out.
Sal stared, entirely focused on catching his eyes on Tommy’s face and not his naked chest. Tommy noticed; he definitely did. That grin was telling.
„Tori,“ Tommy said finally. „Take a deep breath.“
Sal inhaled and then lost the fight with his nerves entirely when he booked it for the door. Or he attempted to anyway. He was blocked by Buck, holding up a cupholder with three coffees.
„I brought a bribe,“ he said with a rather unnervingly calm smile.
„Bribing me into what?“ Sal heard himself say.
„Sitting down and talking,“ Tommy said seriously and then his tone turned teasing when he said, „Evan enjoys guessing coffee orders. If nothing else, you can tell him how wrong he got it.“
Buck huffed. „There’s no way Tori likes it the way you do.“
The double meaning was obvious, not least of all because Buck caught Sal's eye with a kind of spark dancing behind that blue; such obvious cleverness beneath the surface.
Before Sal could respond, Tommy let out a chuckle. „You forget we’ve been partners for years. I know you got him something sweet, and he’s never had anything but pitch black—„
„Unfair!“ Buck called just as Sal‘s tongue unglued itself for long enough to say: „I could use some sugar.“
Tommy was still complaining when Sal managed to at least make them agree to go sit down at the table, but then again, it seemed all very put on, like he was trying to give Sal a distraction. Sal kept sipping.
„You lied to me,“ Tommy said, so mock-affronted that Sal had to laugh. Oh god. He hadn't expected to fall into their old patterns so easily. But he especially had never thought about Tommy showing all that bitchiness that he always bit down so openly.
„I indulge when I splurge for a coffee shop.“
„Did I get it right?“ Buck asked, pleased as anything.
„Carmel is better than vanilla,“ Sal gave away, and still kept sipping. Then his heart jumped into his mouth: „I don’t know what we‘re doing here.“
„You’re letting us help you out,“ Tommy said. „We’re friends, that’s what friends do.“
Something sank in Sal's chest. Heavy like a stone. The atmosphere shifted from one moment to the next, tipping, spinning. Twisting into the exact opposite. Sal chided himself for relaxing, for being so foolish as to let something suspiciously like hope bloom.
„Friends, right.“
„Sal—„ Buck started, but Sal absolutely couldn’t stand having his heart broken like this. He wouldn't. Not after... how had he been so foolish to hope?
„I‘m going out,“ he said. „I think I’d like a bit of space when I come back.“
Sal got up. He didn’t wait, not even when both of them yelled after him.
When Buck came home to them after a surprisingly relaxed shift, something was in the air. Not danger, not threatening so immediately as smoke or fire; subtler, but also unspeakably there. Almost like something to offset the quiet of the shift, the low traffic, the calm.
No. That wasn't right. Buck knew better than to conjure any scenarios from thin air.
Cutlery clattered into the sink with a sound that was decidedly angry. It only made the invisible heaviness more prominent. Buck didn't flinch because he was too much of a first responder, slipping into a mood very similar to the attitude he wore during calls.
But this was a different attitude, deeper. Hooked into a part of him that was so much more vital than the integrity of his skin and bones. A tug that Buck followed, as he heard Sal's voice rise for a moment, before it tempered into something deeply frustrated.
"I am aware. No, that will not do," and after a beat, with a deep sigh. "Yes, I'll hold."
When Sal turned, he spotted Buck, and his face smoothed out some, softer for him, gentler. He mouthed 'Hi' and then pointed in the direction of the living room, where Buck spotted Tommy leaning back on the couch. It was easy enough to follow the suggestion of Sal's direction.
Buck took a closer look at Tommy as he wandered over. The way Tommy's neck bent over the armrest couldn't be comfortable, but he didn't seem to mind. With how he stared at the ceiling, it seemed like Tommy was trying not to be in his body at all. Exhaustion was written into every line of him.
Buck's steps closing in alerted Tommy to his presence. Only his eyes darted over before he lifted a hand, fingers spread wide in Buck's direction. Buck threaded their fingers together and joined Tommy as he brought their joined hands to his chest in an almost unconscious gesture.
As he settled, Buck watched Sal gesture as he seemed to be finally out of the waiting loop. His voice was stern, but not quite loud enough to make all the words carry over.
"He's a force of nature," Tommy said, and Buck saw him smiling a little tightly.
"Did something happen?"
Tommy shrugged like it was nothing, but Buck didn't look away, didn't let it go. When Tommy sighed, he finally righted himself a little, wincing as his neck protested the abuse.
"Internal investigation," he allowed. "Got a... complaint."
He proceeded to tuck his face into Buck's neck, inhaling deeply enough to make Buck shiver and break out in goosebumps.
