I don't normally write coda's because I can't write shorts to save my life (and this is no different - I've already got plans for where it's going to go). Still, this week's episode made me a little angry, and I'd been contemplating some form of "Buck finally crashes out" fic, so here it is.
How it Starts
It starts as a tactic Dr. Copeland gave him, back when he was trying to navigate a new relationship with his parents. After being ignored and told he was too much his whole life, they suddenly want to be involved, and it was fine. It was better than nothing. It was nice that they wanted to make an effort. But it didn’t go well. For every reaction he has, and every emotion he showed, his mom would break into tears and act like he was personally attacking her.
"Have you heard of the 'Grey Rock Response?'" Dr. Copeland had asked him during one of his solo sessions. When he'd shaken his head, she'd explained a little more. "It's not a long-term solution in a relationship, but it is a tool you can use in specific situations."
Buck feels like his life right now might be one of those situations.
It had felt like looking at a funhouse mirror, hearing Hen say all of the things he’s been feeling for months. It twists something inside his guts, hearing her say that she’d kept everything secrete because no one had asked, as though he had tried to check in with her regularly in the aftermath of Bobby’s death. As though he hadn’t stopped by to drop off home cooked meals and baked goods after the space capsule had returned to earth.
He’s constantly reached out, with questionnaires, care packages of baked goods, and offers to hang out only to be brushed off, or gently turned down by Karen on Hen’s behalf.
It has him second-guessing himself, if maybe he hadn’t made himself as available as he could have in the seven months between Eddie taking over his home again and settling into his own place. He’d thought about inviting everyone over for a house warming, but between Deryl living in his attic and… everything else, he’d just never planned it.
He almost apologizes, especially seeing the contrite expressions on everyone in the room, but then Hen says “He was our captain, but he was my friend,” like Bobby hadn’t died so Chimney could live, like Bobby somehow meant more to her than he did to anyone else in the room for being her friend. Like Buck hadn’t lost one of the most important people in his life.
Evan is seething, thinking of all the times he’s tried to be there for her, for everyone, only to told he’s making everything all about himself. He balls his hands into fists in his lap, white knuckled, blunt nails digging into his palms, and says nothing.
When Hen collapses, for a brief, bitter moment, he’s angry that she’s taken the wind out of his sails, and he’s disgusted with himself for it.
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your salbucktommy pieces have bewitched me, body and soul
I know that this is not a prompt or a request, it is you being kind (and I love you for it) but:
Ma used to warn him that he needed to rein in his emotions and his intentions when he cooked anything, whether it was a potion or a sauce. So Sal treats cooking like a form of meditation, letting his mind stay clear and focused without drifting. It's hard, but he has the practice by the time he's grown and moved out and moved across the country.
Sometimes he slips up, though.
Sometimes Vincent fuckin' Gerrard says something he shouldn't and Sal can't stop thinking about it while he makes coffee, and then he's trying to keep the man from grabbing a cup.
"What, you don't want me to find out you make a weak brew for sissies?" Gerrard snarks, flapping his wrist to the side in a gesture that makes Sal regret not putting more into the coffee. It's a stupid fucking joke, would be even if Sal had his shit view of the world, but Sal wants to snap his fucking wrist so he can't do that anymore. It pisses him off, it makes Tommy shrink in on himself.
"Nah," he says coolly. "Didn't want you to burn yourself, Cap. It's fresh."
Gerrard grunts and walks away, sipping from the mug. He drinks it black and plain as a mark of manhood rather than preference, and Sal can tell because he does this little grimace whenever he takes a drink.
"Do not drink that," he snaps when Chimney's fingers close around the carafe handle.
"Did you spit in it?" Chimney jokes, and Sal grabs it, pouring it down the drain. "Oh shit. Well, good for you, man."
When Gerrard ends up with a massive blister on the back of his hand by the end of the shift, Chimney says it looks like an extreme case of poison oak and he must've caught it when they were on the side of the highway for that car crash.
"You should get that checked out, sir," he says, tossing his gloves in the trash. "That's a problem for a doctor. Don't go poking around it."
Except it itches like hell, and he does. When it opens, his shout can be heard from across the station.
"Dumbass should've listened," Sal says, not looking up from the article he's reading.
"Maybe he'll miss a shift," Tommy says from where he's doing bicep curls.
"We should be so lucky," Sal says dryly, flicking to the next page. He hadn't made it that strong.
--
When Sal invites Tommy over one night, Tommy agrees but with the condition that Sal make this eggplant parm Sal's raved about. He'd planned on ordering in, but he can cook. He just has to be real careful.
The problem is that Tommy's early, so Sal has to finish up with Tommy leaning on the counter and smiling at him and talking work and sports and old video games. He almost burns it on purpose, but he takes a risk and serves up a plate.
"God, I don't think I've ever had that much food and felt better after," Tommy says, stretching from his chair at Sal's table.
Sal keeps an eye on him until he leaves, but the problem is that the spell sort of has a slow release sometimes. Sometimes it's not a spell, just a feeling. Or he really just made Tommy feel better. For all he knows, he just cured a muscle strain or something.
Except the next day, Tommy comes into work all jittery and admits that he proposed to Abby. Sal's shocked, Chimney's shocked, Hen's shocked, they're all shocked. The relationship with Abby's been dangling by a thread for weeks, if not months.
"I don't know what came over me, I just had this feeling like I'd found the person I was meant to be with forever," he says, shrugging.
"Do you still feel like that?" Hen asks carefully, and Tommy's expression shutters.
The alarm goes off, and they're heading out. The whole time, Sal's heart is pounding. It's got nothing to do with the grease fire.
--
He's on a line in the woods with Tommy, even though they're not at the same house anymore. They got sent up the mountain a couple hours apart, because there's a brushfire. Tommy's been in the air all morning, now he's shoulder to shoulder with Sal on the ground. Sal always feels better with Tommy there, but there's no way he's not fucking exhausted.
But Tommy soldiers on, just like with anything else. He cuts lines and listens for drops and even coordinates some from the ground, advising pilots on conditions from where he's at. He's looking up at the sky, and Sal's looking at him. The wind shift catches them both off guard, and there's suddenly a wall of flame to their right, their only clear path back.
"Get out!" Sal shouts, even though he knows they're fucked. They're in a circle of flames. He looks at Tommy, sees his blue eyes through the shield, and he can't watch him burn, not his Tommy.
