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.”
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.
hello ed!! if you’re still doing prompts i was very inspired by reading your last saltommy one. and i was thinking about younger tommy x older sal. 👀 if you aren’t taking anymore prompts, totally fine, i hope you have an amazing day. 🫶🏾
Ohh okay okay okay I have an idea.
1. Tommy starts at the 118 when he's nearly 24 after finishing up his military contract. He can fly, he's been in a warzone, he's stayed on the straight and narrow, and now he's a firefighter. When he arrives for his first day, he's greeted by Captain Gerrard and a few guys who are older than him. "Greeted" is maybe a nice word for it. He gets hazed: clean things with a toothbrush, do all the dishes, etc. and he does it with quiet, grim determination. It's Basic all over again. One day, he's scrubbing down the showers--it wasn't on the list, but he's not trying to get a fungal infection--and he hears whistling. He pokes his head out and sees Deluca with a towel over his shoulder and some soap. "Hey, kid," Deluca says. "Hey," Tommy replies, ducking back into the shower stall so Deluca doesn't see him blush. Or catch him staring when he inevitably starts stripping. Tommy's good at tunnel vision in changing rooms after years of sports and the military, but he still doesn't want to risk it. "The left two are clean," he says. "Bless you, Kinard," Deluca says, turning on the water to the left of him. The immediate left of him. "You prefer Tommy or Kinard?" "Uh, doesn't matter," he says, scrubbing the same spot over and over and squeezing his eyes shut. "Just, uh, not Thomas." "Mm, I get that. I'm only Salvatore when I'm in trouble with Ma," Deluca says, poking his head around. His hair is dripping, and Tommy sees water beading on his shoulder and bicep. "Just call me Sal," he says with a grin. "Or Tory if you're trying to be cute." Then he disappears again, and Tommy swallows hard and keeps scrubbing.
2. Sal is 35, nearly 36. He's got grays at his temples and in his stubble when he's coming off a shift and hasn't shaved yet. There's a little gray in his chest hair, as Tommy already saw. He tries not to think too hard about it. But Sal checks in with him, asks if he's getting along okay, and Tommy gets partnered up with him on calls. They're not paramedics, and he's glad to not have to deal with Gerrard directly. One night, he's barking at Tommy to go up to a third floor to clear it, and Sal gets between them and snarls something that Tommy doesn't catch. The fire is loud. "--integrity is fine!" Gerrard barks. "Like fucking hell it is!" Sal roars, and Gerrard tries sending him back to the rig. Sal grabs his helmet and marches toward the building, barely makes it through the opening they've made, and there's a rumble. Tommy sprints forward, shouting his name, and Sal's running toward him and pointing away, yelling for him to go. They collide, and Sal yanks him down as the front of the building collapses. If Tommy had run in when he was told, he would've been under that. "Fuck, kid," Sal pants, his helmet knocking against the brim of Tommy's. "You okay?" "Thanks to you," Tommy says, gripping Sal's arm through his coat. "No thanks to him," Sal mutters before they stand up. He marches toward Gerrard and says something that makes his face turn purple right before he tells Sal to get his ass back in the engine.
3. They're playing pool at a badge and ladder bar, and Sal's losing. "How'd you get so good at this?" Sal asks, smirking. "We had a pool table at the base," Tommy says. "And it's just math. Pilots are good at math." Sal hums and watches him sink another ball. Tommy misses the next shot because Sal is stretching out a kink in his shoulder and makes an obscene noise when something audibly cracks. "Fuck, never get old," Sal groans. "I'd planned on trying," Tommy says dryly, and Sal smiles. "Here's hoping I look half as good as you do in my old age." It's the closest he's come to a compliment, even if he wrapped it in a dumb joke, and he feels like he's gotten away with something when Sal laughs and slaps his back.