I don't remember if I posted this, so I apologize if this is a duplicate. xD
SalBuck WIP, E-rated
Sal's hand spread wide over his gut, and Buck's whole body moved with the guidance, back into the position that had the head of Sal's cock bump right against every single raw nerve Buck possessed. He whined.
"Mhm," Sal's breath was a hot trail of condensation against Buck's neck that left goosebumps in its wake. "Do you think I don't know exactly where you need me?"
Buck inhaled, but then caught the breath and whatever words came with it in the space between his cheeks. His head fell forward. The next roll of Sal's hips made him release all that air in a rush.
He cursed, knees shifting apart. Not in a bid to lessen the insistent pressure that had him far too close to embarrassing himself, but right into it. Some part of Buck seemed to have decided that if he had to come in under a minute, just from Sal pushing inside and grinding there, he wanted to drown in the feeling.
"C-close," he admitted, feeling his face heat.
"I know," Sal cooed. "C'mon then."
Buck shook his head. "'s too soon."
Behind him, Sal chuckled, and Buck could feel the vibration everywhere. He groaned. It was only then that he noticed how he trembled in Sal's hold.
"Nothing to worry about," Sal's voice was low. "I won't be done with you until I've made you come at least three times, baby."
A wicked shiver ran through Buck, leaving him hollow and open. Desperate for Sal to keep his promise.
"Go on, eat," Doug ordered, tossing Buck some gas station sandwich and a bottle of water. He'd even undone the rope around Buck's hands, which had been an ordeal in and of itself with Buck's broken finger. But he had willed himself not to react.
A part of him wanted to refuse the food. But Buck was in no position to do anything like that, and he wasn't stupid. He'd bide his time, save his strength. It wouldn't do to lose what strength he had now.
Buck was also very aware of the gun Doug had placed on the table between them.
He unwrapped the sandwich with his good hand, moving carefully, deliberately. His broken finger was a dull, insistent throb at the edge of everything — not ignorable, but manageable if he kept his attention elsewhere. Buck kept his attention elsewhere. Tracking, cataloguing. Reaching for fucking straws.
The gun was a cheap semi-automatic. Buck didn't know guns the way some of the guys on the 118 did, the way Tommy probably did. But he knew that much. Buck also knew the distance between himself and the table. He filed it away, plotting thinly.
"How long are you planning on keeping me here?" Buck asked when Doug kept watching him, because silence was worse. Silence let Doug feel in control. Buck needed some ground, any ground.
Doug looked at him across the table. He'd poured himself coffee from a thermos, which he hadn't offered to Buck, and he wrapped his hands around it now like he had all the time in the world. Savouring the heat that Buck acutely lacked. Perhaps it was the broken bone making him shiver like that.
"Until Maddie does the sensible thing." A pause. "Or until I lose patience. Whichever comes first."
Buck took a bite of the sandwich. It tasted like nothing. He willed himself to chew and swallow.
"She won't."
"She will," Doug said with such certainty. Such familiarity. That was the worst part of it, Buck had come to understand — Doug genuinely believed he knew Maddie better than she knew herself. That his years of control had given him some privileged access to the truth of her. It was the most delusional thing about him, and the most dangerous.
"She's not who you think she is anymore," Buck said, desperate to defend
Maddie even now, and entirely unable to keep his mouth shut.
Something flickered across Doug's face. Not quite anger — not yet. An emotion closer to contempt.
"Eat your food, Evan."
Buck ate, refusing to let himself remember the shape of his name in the mouth of someone else. Someone who held it safely, warmly. Nothing like Doug.
He saw the muscle jump in Tommy's jaw, the little twitch of his fingers before they settled down flat on the table. Buck watched, took in every detail as Tommy stopped trying to read:
How he put down the pen so roughly it rolled on the smooth surface, the fluid movement in which he took off the glasses (a shame, such a shame), the way his chest rose and fell as he sighed deeply, like Buck was a menace (and he was, he wanted to be).
When those eyes ticked up, they found Buck, the line of Tommy's mouth unimpressed. It was a mountainous effort for Buck not to cheer in delight. Buck managed somehow. He even stood his ground when Tommy said:
"Is that how you want to play?"
"I don't know what you mean," Buck said, and almost before he'd finished speaking, the chair was creaking against the floor, and Tommy had crossed the distance between them. There was a tight hand in Buck's curls, dragging just enough to make Buck arch his neck and drop his shoulders.
"Don't you?" Tommy asked, voice different, deeper, promising.
Starved For Love, Chapter 7, Salbucktommy, Snippet
When they returned to the cabin, Sal checked his phone with a frown.
"The weather's getting worse. I'll go chop some more wood—"
"Let me," Tommy offered. "You two go and figure out dinner."
"You say the sweetest things," Sal teased, but he looked grateful.
The nap had given something back to him. Buck could see it in the way he moved through the cabin, easier, a little lighter, like something had been quietly set back in place while he slept. He pulled open the pantry with the air of a man conducting a thorough inspection and said nothing for long enough that Buck came to stand beside him.