So Sal tears a glove off and his respirator. He can't block out the elements if he needs to use them.
He's not a spellwork guy, that's his sister's thing, but he can try. For Tommy, he'll try anything. Sal kneels in the charred earth and digs for the living soil underneath, burying his fingers in it. He calls earth, air, water, and fire, begs for their favor, begs that they bend to his will long enough to get them safe passage.
The thrum of power lights through his veins, and he feels every connection of the great cycle of life and death at work around him. It hurts, it burns like the fire's inside his body instead of surrounding him, and then he pushes through it until there's a break in the wall.
Sal stumbles through, dragging a stunned Tommy behind him, and he barely gets to the other side before he collapses.
--
Sal comes to in a medical tent. Tommy's sitting on a folding stool next to his cot, his fingers laced together in front of his mouth as if he might be praying.
"Hey," Sal croaks.
"Hey," Tommy says, blinking back tears. "Fuck, Sal."
"Yeah," Sal agrees, struggling to sit up.
"Smoke inhalation," Tommy warns, pushing him down.
Sal lets out a harsh laugh and shakes his head, but he goes back down. "Nah. It ain't that."
Tommy wipes his nose with the sleeve of his turnouts. "What'd you do?"
"I'll tell you later," Sal says, glancing at the tent's other occupants.
In their own tent, Sal sits with a paper cup of weak tea and tells Tommy about Ma's family, about himself and what he can do.
And Tommy, perceptive and brilliant Tommy, asks him about the eggplant parm the year before.
"Yeah, well, my mind wandered," Sal admits with a wry smile, sipping his tea. "There's a reason I normally kick people out of the kitchen."
Tommy nods and presses his lips together. For a long moment, Sal's worried he might leave or hit him. Instead, he reaches across the scant space between their cots, curls a hand around Sal's neck, and kisses him.
--
Years later, Tommy flies off into a fucking hurricane. He's got a charm in his pocket from Ma, but Sal still paces until Tommy calls him from a phone on the rescue ship.
"You can't act like you're fucking invincible, baby," he says. "You should've called or something, I could've gotten there."
"We barely got here in time as it was. And I'm fine. I'll be fine, I promise. No more flying into hurricanes after this," Tommy says, and Sal can hear the smile in his voice. "You should meet the new 118, it's a trip. I think you'd like them."
Days later, he does meet them. He and Tommy are playing basketball with Tommy's new buddy when Chimney shows up with this long-legged, eager puppy of a guy in tow. He's all big smiles and flushed cheeks when he greets Tommy, and it's a bit adorable. Sal, though, isn't as big an idiot as his wonderful partner.
When he introduces himself, though, he wonders if the kid's just like that, because he reacts the same when he shakes Sal's hand.
Eddie, though, ends up on the ground with his ankle in his hands. Sal and Chimney check him out, and Sal says it's probably a light sprain.
"Light?!" Eddie says incredulously.
"Yes, princess, light," Sal snarks. "Go to urgent care, you'll be alright."
"I'll take him," Tommy offers.
"I'll catch a ride with Chimney," Sal says.
"You will?" Chimney asks.
"Or whatever. Don't worry about it, babe." He gives Tommy a quick, automatic kiss and sends him on his way.
Evan looks like he's about to be sick over the whole thing. Sal claps him on the back and invites him to come grab a cup of coffee or a smoothie or whatever.
"I should probably go home," Evan says, chewing on his lip and looking in the direction Tommy and Eddie went in.
--
Sal and Tommy show up at the loft together, though Sal offers to wait outside.
"Why?" Tommy asks, puzzled.
"Baby, I love you so much, but you're dense as fuck sometimes." He grabs the covered dish and follows Tommy upstairs.
It's about when Evan's looking between them nervously as he explains what his sister had said about Sal doesn't even know what, because Tommy and Sal are exchanging a look. Sal nods, and Tommy leans in and kisses Evan.
When Evan looks at Sal with something approaching panic and hope, Sal curls a hand around his jaw and kisses him, too.
"Eat the cookies," he says before they leave. "You'll feel better."
He'd baked them with lightness, grace, forgiveness, comfort, and acceptance in mind. And a little something extra, because Tommy had snuck a kiss to his neck while Sal was mixing in the chocolate chunks. There's only a few from that batch, the rest are normal, but he put those ones at the top.
--
At Micelli's, Evan admits he'd been nervous that morning.
"I gotta know what your secret is to those cookies, though, I ate one and it just helps," he says, grinning and shaking his head. "I don't know, I feel like I was just doing all this worrying for nothing. Going on a first date is pretty scary in general, but I also have a bad track record with them. Going on a date with two guys is just...going on a date with two guys."
"That's all Sal," Tommy says, nodding toward him. "He's a wizard in the kitchen."
Sal makes a face, because a Tommy knows how he feels about that term. "Not a wizard. But thank you. It's all old family recipe."
When Eddie accidentally crashes their date, Sal can feel Tommy bracing himself next to him.
"You guys are hanging out, that's great!" Eddie says.
Before Sal can stop him, Evan says, "Yeah, we're actually on a date."
Eddie and his date's eyebrows shoot up, and Sal pinches his nose.
Acceptance. Goddammit. This one's going to hit Evan like a ton of bricks when the intention fades.
"Oh, uh, good for you, man!" Eddie says, grinning. "Sorry, we'll get out of your way, then. Have fun!"
Tommy signs for the check, and Evan looks at his beer.
"You okay?" Sal asks softly.
"Yeah," Evan says, smiling. "I think he actually meant it? That went a lot better than I thought it would."
Outside, they wait for an Uber. Evan blinks at them and then back over his shoulder at the restaurant. He looks a little bewildered.
"I just told Eddie I was on a date with two guys," he says slowly.
"You did," Sal confirms.
"And he was kind of okay with it."
"Seemed to be," Tommy agrees.
Evan smiles and his cheeks get flushed. "Okay. I--yeah, okay. I didn't think I'd be able to do that yet."
"Do you think you're ready to do that yet? You can go back and talk to him," Sal offers.
"No! No, I don't need to. I, uh, I don't know." His smile widens, his hands going into his pockets. "I don't mind if he knows. Or anyone else. Why hide it, right? If this works, they'll have to find out sooner or later."