4. Gerrard hears Tommy say he doesn't have a girlfriend, says something homophobic, and Sal gets up from the table and goes downstairs, pulling his phone out. Tommy slinks away a moment later and follows. "I don't give a fuck about procedure, get him the fuck out of here or I'm calling the goddamn union, the press, and my shady Sicilian cousins," Sal hisses. "I filed three fucking reports in the last--look, you come down here and bug the place so you can hear the shit he's saying. He almost got the new guy killed, and--he's not going to file a report, he's a probie who keeps his head down and doesn't want to make waves. If he sends me or Tommy or anyone else into a situation like that, I want you to remember this conversation at our fucking funerals." And he hangs up and looks like he's about to throw his phone when Tommy clears his throat. Sal turns and relaxes when he sees him. "Guess my secret's out," he says with a grim smile. "I won't tell," Tommy promises. Then he looks over his shoulder to make sure no one's lurking nearby. "A-and I'll tell them. About the building." Sal's expression softens. "You don't gotta do that," Sal says. "I don't want any of this blowing back on you. I can take it if I need to, it'll just take me another decade to make captain." Tommy nods and shoves his hands in his pocket. "Thanks for looking out for me," he says. He knows Sal's probably just doing it because he's tired of Gerrard's shit, but Tommy hasn't had someone look out for him like this too many times in his life. "Don't worry about it, kid," Sal says, pressing a hand between his shoulder blades and steering him toward the changing area. "Let's see about making some real food."
5. Gerrard is gone, and Sal is made interim captain. Tommy feels like it could become permanent. It should, really. He's a good captain. But things are different between them, and Tommy can feel it. It's like Sal's treating him like a stranger. So he slips into the office when Sal's chained to the computer for paperwork. "What's up?" Sal asks. "Is everything okay?" Tommy asks, sitting in one of the chairs across from Sal. "Like, did I fuck up?" And Sal frowns and leans back in his chair. "No, why would you think you did?" he asks. "Because you've been avoiding me," Tommy points out. Sal freezes and looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment. "I'm not," he insists. "I just...y'know, I can't play favorites." And Tommy smiles and asks, "So I'm your favorite?" It borders on flirtatious, but he's been getting away with that with Sal for months. "Get out of my office, brat," Sal says, his lips twisting in a familiar smile, his eyes twinkling. He looks more like himself. Tommy hunkers down and crosses his arms over his chest until Sal flicks a paperclip at him.
6. It's a risk going to the club he's in, because he could be spotted coming out of it. But LA is a big city, so what are the odds? He's had a beer, he's working on another one, and a guy is next to him and looking at him with open interest. He's young, though, younger than Tommy. That's not what he's looking for. Sal's laugh lines and barely graying hair flashes through his mind, and he finishes the beer and goes out to the dancefloor to see who's around. It's mostly younger guys, because it's a Thursday night. It's always the college students without classes on Fridays that are out. But Tommy gets toward the edge on the other side, close to the wall, and he sees a broad back that catches his eye. Then the guy turns his head, and Tommy's nearly knocked over by a guy trying to get past him when he sees that it's Sal. His first instinct is to run, but if Sal's here, he's got just as much to lose. Unless he's here with a friend or girlfriend or whatever. Tommy could always pretend he was meeting a buddy or that a girl had stood him up for a date or something. He moves past the small group of guys between him and Sal and pressed a couple of fingers between his shoulder blades. Sal turns and his eyes get big, and Tommy leans in to say, "Fancy seeing you here." They talk a little, dancing around why they're there. Except Sal's wearing a tight shirt that's unbuttoned down to his sternum to show off his chest hair, and Tommy had dressed to draw attention, too. The plausible deniability is thin, to say the least. Sal excuses himself to use the bathroom, and Tommy ends up dancing in the crowd. There's an older guy who tucks up against him and dances with him, and Tommy would take him home if he wasn't looking around for Sal now.