"You going to tell me what we're working with, or—"
Sal kissed him, brief and warm, and turned back to the shelf. The whole line of his made it abundantly clear that he wasn't planning on letting Buck help him.
"Sal."
A hum, an arm around Buck's waist. Another kiss. Buck shifted in front of him, tried for stern and probably ended up somewhere smitten with his look. It didn't matter; Sal was still idly rubbing circles over Buck's hip, considering the pantry.
"I'm thinking."
He was quiet for another moment, then reached past Buck for something on the upper shelf, and used the proximity to kiss him yet again, slower this time, one hand loose at Buck's jaw. Buck had barely caught up when Sal was already stepping back, holding up a tin of tomatoes with an expression of quiet triumph.
"Okay," he said. "I know what we're having."
Sal didn't accept any kind of protest from Buck, and wouldn't let him help beyond putting a pot with water on the stove. His reasoning was that the meal was easy, and that really any more than one cook would ruin it.
Buck finally fled to the sideboard with the plates and the cutlery. He set the table while Tommy fed the wood stove in intervals, the room starting to smell faintly of wood chippings and smoke. Buck and Tommy both circled around to taste spoonfuls of Sal's sauce.
The three of them ended up eating on the floor in front of the stove, backs against the couch, bowls in their laps, and the fire doing most of the talking. Sal had been right. It was a simple meal. Warm and filling. Tasting better than it had any right to because of where they were and who they were with.
It's all @thecarrott's fault. Name of this one might change.
WIP, Bucktommy + Sal, "Sal's Place" AU, T-rated
Voices picked up in volume from one moment to the next. The restaurant's patio was winding down, with only a handful of tables still occupied. Buck turned just in time to see their waiter step between another dark-haired waitress and an angry patron.
"Anna," Sal, he'd said his name was Sal, and wait, wasn't the name of this place-- "go take care of the other tables, I'll handle this."
She was young, but there was fire in her eyes when she started to protest. "Tori--"
"Go."
Anna seemed torn only for a moment. Then she nodded gratefully and went. The guest had the bright idea to whistle after her, giving Buck all the clues to piece together this particular puzzle, and say: "She's a sweet girl, what's the issue here?"
"Sir," Sal said firmly, his smile was hard. "I'd ask you to settle your bill and leave."
Sleazy spluttered and took a moment to respond: "What? Why?"
Sal was all calm, giving him no points of attack. It made alarm bells ring in Buck's head to see the patron tense and ball his fists.
"We do not accept this kind of harassment here."
"What? Who's harassing anyone? She's been making eyes at me the whole evening--"
"I assure you, she has not." Sal's voice took a dangerous edge, and the man got up and was all the way in his face in the next moment.
"I want the manager."
"I am the manager," Sal said, voice sharp but controlled. "And I'd ask you to leave."
The man pivoted. Decided, apparently, that if the manager wasn't going to fold, he'd make the room do it for him. There was a sneer on his face.
"You all seeing this?" He spread his arms, playing to the tables around him. "Getting thrown out for having a conversation?"
Sal still didn't change his tone. "Sir--"
"No, I want to know." He turned back to Sal, and something ugly had settled into his face. "I want to know what kind of place this is, where a paying customer gets treated like this."
He seemed to spot something behind Sal, and as Buck looked, Anna had made her way to another distant table. Sal seemed to clue in to that fact as well. The guy didn't even manage one step before Sal grabbed his arm to stop him.
In response, the man shoved him.
Both hands, flat against Sal's chest, and pushing with force. Sal hit the neighbouring table hard -- caught it with his hip, grabbed the edge on instinct. The wine glasses on it jumped. One tipped, rolled, and shattered against the tile. Sal's hand came down on top of it.
The room went very quiet.
"Hey."
Tommy was already on his feet. Calm. Hands slightly raised, nothing aggressive about it, just -- there. Putting himself between the patron and Sal in the next step, the way you'd close a door.
"That's enough."
Also not a question.
Buck was beside him a half-beat later, and he watched Sal straighten up slowly, deliberately, the kind of controlled that cost something -- and caught the red smear across his palm before Sal had even looked down at it. He doubted Sal had entirely noticed.
But the patron had. He had gone a little pale. Like the sound of the glass had done what Sal's calm voice hadn't.
"I--" he started, and then Tommy was steering him toward the exit with a hand at his shoulder that was not quite a grip. The man was letting him, which said something about Tommy that Buck had never gotten tired of. Steady and calm, not just because he was a first responder.
Buck stayed.
Sal was still standing there, straight-backed, the way he'd been standing all evening. Except he was looking at his hand now, and the red on his palm was a little hard to look at. Sal winced.