"That's a big step." Tommy rubs between Evan's shoulder blades and smiles at him. "For you, I mean. No rush, okay?"
"O-okay," he says, swallowing and leaning against Tommy's hand a little.
The Uber pulls up, and they pile into the back of the minivan.
--
Tommy calls Sal. "Evan's cursed."
Sal drops the shirt he'd been folding. "On my way."
He gets to the loft, and Evan's covered in boils and looking miserable.
"Oh, baby," Sal says with a sympathetic wince.
"He's having a reaction," Eddie says, tossing his gloves in the trash. "And he needs a doctor."
Sal presses his thumb to his boyfriend's chin and feels something working under his skin. "Yeah, don't worry. I got a guy."
"Then I leave him in your capable hands," Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder.
When Eddie's left, Sal presses a hand to Buck's clearer cheek and closes his eyes.
"Maybe you shouldn't--"
Sal gently shushes Evan and keeps feeling for the thing burrowing into his skin that's doing this. He feels it wrapped around his shoulder, probably the one he'd dislocated.
"Alright, I need a shitload of chamomile flowers," he decides. "And some lavender, sage, marjoram, maybe even some fucking garlic. Christ alive, kid, what happened? Whatever's cursed you is old and pissed."
Evan blinks at him with wide eyes, and he looks between Sal and Tommy. "Wait, you believe me?"
Tommy throws up his hands and sighs. "I said I did!"
Sal kisses the clearest spot on Evan's forehead. "I'm gonna send Tommy out for some things, and we'll talk."
An hour later, Tommy's back from a plant nursery and the grocery store, and Evan's laying on the couch trying to process while Sal makes tea.
"Yep," Tommy says, crouching next to Evan. "I wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't bent the elements around us to save us from a fire."
"He mentioned that," Evan says faintly. "So you can fix this?"
"I can make it leave you, but it'll find someone else eventually. Whatever's got a hold of you is having a hell of a time settling their business." Sal starts pulling springs of herbs and flowers and peeling garlic. "But that's something we worry about after."
He sits in the middle of Evan's living room with Evan across from him inside a circle of patchouli leaves.
"Smells nice," Evan comments, and Sal smiles as he mashes everything else together in a bowl, pouring in all the healing and protection he can.
He puts a fistful of the muddled herbs in a mug and lets them steep in the hot water and honey. The garlic gets mashed as well with the remnants in the bowl, and Sal touches the sticky paste to Evan's shoulder.
Evan inhales sharply, and Sal clamps his hand to him, holding the paste in place and pulling out the dark things trying to work their way through Evan. When he drops the clump of paste into the bowl and hands Evan the tea, Evan drinks it slowly.
"That doesn't taste good," Evan says with a wince as he sets it down again.
"I know," Sal says fondly, reaching across with his clean hand to touch his cheek with a smile. "But they're going down."
Thirty minutes later, Evan is free of boils and his shoulder barely aches.
"You're really a witch," he says, awed.
"Yep," Sal says, curling up on the couch with a groan.
"A-are you--"
"Healing's hard work, pushing out a curse is harder," he explains, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. "But it's worth it. I just need a nap. Few days with my feet in the dirt will do me some good, too."
"There's a reason our garden is so nice," Tommy adds.
Evan bites his lip and squeezes Sal's fingers. "You didn't have to, though."
"Why not? I'd do it for Tommy."
"Yeah, but you--" He cuts himself off and looks between them. "You love Tommy."
"Yeah, and I love you. Both of you." Sal tugs Evan onto the cushion next to him, and Tommy sits on Evan's other side. "But don't say it back just because you think you have to, okay?"
Evan nods, and Tommy kisses his recently healed shoulder, burying his face in Evan's neck.
"You smell like garlic," Tommy mumbles, and Evan laughs.
--
They're at Micelli's. Tommy's handed over the basketball tickets, Sal's given Evan a charm like the one Tommy has.
"No more curses for you, okay?" he teases.
Evan curls his fingers around it, and he rubs his thumbs over the carefully twined stems and beads. It's a bit like a small wreath.
"Thank you," he says softly.
"You cannot use magic to beat my gifts, that's totally cheating," Tommy complains.
"It didn't beat anything, thank you! I also got him something else that's in the mail."
Evan smiles at them and bumps their feet with his. "I love them."
--
When they go to pick him up for the movie, Evan's nervous. And Sal would be worried if he wasn't sneaking smiles at them.
"I, uh, talked to Josh and Maddie today," Evan admits. "Because I was just thinking about some stuff, and I didn't want to just throw all of it at you two and make you figure it out. Not that I don't know, but it was a little more theoretical before. You know?"
"Sure," Tommy says, like he's got any clue at all.
"I, uh, love you," he says, licking his lips and looking between them. "Both of you."
Sal kisses his cheek and then the corner of his smiling mouth, squeezing him close. "You already know I love you, sweetheart."
"And I have a much harder time with stuff like this," Tommy adds, lacing his fingers with Evan's. "But so do I."
Evan exhales shakily and grins. "Can we, uh, skip the movie?"
"Thought you'd never ask," Sal teases, crushing their lips together. When he lets him go, Evan turns to Tommy and draws him into a kiss, too, as Tommy backs up toward the stairs to the bedroom.
--
"It's about intention," Sal explains, stirring. "And having enough salt. Really important."
"Okay," Evan says, nestled up against Sal's back. "So if you're thinking good thoughts, then when this gets eaten, I'll have good thoughts?"
"Or you might feel better or something good might happen. That's why potions are easier, the ingredients help dictate the end result." He holds the spoon up for Evan so he can taste. "That's why I usually don't let you two bug me in here."
Tommy puts the pasta in the boiling water before slipping an arm around each of them. "Or why I usually cook instead."
Wrapped up in his boys, Sal lets himself drift on the love and contentment as he finishes up the sauce. When Evan nuzzles his neck and makes heat coil in his gut, Sal lets out a soft snort as he turns the heat on low and puts the lid on the sauce.
"That's gonna be a special batch for us that we only eat at home," he decides. "Unless you two wanna act like lovesick idiots at work."
"Already do," Evan teases, nipping at his neck. "Is it gonna be like the Viagra birthday cake?"