7. Sal is at the bar, and Tommy ends up next to him. "You ditched me," he accuses. "No, I'm just not gonna dance with you," Sal says, tapping his fingers on the bar. "I shouldn't even be here with you." "Why not?" Tommy asks. "Because you're my subordinate now, and I can't--there's a line there now," Sal says. "But if there wasn't?" Tommy asks. Sal scrubs a hand over his cheek and scratches his stubble and laughs. "If there wasn't," he says, looking over at Tommy. "I'd have a hard time keeping my hands to myself." And Tommy steps closer, pushed by two guys trying to wedge in to get the bartender's attention. "Kid--" Tommy leans in and kisses him, and Sal lets out a shuddering breath that Tommy can feel as he pulls back a moment later. "Fuck, why'd you have to go and do that?" Sal asks, and Tommy feels a stab of anxiety and he doesn't know what else. But then Sal grabs him and kisses him, and Tommy desperately kisses back. He's hard and moving against Sal, and Sal has a hand on his ass and another up the back of his shirt, and Tommy reaches for his fly. "Not here," Sal says. "But not no?" Tommy checks, and Sal presses his nose to Tommy's cheek and huffs out a laugh. "Fucking no, not no, goddammit, even though I shouldn't be doing this. You're my subordinate, you're so fucking young--" "I just turned twenty-four," Tommy protests, and Sal gives him a pained looked as they move toward the exit.
8. Sal drives, because he never has more than one drink if he's planning on taking someone home. And they're going to his place, thankfully, not Tommy's shitty little shoebox apartment with the five minutes of hot water. He's never been to Sal's. It's a condo near the station, and they're on opposite sides of the elevator while they ride up three floors. Tommy's got his hands behind his back, squished between his body and the wall. And Sal's hands are braced on the rail, and he's looking at Tommy intently. "Shouldn't you be going home with someone your own age?" he asks. "No," Tommy says, letting his head fall back against the wall. "Just you." And Sal closes the distance and kisses him, tugging him through the doors when they open. His condo is down the hall, and he lets them in and they get their shoes off, kicking them aside before they start on their clothes. The military and their job has helped Tommy to get good at undressing fast, even when he's wearing tight jeans. "Fuck, look at this pretty boy I found," Sal teases, backing Tommy up against a wall and hooking a finger in the waistband of his underwear. And Tommy finally gets to run his hands over all the hair on Sal's chest and stomach and sees little strands of silver there, too. "Pretty sure I found you," Tommy points out, his hand covering Sal's cock through his jock. "Daddy." "I ain't even forty yet," Sal protests with a grin, but Tommy feels his cock jump against his hand. They make out against the wall of Sal's hallway until Sal drags him into the bedroom, and Tommy ends up on all fours with his fingers tugging on his own hair while he sobs and whines through Sal fucking him open. After, he falls asleep when he knows he should be getting up and leaving.
9. They try to keep it under wraps at work, but Tommy can tell Sal feels guilty about it. He doesn't. He just feels guilty about how torn Sal is over the whole thing. But then a new captain gets brought in right before Tommy's probationary year is up, and he goes through his ceremony and gets his shield pinned by Sal. He doesn't have anyone else to do it. Just a few weeks later, Howard Han starts at the station. He's wisecracking and cute and hot, and Tommy likes hanging out with him. He's a good buffer to keep Sal and Tommy from getting too close at work, and he's just a fun time. But Sal is angling for a permanent position. The new captain won't last long, Tommy can tell. He's gone in six months, off to be a captain somewhere up in the Bay Area. He debates switching shifts, but then Sal pulls him into the office and brings him around to show him an email. Harbor is looking for pilots. "I'd hate to lose you to another station," Sal says, his chin hooking over Tommy's shoulder. "But you said you wanted to fly again, baby. I will give you a fucking sparkling letter of recommendation, talk to their captains about getting you some time in a chopper to show you off. Anything you want." And Tommy's hands are shaking, imagining holding a cyclic again. Doing that nearly every day he works. "And then I can take you out for real," Sal adds. "I'm not just doing this out of the goodness of my own heart." Tommy turns and kisses him and hugs him and smiles. "Yeah, you are, you fucking meatball," Tommy says. "Thank you."