"Inside," Buck said.
Sal glanced at him. Looked like he was going to argue, or deflect, or do something managerial about it. Buck wasn't having it.
"You've got glass in your hand," he said. "Inside."
Sal went.
The terrace was already doing that thing where everyone pretended they hadn't been watching. Cutlery finding plates again. A woman near the railing saying something soft to her husband, eyes carefully forward. One older couple didn't bother pretending -- just watched them go with the kind of open sympathy that probably felt worse.
But Buck only tracked all of that as a side, following Sal to the inside of the restaurant as he called out briefly to Anna in Italian before leading the way. Which was dim and cool. It smelled like garlic and old wood. Sal led him past the host stand to a small bathroom off the corridor, the kind of cramped staff-adjacent space that had a first aid kit zip-tied to the wall and a single bare bulb.
"You don't have to--"
"Sit down," Buck said.
Sal raised an eyebrow at him, but then he dragged a chair over and sat. As Buck went through the kit, Sal was picking at the glass himself. Buck noticed his good hand working at his palm in a distracted, automatic way, and caught his wrist.
"Don't. You'll push it deeper."
He found the tweezers. Sal watched him rummage with an expression that had gone unreadable in the way of people who are used to being composed in front of strangers.
"Salvatore."
Anna appeared in the doorway, slightly breathless, dark eyes going straight to Sal's hand.
"I told you to stay on the floor," Sal said.
"And I told you--" she stopped. Switched tracks. Said something sharp and Italian that Buck didn't catch, and Sal answered in kind, and the cadence of it was so immediately familiar -- the tone of it -- that Buck didn't really need the language.
I'm fine. Don't fuss. I said I'm fine.
Sal finally made to push her hand away, and Anna slapped his arm, raising her voice in a way that reminded Buck so painfully of Maddie that he connected the dots. Siblings.
"He's got at least two pieces still in there," Buck said, not looking up. "So he's not that fine."
Anna's expression did something complicated. She looked at Buck like she was deciding something.
"He's stubborn," she finally said.
"I'm getting that."
Sal made a noise that wasn't quite either of their names, and Buck pressed his thumb gently below the deepest of the cuts to get a better angle, and Sal went quiet.
It took a few minutes. The first piece came out clean. But the second was smaller, took longer, and Sal's hand tensed once and then deliberately relaxed, and Buck pretended not to notice either. When it was done, he pressed gauze against the palm, and Sal held it there without being asked.
"Thank you," Sal said. He said it like the words were unfamiliar in that order.
"Thank Tommy," Buck said. "He's the one who stopped it from being worse."
It was almost like he'd summoned his husband, because Tommy appeared beside them right then. He put a hand on Buck's shoulder like an instinct, like an 'there you are'.
"Hey," he said to Buck, and then looked at Sal's hand. "Shit. That looks deep. Are you alright?"
"It's nothing," Sal said, and Buck didn't miss Anna's stern look.
"The guy's gone. I made sure to get his name, in case you want to press charges--"
"Not over this," Sal said. "Happens every other Thursday."
"How do you feel about a little hike?" Tommy asked, and Buck was so quick in voicing his excitement that he got some laughter in response. Part of him wanted to apologise, but Tommy just 'whooped' and said: "I'll pack some snacks."
When Buck turned to look at Sal, the expression on his face seemed to bloom into a smile. He didn’t think anything of it, especially when Sal stole a quick kiss in passing before announcing that he’d hunt down a backpack.
Barely half an hour later, they made their first steps along a trail that Tommy seemed to know by heart. The nature was beautiful.
All the trees here seemed old, the kind that made the air feel borrowed. Pines mostly, with a clean smell that was nothing like the city. Buck kept pulling in slow breaths of it without quite meaning to.
Below the ridge, the trail climbed along. Water was moving somewhere, a creek Buck couldn't see but could hear in the gaps between birdsong and the soft fall of their footsteps. Sunlight came down in long columns through the canopy. It felt like the whole place was set to a slower tempo; one that matched their pace and the mood between the three of them.
Buck saw Sal rub at his eyes when he thought no one was looking at him, and instantly, he felt guilty. Tommy's offer had been just that, an innocent offer. But Buck's enthusiasm had made it almost impossible for Sal to say 'no' to their little excursion.
„If you’d rather go back, "Buck offered, low enough so he was certain Tommy wouldn’t overhear. "We don’t have to do the full hike.
"You’re sweet," Sal told Buck, the shape of the word in his mouth a little like he'd wanted to use another one entirely. "But I promise you, I'm good. I would have told you otherwise."
„Hey," Tommy called. "You’re falling behind."
Sal's laugh, when it came, was bright enough to startle a bird out of the brush somewhere to their left. It was so good to hear him laugh like that, get the confirmation that his tiredness was the only thing lingering like a veil over his brightness.