The birthday cake for Tommy had been baked by Sal and filled with enough love and arousal that he'd had to order one from a bakery that their friends could eat. In his defense, Evan and Tommy had walked through the kitchen after working out wearing sweaty clothes and pushing at each other, grabbing and groping on their way from the garage to the shower. The resulting cake could've made a pharmaceutical company a mint, because a sliver of it turned all three of them into horny, panting beasts who couldn't stop declaring their love for each other while they fucked like animals.
"Less horny," Sal decides. "But maybe we push breakfast back to brunch with your sister."
"On it!" He jogs off to grab his phone.
Tommy pulls him into a kiss and then another, and they make out until the opening strains of "I Put a Spell on You" plays from the next room.
"Not funny!" Sal calls.
"A little funny," Tommy adds.
"He learned it from you, brat." He pecks his boyfriend on the nose and pushes him away to check the pasta.
i for one would like to also see the salbucktommy version of that prompt 👀
first version of this prompt that I abandoned like two month ago. as you can see, I fully stole the beginning of this for the other prompt lmao. this one is rated e? soft e
The first time they dated, Tommy had slotted himself easily into Evan’s life, but he hadn’t brought Evan into his. When they get back together, one of Evan’s requests is to meet more of Tommy’s people. It feels like pulling teeth. Not because he doesn’t want Evan in his life—he does—but because the idea of letting someone get this close makes Tommy sweat.
But Evan is worth it. If this is what he wants, it’s what Tommy will give him.
He introduces Evan to his accountant cousin first. Danny and Evan get along well enough. Evan cooked, and Danny eats it like he has never tasted anything so good. It starts to fall apart when Evan asks about work. Danny launches into a speech so articulate it feels rehearsed about recent tax “reform” (his air quotes, not Tommy’s). Evan’s eyebrows pull together and he smiles in a confused, polite panic. Tommy squeezes his hand under the table and steers the conversation towards Danny’s tax season hives. Danny is equally as bewildered by Evan’s dead cowboy curse as Evan had been by his breakdown of the economy.
Next, Evan insists on throwing a cookout for Harbor. Tommy warns him that it’s not like the 118: they like each other enough to joke around, they tolerate each other enough not to start any fights, but pilots are weird, solitary creatures. They haven’t bonded the same way other stations might. Evan nods along like he’s hearing him, but he drags a grill and two coolers full of food down to Harbor all the same. Everyone is nice to Evan, and Tommy gets more than one pat on the back in an attaboy kind of way, but there isn’t a support system here for Evan to slot into the way that he clearly expected.
Tommy’s third attempt is more successful. Sal Deluca could charm anyone, but the way Evan ducks his head and blushes when Sal teases him over dinner makes Tommy tighten his grip on Evan’s inner thigh just a little. He feels territorial in a way he didn’t expect. He knew Sal was into guys—he’d had Sal’s hand on his dick in the 118 supply closet too many times not to know—but he hadn’t anticipated this.
Something swirls in Tommy’s lower stomach. At first, he thinks it’s simple jealousy: Evan is his. But after hanging out together a few more times, the feeling clarifies. It’s jealousy, sure, but it’s also simple lust. He wants to see Sal’s big hands on Evan’s body. He wants to see Evan’s lips wrap around Sal’s thick cock. And he wants both of them inside him at the same time.
Evan is on board. Once Tommy assures him he isn’t worried about Sal stealing either of them away, Evan is very on board. It’s a testament to the strength of their relationship this time around that they can actually talk about something like this and come to this conclusion.
The only hesitation is that they aren’t sure if Sal would be into it, and it’s an awkward thing to bring up. Hey, remember when we used to breathe into each other’s necks and fuck each other’s fists? Do you wanna do that again, but with the love of my life too? Sal is divorced, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t consider it a blip in his otherwise firm heterosexuality that he used to come with Tommy’s fingers in his mouth.
So they decide to test him. If he doesn’t show any interest, they’ll drop it.
They invite Sal over to watch baseball and let him catch them making out in the kitchen. Evan is up on the counter with his legs around Tommy’s hips and a hand in his hair. Sal raises a teasing eyebrow when he walks in on them. He doesn’t look embarrassed, but they can’t quite tell if he looks hungry, either. He crosses his arms over his chest and asks if they’re gonna come back to the living room before the ninth inning. Tommy gives Evan’s ass a slap and says they’ll see. Sal huffs, but he stands in the doorway and watches Evan hop down and adjust himself with a smirk. It’s promising, but not conclusive.
Tommy tells Sal to bring his car over for a tuneup. Evan comes back from a run, sweaty clothing sticking to his body. This time, Tommy has no doubts that Sal checks him out. Sal is even less subtle after Evan walks back into the garage after a shower, only wearing a towel around his waist. Evan pretends like he has to ask Tommy something urgently, but they both know what he’s really doing. His skin is pink from exertion and a hot shower, his wet curls are falling just right over his forehead, his thick muscles are bulging, and the towel is dangerously low on his hips.
Sal blows out a breath after Evan goes back into the house. “You’re a lucky man, Kinard.”
“You have no idea,” Tommy says with pride. “You know, you used to look at me like that.”
“What, you mean back when you were young and pretty?”
“Fuck off.” Tommy hip checks Sal. “Who are you calling old?”
“And who’s to say I’m not still looking at you like that, huh?”
Sal’s half-lidded eyes slowly rake over Tommy’s body from head to toe and back up. Heat and excitement rise in Tommy.
“It just seems like he’s catching your eye a little more, that’s all.”
“Can you blame me?” Sal nods towards the house. “Any chance you’d be willing to share?”
Tommy holds his eye. “Come over again and maybe you’ll find out.”
“Alright, alright,” Sal laughs.
They fall back into a rhythm, laughing while finishing up their work on the car. Sal makes a point to schedule their next get together before he leaves.
Now that they know for sure that Sal is interested, Evan plans a movie night. He dresses them both in sweatpants and soft shirts. Easy access, he says, hands fluttering over the hem of Tommy’s shirt. Tommy thinks it’s cute how nervous Evan gets about making sure everything is just right, even for a sure thing like this.
The three of them sit too close together on the couch, Tommy in the middle. Evan fidgets for fifteen minutes of the movie before he startles.
“Oh!” he says. “I almost forgot.”
He gets up and walks into the kitchen. He comes back with a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies that he sets on the coffee table.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Tommy says indulgently.
In response, Evan folds himself down onto Tommy’s lap, a knee on either side of his hips. So they’re completely forgoing subtlety, Tommy understands. Evan couldn’t stand the anticipation and took matters into his own hands. Tommy grips Evan’s hips to stabilize him as he swoops down for a kiss.
Evan turns the kiss filthy almost immediately. He gets a hand in Tommy’s hair and pulls, forcing a groan out of his throat. Tommy slides a hand down the back of Evan’s sweatpants and pulls him closer.
“Fuck, the two of you,” Sal says, almost mesmerized.
They break the kiss to look at him. He’s breathing heavily, body fully turned towards them.
“Are you okay, Sal?” Tommy teases, squeezing Evan’s ass. “You look flustered.”
“Fuck you both,” Sal laughs, and launches himself across the couch.
He kisses Tommy first, a quick hello, before cradling Evan’s face and shoving his tongue into his mouth. Evan kisses back ravenously.
Tommy waits for the jealousy to come, but it doesn’t. He watches Evan and Sal kiss over his lap, wet and messy and passionate, and he’s so turned on he thinks he could come just like this. It’s even more overwhelming when they both turn their attention back to him, kissing either side of his throat.
Tommy ends up on all fours on the couch, sucking Sal’s dick the way he never allowed himself to when he was still in the closet, getting fucked by Evan the way only someone so familiar with his body could. It’s so good that Tommy knows he’s going to want this again: having an old lover in a more honest way, sharing a new experience with the love of his life. It’s overwhelming in the best way: fully consuming, deep and rich.
Sal comes over his upper back, and Tommy comes when he feels Evan lick it off his skin. Evan kisses Sal as he comes inside of Tommy, and Tommy never wants this feeling to end.
After, Evan brings a wet cloth over to clean them up. Tommy pulls his boxers back on and settles back into one corner of the couch. Sal does the same on the other. Evan leans back against Tommy’s chest and props his feet up in Sal’s lap, still naked. He’s as comfortable as Tommy has ever seen him—as comfortable as Tommy feels.
Sal grabs a cookie and moans at the taste.
“Fuck, kid, did you make these?”
Evan grins and nods. Tommy pets through Evan’s hair.
“He’s more than just a pretty face,” Tommy says fondly.
Sal still has a mouthful of cookie when he says “But he is pretty.”
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk with food in your mouth?” Tommy snarks.
Sal opens his mouth childishly, showing Tommy the mush inside.
“Gross,” Tommy says while Evan laughs. “Sweetheart, you wanted to get to know my people. Unfortunately, this is what I have.”
fair warning: this is very silly and meandering (I should just make this a standard disclaimer for all my posts lol)
Thinking about a universe where Sal and Tommy stayed in touch and became close friends and Sal is one of the first people Tommy tells that he's gay to.
Sal is very supportive--maybe a little too supportive sometimes for Tommy's liking, but he's a far cry from the man who insinuated he was gay in front of half of their firehouse, including their homophobic (etc) pos captain. So, Tommy takes it in stride.
Sal even takes Tommy in after he breaks up with Abby and needs somewhere to stay while he finds a place to live.
And while Tommy's happy to have finally found a place a few months later, he will miss the Sunday dinners and having two kids underfoot--though he has an open invitation to dinner and babysitting any time.
Now Tommy and Sal are at a furniture store and Sal is pulling double duty of helping Tommy pick out furniture and making a Grindr profile for him (neither of which Tommy asked for).
They get to the mattresses and Tommy couldn't care less. He's simultaneously an insomniac and able to sleep anywhere and on anything. But Sal is insistent and asks so many questions about Tommy's sleeping preferences you would think he was making commission on the sale.
"What about this one?"
Tommy sighs. "I don't know, Sal, can it fit three grown men?" It's not the deterrent Tommy hoped it would be.
Sal raises his eyebrows, but he looks around and then he walks away. A minute later, he walks back with an employee. A very cute, very tall employee.
"Sal," Tommy mutters under his breath.
Sal grins and makes a sweeping gesture. "Tommy, this is Evan. Evan, my friend here Tommy wants to know if this bed can comfortably fit three grown men."
God, could he make 'my friend' sound any more salacious?
Evan waves. "Hi, Tommy." Then he shrugs. "Well, only one way to find out, right?"
Tommy wants to sink right into the floor, but he's being pulled onto the middle of a mattress--right between Sal and Evan.
Evan notices Sal's LAFD shirt and tells them he just started at the academy. Somehow a half hour passes with Tommy slowly dying inside--stuck between Sal and Evan talking over him, literally. The one time Tommy tried to get up, Evan hadn't even looked at him, he just pushed Tommy back down and kept talking--not missing a beat.
When a lull in the conversation finally comes, Tommy says, "I'll take it."
Cut to seven years later...Tommy finds himself in the same position. He's stretched out between two sweaty bodies--chests still heaving from exertion.
Evan grins. "Yeah, I'd say it fits three grown men." He tries to high-five Tommy and laughs when Tommy grumbles. He reaches over Tommy and Tommy hears the slap of two palms.
Yes, this is the sugar-dynamic fic with smut and feelings you think it is.
But it is also written by me.. Em… so
Yeah. Things get very real, very fast.
Expect heat, tenderness, and domestic softness and serious medical stakes with long-term consequences.
Take care of yourselves while reading. 💕
Part 1 - Part 2
The message sits in his inbox until the next afternoon before Buck replies.
He types and deletes half a dozen responses. Who's "we"? Too aggressive. What's the catch? Too defensive. Are you both real? Too pathetic and hopeful.
In the end, he settles on. Firehose: Dinner sounds good. Italian?
He shakes his head and rubs his hands over his face.
Firehose: I don't know how to do this. The app part. Just so you know.
He hits send before he can panic, he shoves his phone into his pocket. The stairs are unforgiving. Buck takes them slower than he used to. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth.
By the sixth landing his thigh is burning, the kind of pain that feels threaded through bone instead of muscle. He pauses like he’s checking something on his clipboard, like he’s reviewing something on the page. He shifts his weight to his good leg.
No one notices.
The building manager is still talking, voice echoing up the stairwell. “Elevator’s been down since Tuesday. Parts are on backorder. We’ve got a temporary inspection scheduled next month but…”
“Sprinkler heads on this floor were replaced last year?” Buck asks, jotting a note. Clipboard resting long against his forearm. Pen poised. He’s good at this part. He checks the dates. The pressure gauges. The tags. He makes neat notes.