"'Falling behind, ' he says," Sal repeated with an almost mocking edge, something catching at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, Evan." He tilted his head toward Tommy's retreating back, a question and a dare at once. "First one there?"
Sal traversed the uneven path smoothly, about four strides ahead of Buck only because of his head start. In no time at all, he'd passed Tommy and blown both of them a kiss before his steps finally slowed another few paces later. When he stopped, Sal turned the motion smoothly into a casual pause to look out through the trees, but Buck saw that the little stunt hadn't really done him any good.
Instead of saying anything outright, Buck fell into step beside him and reached over without comment, lifting the strap of Sal's pack off his shoulder. He was starting to grow a bit bolder in his assessment of both of his men in following through with the right actions.
"Evan—"
"I've got it."
"I don't need you to—"
"I know." Buck shouldered the pack alongside his own. "I've got it anyway."
Sal looked at him for a moment, something quiet moving through his expression. Then, lightly: "My hero."
To which Tommy laughed, and Buck muttered: "Yeah, yeah."
He could read that smile on Sal's lips well enough.
They made it to their destination only a little after that. The trees broke open without warning, and the view arrived all at once — a wide valley going gold and green in the afternoon light, the mountains layered behind it in shades of blue. A flat shelf of rock jutted out just enough to sit on, and below it, the slope fell away softly through scrub and scattered pines.
Buck stood at the edge of it for a moment and didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say.
"It's a good spot," Sal told Buck in a mock whisper. "Has seen a lot of nice evenings." Tommy exchanged a glance with Sal, a grin there. "Nothing quite like a romantic afternoon with my two favourite people."
Said so casually, so freely. Buck found he didn't feel the need to prod at the statement in his mind, to test its soundness. He could leave it be. Just for the moment.
Tommy spread out a blanket and motioned for them to sit. A little like out of a movie. Buck grinned even as Sal teased. He kissed Tommy’s temple as soon as they settled in a move that Buck knew well now and that told the truth of his emotions. Unspoken little things that seemed to bleed into the space between the three of them more and more, where before it had been mostly Sal and Tommy.
Tommy's usual care showed in the way he'd packed, too. There was dried fruit, some good cheese, crackers that didn't crumble immediately, a bar of chocolate that Sal reached for first and that Tommy surrendered without comment. Buck took note of the brand, tried to sear it into his memory when Sal made a rather indecent sound about it. Despite that, Sal shared with them, and Buck absolutely got the appeal.
Up here, Sal seemed to breathe a little easier, not just because they were resting. Buck could see him taking it all in, the same way Buck had been doing all along the trail. But he also saw the way; Sal's hands weren't quite cooperating. He fumbled the wrapper twice, and when he reached across Tommy for a cracker, he misjudged the distance a little, knocking it sideways.
He laughed at himself, unhurried, and made no effort to explain or correct. Buck found he liked that. Whatever Sal usually kept polished and in order, he'd set it down somewhere on the trail without noticing. Tommy watched him drop an apricot for the third time with an expression of patience and vague concern that he hid underneath. It didn't stay hidden for much longer.
"Tori," Tommy made a grabbing motion for Sal, pulling him in. "Come here."
Even as he laughed and huffed a little, Sal let himself be guided down, head in Tommy's lap. His eyes fluttered when Tommy ran fingers along his scalp in a way that Buck knew felt divine.
Tommy's voice, when he spoke next, was pitched low, meant just for the space between them. He asked about Buck's last shift, the kind of easy question that wanted a real answer, not a summary. Buck gave him one. The valley held the light a little longer than felt possible, and Buck watched it while he talked, and Tommy watched him, and it was comfortable. The particular comfort of being known at a slight angle, still new enough to be interesting.
Sal offered something once, a small correction, fond, and then didn't again. Eventually, Buck glanced down and found Sal's breathing had evened out, his face slack, one hand loosely curled against Tommy's knee. He seemed peaceful.
Buck let his voice temper off, kept looking down at Sal, whose face was relaxed with the sleep that had evaded him the whole night. He felt himself smile, and when he looked up, Tommy's eyes were on him with an expression that was equal parts wondrous and fond.
Tommy's thumb moved in a slow arc along Sal's hairline, and then stilled, and they both just looked at him for a moment. Then Tommy's eyes went back to Buck, and Buck glanced back, and neither of them reached for words to fill the silence that was settling comfortably over them. The moment was calm, cast in amber.
Buck leaned back on his palms and let it be quiet. He found, somewhat to his own surprise, that he didn't mind it at all.
His skin was crawling with discomfort for absolutely no reason at all. Buck didn't have any commitments, nothing planned except relaxing. But still, the day just felt off. He couldn't pinpoint a single thing that had him so irritated.