But by the time they reach the roof access door, his molars rub together.
The manager fumbles with the key ring. “You used to run into this stuff, right?” he says casually. “Fires. Must’ve been something.”
Buck’s pen stills as he puts on an easy smile. “Different life,” he forces a chuckle. “I just make sure the paperwork’s clean now.”
The roof is bright and wind-swept. The city stretches out, sirens wail off in the distance. He doesn’t look toward them.
He finishes his inspection and hands over a copy with a smile, the kind of grin that doesn’t require anything of him. By the time he makes it back down to street level, the burn in his leg has settled into a dull throb.
He tells himself it’s manageable. But, in his company truck, he sits through a few songs without pulling away from the curb.
Tommy's at Harbor when he notices he has a few notifications. Sal forwards them with a single question mark. Tommy reads it mid-shift, standing in the equipment bay with one hand braced on a helo skid. His thumb traces over I don't know how to do this and something in his chest pulls taut.
He checks over Sal and his schedule. T: Italian, he agrees and adds. Thursday? Then he pockets the phone and tries not to think about blue eyes and steam-slicked shoulders.
Buck agrees to Thursday, he unlocks the screen at another ding. T: Worst late-night food decision you’ve ever made. Go.
He exhales through his nose, something close to a laugh catching in his chest. That’s not what he expected. He leans his head back against the seat and types. Firehose: Gas station sushi. 2 a.m. Never again.
The reply comes faster than it should.
T: Bold. Reckless. I respect it.
A second notification.
S: That’s not reckless. That’s a cry for help.
Buck stares at the screen. The throb in his leg is still there. The paperwork is still on the passenger seat. The follow-up appointment reminder he hasn’t opened is buried somewhere in his email.
But for a second, just a few, everything feels easier. He types back before he can overthink it.
Firehose: You offering intervention? Or just better sushi?
He watches the typing dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. He shouldn’t like that. But he does.
The light turns green and someone honks. Buck tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and pulls forward, heart beating a little faster than it has any right to.
Right before the next red light it buzzes again. He doesn’t look. He manages to make it home before he caves.
T: We can definitely offer better sushi.
S: And supervision. Clearly you need it.
Buck huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.
Supervision.
He’s twenty-six years old and budgeting for a possible amputation and somehow this is the thing that makes his chest loosen.
If anyone checks in, he tells himself, I’ll cancel.
If Maddie calls and asks how he’s really doing.
If Eddie calls about the lawsuit.
If Bobby…
He doesn’t finish that thought. Everyone should know by now that he dropped the lawsuit. It’s public record. It’s union chatter. It’s the kind of thing that spreads fast in a department built on rumor and pride.
Someone should have noticed. Someone should’ve already asked why by now?
He tries not to think too much about the 118 and how his sister seemed to have picked her boyfriend over him. He tries his best not to think too much about the two men who somehow make him feel seen through a few sentences and a photograph of hands.
He doesn't even know what they look like.
The restaurant is small. Red-checkered tablecloths, wine bottles lining the walls, the smell of garlic and basil thick enough to taste. Buck arrives fifteen minutes early because that's what you do when you're trying not to look desperate.
He's in dark jeans and a green sweater he found in the back of his closet. He takes a corner booth and watches the door.
They walk in together.
That's the first thing Buck registers. Not separately, not one trailing the other. Together. Shoulders close, hands brushing at the threshold before the taller one reaches to hold the door.
Tommy is broad like his body was built for lifting and carrying and holding. Dark hair silvering at the temples, cleft, jaw sharp enough to cut. He scans the room with the kind of awareness Buck recognizes from men who've spent years reading environments for threats. Cop?
Sal is leaner. A hair shorter, wearing a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled. He moves like someone accustomed to being listened to. His gaze finds Buck before Tommy's does, and holds eye contact for three seconds. Then Sal's mouth curves slightly.
Tommy leans into Sal, Buck can see him murmur something under his breath. Sal doesn’t look away from Buck when he answers, but his hand comes up smoothing the front of Tommy’s collar
They cross the room.
Buck's heart is doing something inconvenient in his throat.
"Firehose?" Tommy says, and his voice is exactly what Buck imagined.
"I…" Buck's voice cracks on the single syllable. He clears his throat. "Evan. I go by Evan."
Sal slides into the booth across from him. Tommy settles beside Sal, close enough that their shoulders touch.
"Evan," Sal repeats, like he's tasting it. "I'm Sal. This is Tommy."
Evan.
It lands strange in his own ears. He hasn't been Evan in years—not since he showed up at the 118 with too much attitude and not enough sense, not since Bobby handed him turnout gear and a nameplate and said welcome aboard, Buck.
Buck was the guy who ran into burning buildings. Buck was the guy who dated Abby and Ali and Taylor, who cracked jokes in the engine bay and pissed off his captain and saved lives.
Because Buck died on that asphalt. And no one noticed.
"Hi," Buck manages, his smile widening as he shoves the thought away.
"Hi," Tommy says back, his voice is deep and it does shit to Buck's stomach.
Buck's palms are sweating against his jeans. "I don't actually know what I'm doing here."
"Neither do we," Tommy says easily. "First time for everything."
The wine helps.
So does the food. So does the way they don't stare at him like he's a meal, don't push, don't fill every silence with pressure disguised as conversation.
Tommy asks about his work. Buck hesitates. He knows they're wondering why the hell he ended up on that site.
Buck's leg throbs under the table. "It's fine," he says. "It pays… most of the bills."
Tommy nods like he understands something. "There's dignity in keeping things from burning down before they start."
Buck nods. He wants to ask what they do, but he knows the rules. You don't ask. Whatever they did, they made enough to be on that app. The watch on Sal's wrist is not cheap. But Buck doesn't ask.
Tommy distracts him. "When you suggested Italian, Sal sent me this place inside of ninety seconds."
Sal doesn't deny it. "They serve carbonara. The only authentic version west of the Hudson."
"You've tested this hypothesis," Tommy says.
"I've been thorough."
Buck watches them, the way they finish each other's sentences, the way Sal's shoulder stays pressed against Tommy's the whole meal.
He wonders what it would feel like to be that known. "I should probably explain," Buck says, when the pasta is mostly gone and the wine bottle is nearly empty. "The profile. The… all of it."
"You don't owe us an explanation," Tommy reassures.
"I know. I just…" Buck runs his hand through his hair. "The bio. That wasn't a bit. I really don't know what I'm doing. And I'm not…"
He trails off.
Just say it. You're already here.
“I know I’m not what you expect to find on there,” he says finally. “I’m not doing this for drugs. Or tuition. Or some fantasy about being flown to Paris.” His mouth twists. “I like sex. And I need money.”
The words sit between them. Ugly. True.
He cringes. "Shit that... came out wrong."
Sal's hand finds Tommy's on the table. He expects them to flinch. To exchange one of those looks couples do, the ones that say we should leave, this is getting weird. Instead, Tommy just tilts his head. "Did it?"
Buck blinks. "What?"
"Came out wrong." Tommy presses. "You said you like sex. You need money. Those are just facts."
Buck stares at him. He doesn't know what to do with that.
"We're looking for someone," Sal explains, "to have dinner with. To talk to. To…" He pauses as he searches for the right word. "To take care of."
Buck's breath catches. Sal doesn't look away from him.
"It's something Tommy and I have always had to navigate," he continues. "I'm built a certain way. I show up. I provide. I don't… always know how to soften."
Tommy's thumb brushes once over Sal's knuckles.
Sal exhales slowly. "There are parts of him that need someone softer, someone to care for. I would rather make space for that than pretend it doesn't exist. So I'd rather invite someone in," Sal finishes, "than risk losing him because he's missing something I can't give."
Tommy nods. “And this isn’t all just for me. Sal needs somewhere to put it too.” He glances at his husband soft and amused. “He won’t admit it, but he’s got more care in him than he knows what to do with. It just… gets stuck. He holds it tight. And when I need space, he doesn’t always know where to put it.”
Sal doesn’t deny it. His eyes soften as he looks at Tommy, a small smile curving at the edge of his mouth.
Buck looks between them. He came here expecting transaction. Dinner for company, money for sex, clear lines and cleaner exits. He didn't come here for this… two men who love each other, who are trying to love each other better, and somehow think he might be part of that equation after a week of texting.
“You want to…” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “You want me to be what? A project?”
Tommy’s mouth quirks and his eyes crinkle. “God, no.”
“A plant?” Buck presses, because it’s easier to joke than to admit he’s shaken. “Something to water?”
Tommy huffs a soft laugh and scoops up a spoonful of spumoni. He holds it out. “Open,” he says lightly.
Buck hesitates for half a second. Then he leans forward, wraps his mouth around the spoon, and pulls back.
The ice cream is cold and sweet.
Sal watches the entire exchange, heat flickers in his gut. Buck looks up with a faint smear of cream at the corner of his mouth. Tommy reaches out without thinking and wipes it away with his thumb.
Sal's gaze catches Tommy's, and Tommy sees it, the spark Sal hadn’t planned on.
Tommy lifts one eyebrow. Just to say. Oh.
Sal exhales slowly. “You wouldn’t be a project,” he says evenly.
Buck watches as Tommy scoops up another bite. “Then what would I be?”
Sal meets his eyes, and his grin grows. “Someone we choose.”
Buck holds his gaze. “And what does that cost?” he asks.
Sal doesn’t bristle. "You’d be compensated,” he says evenly. “That part doesn’t go away.”
Tommy nods. “We’re not pretending this isn’t an arrangement.”
Buck’s shoulders ease a fraction. “How much?” he asks.
Tommy and Sal look at each other. The phone passes between them. Tommy types, Sal reads, Sal types, Tommy reads. A quiet negotiation conducted in thumb-swipes and shared glances.
Then Sal slides the phone across the table toward Evan.
Buck does the math in his head before he can stop himself. Rent. Medical bills. The credit card he’s been pretending doesn’t exist.
“That’s generous,” he says quietly.
“It’s fair,” Sal corrects.
“And expectations?” Buck asks.
Sal’s voice stays steady. “Dinner. Time. Honesty. Sex. Nothing you don’t want.” Tommy’s gaze stays soft on him. “And if you change your mind, you say so.”
Buck stares at them, his heartbeat roars in his ear.
Sex is easy. Sex he understands. Sex is something he enjoys.
Dinner. Time. Honesty.
Those are the things he fucks up.
His leg aches under the table. His bank account is a slow bleed. The number on the screen is enough to buy him breathing room. Enough to quiet the panic that wakes him at three in the morning.
He drags his thumb along the condensation on his wine glass. But right now, sitting across from two men who look at him like he's worth those numbers, he feels something he hasn't felt in months.
Seen.
"I'd like that," he says. "I think."
Tommy smiles. Sal inclines his head.
The check comes.
Tommy reaches for it but Sal is already sliding a card into the folder. Buck's hand is still halfway to his own wallet, frozen mid-reach like his body hasn't caught up to the fact that he's not the one paying tonight.
"We said we'd cover it," Sal reminds him with a firmness that makes Buck’s stomach swoop.
He pulls his hand back slowly. Tucks it under the table.
Outside, the air is cool and the streetlights are flickering on. They stand in a loose triangle on the sidewalk, none of them quite ready to leave. Tommy checks his phone.
"How about Sunday?" Tommy suggests. "We'll cook."
Buck blinks. "You cook?"
Tommy's mouth curves. "Sal cooks. I have opinions."
Sal inclines his head, acknowledging the truth of this. "He's useful for tasting. Less useful for anything else."
"Hey…"
"You boiled the wine before you added the rice."
"Tory the recipe said…"
"The recipe did not say that, Thomas."
Buck watches them, the easy back-and-forth, the way they've seemed to have had this argument a hundred times and will have it a hundred more.
"Our place," Sal murmurs, redirecting. "Sunday. Seven o'clock."
Buck's nods, his chest squeezing a little. "You want to do this again?"
Sal looks at him. "I do. Do you, Evan?"
Buck thinks about his empty apartment. The unopened envelope on his table. The way his phone hasn't buzzed with a message from anyone who actually sees him in weeks.
He thinks about how Evan felt in Sal's mouth.
"Yeah," he says. "I do."
Tommy's hand finds the small of Sal's back as they watch Evan's Uber pull away.
"He doesn't know," Sal stated quietly.
"Know what?"
"How to be taken care of."
Tommy watches the taillights disappear around the corner. "Guess we'll have to teach him," he murmurs. "He wants it though."
Evan doesn't sleep that night.