He went to Sal's flat more because he had to do something to fix the way all his thoughts were spinning in circles. There was a big chance that Sal wouldn't even be around. He'd mentioned having errands to run, and that he'd call Buck later, but of course, he was welcome to come over whenever he liked.
Buck had a key. He had a key.
Sal's flat was not exactly nice. But it was cosy and lived-in, warm with the presence of everything that was Sal. Buck cared for little else. So he let himself in around noon, and then proceeded to squander away the time by browsing Sal's bookshelf, taking a nap, and making a snack, before settling back on the couch again.
It took away some of the edge Buck was feeling. Not all of it. But he was good at lingering here, just letting the time pass. The only thing he wanted that would make it all better right now was—
"Hey there," Sal said, casually leaning against the doorway. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
Buck almost attacked him.
A single step had him in Sal's space, hands on his waist and hip, feeling him tilt every line of his body into Buck as if by instinct, which only made Buck burn hotter. All finesse was gone when he kissed Sal, going for filthy immediately and without a warm-up.
Sal met him halfway, but didn't take control of the kiss. Like he knew, as he understood. Buck felt half insane as he nipped on Sal's lower lip before licking right along the roof of his mouth. He made breathless little noises as they kept kissing, Sal's hands an anchor on Buck's lips.
Every moment, Sal was right there. Pushing, where Buck pulled back and relenting when Buck pressed. He seemed to anticipate every move, to adapt. Meeting Buck right where he was at.
Buck's hands slipped lower, going straight for Sal's belt — only to have a hand in his hair force his neck into a tight arch.
"Ah-ah," Sal chided, voice scratchy but firm. "You know better than that. What did we say?"
He whined. Buck whined at him, baring his teeth, almost animal in his hunger. His fingers curled into Sal's belt loops, but he didn't go for the clasp again.
"You won‘t…."
The fingers in his hands turned gentle.
"Go on," Sal demanded, and Buck made the mistake of looking directly at him. He almost flinched away from that gaze, the one that made him feel raw and bare, and seen.
„You won’t fuck me when I’m upset.“
„Because…?“
"We don't use sex as a coping mechanism," Buck parroted, almost an impression of the way Sal had said the words the other day.
"Good," Sal cooed, nails dragging down Buck's scalp all the way to the base of his skull. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
Sal seemed to consider this response, then he took Buck's wrist in the same beat that he said 'Okay' and proceeded to drag him along all the way to the bedroom. Buck felt like he'd missed a crucial part of this conversation. A feeling that only intensified when Sal gave him a firm enough shove to make Buck tumble onto the bed.
Buck watched Sal crawl over him and then work on his zipper, hissing as the motion brushed against his definitely interested cock. "I thought we won't—"
"Pay attention, baby," Sal told him, as he tapped Buck's hip in a prompt to lift himself up. "I said I won't fuck you."
When Sal settled back between Buck's thighs, he gave him a dirty grin. That was about his only warning, before Sal wrapped a hand around Buck's half-hard cock, licking a hot line from base to tip that had Buck inhale sharply.
Sal held his gaze as he made a show of sealing his lips around the head, flattening his tongue and then curling it into every ridge he could find. Buck moaned, didn't even bother to stop himself from reaching for Sal's shoulders.
"Fuck, fuck, Tori," he babbled, and gasped when Sal sank down, drooling spit all over his cock.
The fingers around his base started to work in tandem with the movement of Sal's mouth, cheeks hollowing with every slide down; and sometimes when he withdrew too, like he wanted Buck just a little unbalanced, straining after him with all the desperation in his blood.
Sal got just that reaction. He had Buck, skin and bones and heart.
A wet pop made Buck open his eyes, only then realising that he had closed them. There was a line of spit connecting Sal's stuck-out tongue with the flushed head of Buck's cock, and he held there until Buck focused on him and groaned. Swollen lips drew into a smile.
"Want to fuck my mouth, teroso?"
It was calculated, the way Sal said it. With that gravel in his voice, the throat that definitely felt Buck's size. He used the back of his hand to smear some of the spit at the corner of his mouth, doing nothing but spreading it, making him look more like some sort of siren.
Buck shuddered through an inhale and reached for Sal's head, but instead of guiding him back down, he urged him up, kissing his own taste from the mouth of this impossible man that had his thoughts rooted again, even as his nerves were jittery with the promise of pleasure.
"C'mon," Sal rasped against Buck's lips, and this time there was a frisson of his own desperation shining through. "I need it."
"Yeah, yeah," Buck hooked his thumbs under the hinges of Sal's jaw. "Please."
"Pretty sure that's my line," Sal muttered, pecking Buck's lips again, before moving down the bed.
He ducked his shoulders under Buck's legs, lingering over scar tissue with the sort of casual reference that made something in Buck's chest crack open and bleed knotted heat. Sal opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, only almost connecting with the head of Buck's cock. He blinked up, and the colour of his eyes was impossible like this; full of heated challenge.
Buck grabbed him by the back of his neck and guided him down, holding his eyes until they fluttered shut, lips stretching obscenely. When he gave an experimental thrust, Buck felt Sal shift to adapt. With the next push, Sal's throat clicked, but he didn't resist the way Buck slowly pushed deeper. And held.
Velvet heat, hot and slick; it was everything, a line straight to every nerve ending that felt pleasure in Buck's body, sweetly aching, almost to his scalp.
Better was only the flutter of Sal's heartbeat right under Buck's thumb, which felt nothing like all these other pulses he'd checked for over the years. He withdrew, waited for Sal to inhale, and then pushed forward again. Sal's fingers flexed on Buck's thigh.
Buck started a rhythm, obsessed with the sound of Sal swallowing wetly around him and inhaling sharply. His eyes were brimming wet, and when he blinked, the tears dropped down his cheek. Sal moaned, making Buck hiss with the vibration.
Buck was struck by how quiet his mind got like this, pleasure-drunk, and his attention almost wholly wrapped around Sal. How sweetly he surrendered. His trust was staggering.
"Tori," Buck rasped, hips stilling. "Switch with me."
Sal blinked at him with eyes that were almost black, looking out of it; and Buck felt insane as he groaned and pulled at Sal's arms until he let himself be moved. He put Sal on his back, straddled his shoulders.
"Here, like this," he cooed, feeling Sal's fingers digging into his ass. "Is that okaa-ah!"
Before he could even finish the question, Sal had dragged him in, swallowed down as much of his cock as he could, greedy and senseless enough to make him choke a little. Buck cradled his head, held him steady.
"Hush," he gasped out. "You've got me, you've got me. No need to rush."
It seemed to gentle Sal somewhat. Not enough to allow Buck to stay still for longer, but that was alright. Buck was right there with him, equally desperate, worse for how hot it was that Sal wanted it this much.
When he came, Buck almost didn't manage a warning, but there was no give in Sal's hold, and he gave up trying to pull back when Sal swallowed, and swallowed again. His throat so perfectly tight.
Buck hunched forward over Sal's head, one hand snapping out to steady himself as he came down his throat, holding his breath until his muscles loosened again and he could take some of his weight off Sal. He heard him pant and cough, but when he blindly reached for Sal, his hands were caught. Buck rolled onto his side with the suggestion of pressure, but managed to spread a hand wide over Sal's sternum as they shifted, wandering to the base of his throat, rapid heartbeat barely slowed.
"Tori—"
"I'm fine," Sal rasped, voice wrecked and hot enough to make Buck shiver. That in turn made Sal laugh — and cough again. Buck cursed, but Sal waved the concern away, pressing a quick kiss to Buck's jaw, finally managing to catch his breath.
"What do you want?" Buck asked, hand already curling around Sal's weeping cock, and he wouldn't be brushed off by anything but Sal telling him he wanted to stop. "My hand? My mouth?"
"Can I—" Sal broke off, and he shifted so Buck let him go. When he settled, his cock slid along Buck's hip. "Like this?"
"Yeah, yeah," Buck urged, feeling Sal tremble. "Just like this. So perfect, Tori. C'mon. Take what you need."
He couldn't help but babble, reaching to touch Sal wherever he could. Sal seemed to rather like hearing him talk, especially when he was like this, desperate and a little mad with it. Every word Buck muttered made Sal respond with moans and whines.
"C'mon, Tori," Buck urged with Sal rubbing against him, cock sliding along his skin. Sal's hips kept jumping, entirely out of rhythm. "Let go. For me."
Sal gasped, and Buck caught the rest of the noise in a kiss as Sal shuddered apart, painting Buck's chest in white pearly ropes of spent, before uncaringly collapsing right into the mess.
Buck gathered him close, not minding the immediate clinging one bit. Sal gave himself over so easily, like he never quite expected there to be a price for it. Buck was fiercely protective of his vulnerability and never wanted to share it, even if he hardly felt deserving. It was a gift to be allowed this raw version of Sal.
He pressed kisses to Sal's hair and face, stroking his back the whole time until the aftershocks seemed to settle. There was a murmur from Sal that he couldn't quite parse. Buck bit his lip to hide a grin.
"What's that, baby?"
"... shower," Sal muttered, and it was such an adorable cross between pleasure-drunk and annoyed that Buck held him closer with a chuckle.
"In a minute, Tori," he promised, soothing a hand down Sal's sweaty skin. They were starting to stick together. In a few minutes, Sal would rouse enough to start complaining, and Buck would sigh and take on most of the work of getting them into the shower and cleaned up. But for this one moment, he felt comfortable and completely at ease.