Not because of his leg. Not because of the case files spread across his coffee table, the reports he should have filed yesterday.
He doesn't sleep because he keeps replaying the evening.
Sal's hand around his wine glass, his accent. Tommy's laugh, his cleft. The way they looked at each other, looked at him, like he was someone worth looking at.
His phone glows on the nightstand.
Firehose: I had a good time tonight. Thank you.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
T: We did too.
S: Sunday. Don't be late.
Evan stares at the messages, despite everything, the ache in his leg, the weight in his chest, the quiet of his empty apartment, he smiles.
It feels so normal that for a while, Tommy almost forgets why they're there. Evan's fingers are warm against his where their hands meet in the middle of the table and he's giving him that same look he used to when a date was drawing to a close and he was ready to go home. Then he sees Sal's hand on the back of his neck, his thumb brushing softly behind Evan's ear, and the reality of it hits him again. Evan frowns as he pulls his hand away and Tommy fights the urge to kiss the pout away like he would have before.
“So, uh, how did you two…? When did–” Tommy waves his hand a bit instead of finishing a thought. Evan bites his lip and looks at Sal.
“A few months,” Sal says. “It started in August.”
Ten months. Four more months than he and Evan had made it, he thinks, bitterness starting to bubble inside him again. More than he and Sal had ever been brave enough to try before giving up all together.
“It's a little more complicated than that makes it sound,” Evan adds in. “It started casual– as casual as I can be, anyway. I…” Evan trails off and looks at Sal again, then back to Tommy. “It's kind of a long story, but Sal stopped me from falling back into old habits. He found me at a low point and never took advantage, even when he had every opportunity, even when I begged him to.”
They share a look and the moment is so intimate, Tommy has to fight the urge to look away like a petulant child.
“And why am I here?” He asks, trying not to sound like a complete asshole about it, although he's pretty sure he fails at that. Even so, the smile Evan sends his way is so soft and loving it's almost too much to bear. Tommy is reminded once again that he has never been worthy of everything that Evan is, he's far too jagged and jaded to mesh with Evan's soft edges. Those warm, gentle fingers find his again.
“You were never not here, Tommy,” Evan says. "Even when we didn't talk about it, even when we tried to fight it. You've always belonged right here, with us. And I think you know it, too.”
"You want me to kill your brother-in-law," the crossroads demon repeats.
Evan sticks his hands in his pockets and nods, despite the fear zipping along his nerves.
The demon studies Evan with his yellow eyes. It's irritating how handsome the demon looks: thick dark hair, chiseled jawline, strong nose and cheekbones, and a goddamn (ha!) cleft in that chin. Evan tears his gaze away to look at his scuffed sneakers, feeling too much like a college dropout, and then he looks up again, defiant and bold.
"Yeah," he says. "Kill Doug. He's beating up my sister. He'll kill her someday if no one stops him."
"You can kill him yourself," the demon says. He stalks forward. Evan smells a woodsy cologne, and under that, a hint of smoke, like the demon just walked past a campfire. "I can even make sure no one sees you do it."
"If I do it, it'll be over too quick," Evan says. He picks at a cuticle. "I want him to suffer. I want him to be as afraid as he's made Maddie. Worse. I want him to shit his pants out of fear."
The demon chuckles. The sound tingles all the way down Evan's spine and he resists the urge to fidget.
"Oh, this is delicious. You don't want me to kill him, not really," the demon purrs. "You want me to torture him." He licks his lips and inhales through his teeth. "You look so innocent, but that darkness in you... I like it."
"So... It's a deal?"
"Let's talk payment first, hmm?" The demon adjusts his tie and conjures up a scroll. "Let's see... Evan Buckley... Wait a minute."
Evan frowns. "Wait? Why?"
"I can't make a deal with you." The demon tosses the scroll up, which disappear in a shower of sparks and a lingering stench of sulfur.
"Why not?"
"Because, reasons." The demon scowls. "But I would love to get my claws on that Doug Kendall. I do so need to reupholster my armchair with human skin..." Then he grins. "I have an idea."
He points his hand straight up and snaps his fingers thrice in quick succession. Evan is about to ask what he's doing when suddenly, literally in the blink of an eye, another tall, dark and handsome man is standing next to the demon, dressed in a red and blue flannel shirt over a white tee and a pair of jeans that hugs his legs, and Evan is starting to question why he can't seem to stop looking at this guy's ass.
"Sal," says the newcomer, "I told you, you can't just call on me so blatantly. Someone will notice."
"Aww, angel, you worried? I'm not calling you for myself, Tommy, I'm calling you for my new friend." The demon – Sal – points a thumb at Evan.
When this Tommy guy – an angel? – turns to face Evan, Evan freezes completely. Tommy is taller, also handsome, with tousled waves of dark hair, and his blue eyes seem to glow.
"You're Evan Buckley," Tommy breathes out.
For the first time in a very long time, Evan doesn't hate his name. "Y-yeah, that's me."
Tommy whirls around – is that a rush of feathers that Evan hears? "Sal, you know you can't touch him."
"Hence, the calling on you." Sal smirks. "He wants to make a deal with me, I can't take it. But maybe you can."
As Tommy glances over his shoulder at Evan, Evan finds himself wanting to hold Tommy's attention for longer.
Eventually, Tommy says, "What's the deal?"
"Torture his abusive brother-in-law."
"Out of the question." Tommy stares sternly at them both. Evan turns red with shame.
Sal whistles. "How about we set it up so Doug tries to kill Evan, and you can keep Evan and his sister safe, and I can swoop in to drag an abuser into hell? Win-win-win." He winks at Evan. "I can't make a deal with you because something real powerful has a claim on you already. You have a Destiny, kiddo, and whooo. Spoiler: you have a long, hard road ahead of ya."
Evan's eyes widen. "So what's an angel gotta do with this?"
"He's your-" Sal bats Tommy's hand aside. "He's your guardian angel. Literally. Heaven made Tommy to make sure you get to live out your Destiny."
Is the angel blushing? "An angel named Tommy?"
Sal grins. "Name of the meat suit. Mine was Salvatore Deluca." He twirls, then bumps his elbow against Tommy. "What say you, angel? Ready to be the hero? C'mon, let me remake my armchair."
Tommy scrutinizes Evan, who gazes back at him as pleadingly as he can. Finally, he nods.