A single step had him in Sal's space, hands on his waist and hip, feeling him tilt every line of his body into Buck as if by instinct, which only made Buck burn hotter. All finesse was gone when he kissed Sal, going for filthy immediately and without a warm-up.
Sal met him halfway, but didn't take control of the kiss. Like he knew, as he understood. Buck felt half insane as he nipped on Sal's lower lip before licking right along the roof of his mouth. He made breathless little noises as they kept kissing, Sal's hands an anchor on Buck's lips.
Every moment, Sal was right there. Pushing, where Buck pulled back and relenting when Buck pressed. He seemed to anticipate every move, to adapt. Meeting Buck right where he was at.
Buck's hands slipped lower, going straight for Sal's belt -- only to have a hand in his hair force his neck into a tight arch.
"Ah-ah," Sal chided, voice scratchy but firm. "You know better than that. What did we say?"
He whined. Buck whined at him, baring his teeth, almost animal in his hunger. His fingers curled into Sal's belt loops, but he didn't go for the clasp again.
"Sex isn't..."
The fingers in his hands turned gentle.
"Go on," Sal demanded, and Buck made the mistake of looking directly at him. He almost flinched away from that gaze, the one that made him feel raw and bare, and seen.
"We don't use sex as a coping mechanism," Buck parroted, almost an impression of the way Sal had said the words the other day.
"Good," Sal cooed, nails dragging down Buck's scalp all the way to the base of his skull. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
Sal seemed to consider this response, then he took Buck's wrist in the same beat that he said 'Okay' and proceeded to drag him along all the way to the bedroom. Buck felt like he'd missed a crucial part of this conversation. A feeling that only intensified when Sal gave him a firm enough shove to make Buck tumble onto the bed.
Buck watched Sal crawl over him and then work on his zipper, hissing as the motion brushed against his definitely interested cock. "I thought we won't--"
"Pay attention, baby," Sal told him, as he tapped Buck's hip in a prompt to lift himself up. "I said I won't fuck you."
When Sal settled back between Buck's thighs, he gave him a dirty grin. That was about his only warning, before Sal wrapped a hand around Buck's half-hard cock, licking a hot line from base to tip that had Buck inhale sharply.
Sal held his gaze as he made a show of sealing his lips around the head, flattening his tongue and then curling it into every ridge he could find. Buck moaned, didn't even bother to stop himself from reaching for Sal's shoulders.
"Fuck, fuck, Tori," he babbled, and gasped when Sal sank down, drooling spit all over his cock.
The fingers around his base started to work in tandem with the movement of Sal's mouth, cheeks hollowing with every slide down; and sometimes when he withdrew too, like he wanted Buck just a little unbalanced, straining after him with all the desperation in his blood.
Sal got just that reaction. He had Buck, skin and bones and heart.
A wet pop made Buck open his eyes, only then realising that he had closed them. There was a line of spit connecting Sal's stuck-out tongue with the flushed head of Buck's cock, and he held there until Buck focused on him and groaned. Swollen lips drew into a smile.
"Want to fuck my mouth, teroso?"
It was calculated, the way Sal said it. With that gravel in his voice, the throat that definitely felt Buck's size. He used the back of his hand to smear some of the spit at the corner of his mouth, doing nothing but spreading it, making him look more like some sort of siren.
Buck shuddered through an inhale and reached for Sal's head, but instead of guiding him back down, he urged him up, kissing his own taste from the mouth of this impossible man that had his thoughts rooted again, even as his nerves were jittery with the promise of pleasure.
"C'mon," Sal rasped against Buck's lips, and this time there was a frisson of his own desperation shining through. "I need it."
The amount of fretting I did for this. I don't even know.
Chapter 3, Full Measure, E-rated (for the whole fic)
Buck woke up with a gasp, like coming up from a long dive. The air he sucked in burned in his lungs, but his fingers found hold in familiar sheets, and it settled him enough not to panic. Opening his eyes helped. Somehow, he managed to calm his breathing.
Even as he had no recollection of the details of his dream, there was something heavy weighing his body down. A nameless kind of dread. Like a lingering nightmare, shapeless but echoing. Vaguely, Buck remembered fire and people yelling.
When Buck swallowed, his throat was faintly sore. He could only hope he hadn’t been screaming loud enough to alert any neighbours. Buck rolled over, reaching for the glass on the nightstand and found his sheets sticking to him as he drank it all in one gulp.
Tapping his smartphone showed Buck that he could have gone back to sleep again. But he already knew it was a lost cause from past experiences. Many experiences. So, Buck made himself get up, hoping a shower would clear his head somewhat.
It turned out the shower barely helped at all. But at least, Buck wasn’t sweaty anymore.
As he towelled off and got dressed, Buck let his mind wander, leaving through all the thoughts his conscience was throwing at him and trying to find something comforting. A calm little anchor that could root him in the moment.