10. Tommy transfers. He's a fucking pilot again. A few weeks later, he and Sal go on a real date. And Sal has to pull out his reading glasses in the restaurant, and Tommy almost flips the table over and rides him right there. "You really got a thing for old men, don't you?" Sal teases. "I got a thing for you, asshole," Tommy says, and Sal looks at him over his glasses and smiles. "Brat," Sal says, nudging the toe of his shoe against Tommy's. "You know you like it, Tory," Tommy says, and Sal chokes on his wine.
I was tagged by many a person over the last little bit with the last sentence tag game. Hadn't written much that I could share, but I was compelled to write this today so now it's your problem.
"You need to talk to your boy Buckley," Sal grunts out, taking a seat next to Tommy at the bar.
Tommy's brows narrow, and his mouth turns into something of a grimace. He doesn't play dumb or wait for an explanation, more credit go him Sal figures. Staying silent for a minute, Tommy takes a sip of his beer. "Pretty sure that ships sailed. More than a year ago, as you may recall."
Unbidden, the memory of sitting with Tommy in this very bar flashes before Sal's eyes. Tommy, who's sworn never go be like his father, looking for answers in a bottle of whiskey, trusting that Sal is going to keep him from doing anything he'll regret.
"Kid's still not over you," Sal says, voice barely audible above the bar's din. There's a twinge in his heart, forcing those words out. It hurts more not saying anything at all.
Eyes narrow, Tommy finally shoots a look at him. "How would you know that?"
Leaning back in his chair, Sal offers Tommy a cocky grin. "Don't you listen to the gossip. Buckley's at the 122 now, on a different shift. We've become friendly."
Something complicated flashes over Tommy’s face - something mourning and jealous, that passes into a neutral facade. Tommy takes another sip of his beer and idly comments, "I didn't think he'd ever leave the 118."
"Lot of things have changed," Sal points out, crossing his arms over his chest. "You need to call him."
Tommy scoffs. "I'm sure the last thing he needs is a blast from the past."
"You're still not over him," Sal points out, and there's nothing for Tommy to argue against. Tommy had confided that he'd fucked up the best thing in his life, and there was no going back. "I'm telling you he's not over you, either. Just call him. Do something about it."
The 'Or I will' remains unspoken, because as much as Sal tries to hid it, Tommy's always been able to read him like the back of his hand. Standing up, Sal slaps a twenty on the bar and pushes away, leaving Tommy to finish his drink and contemplate Sal's advice.
No pressure tagging @chemistry66, @emakataken, @chimneyschewinggum, @corporatebanana, @thecarrott, @nine-one-wanton, @fuselsstuff, @jamieroyjamieroy, @sad-girl-hours23, @kinardnatural, @queerasbuck, @inawickedlittletown, @cliophilyra, @fenrirscarsback, @frogsinflannel, and anyone else who wants to join in
SalBuckTommy, post chimney punching buck in seaosn 5 i think and buck tried to leave 118 but bobby blocked him from transferring.
1. After Chimney hits him and leaves town with Jee to track fown his sister, guilt is eating Buck alive. Guilt over not keeping his promise to his sister, guilt over not breaking it sooner. It feels like the whole station is looking at him differently in Chimney's absence and he does have Maddie to talk him down and Eddie said he deserved it. It all feels like too much, especially since things were finally starting to feel normal again after the lawsuit, so Buck decides he needs a change.
2. Bobby calls him to his office one day and thr transfer paperwork is on his desk.
"I wish you would have come to me first, Buck."
Buck hadn't gone to anyone. He had submitted the request in the midst of a guilt sprial in the middle of the night. He hadn't even realized he would need Bobby's aproval.
"I can't let you go right now, Buck. We're already a man down with Chim. If this is what you really want, we can revisit this on a few months."
Buck tries to stutter out an appeal, a plea, something to make Bobby understand, but he won't hear it.
3. After the mess of the lawsuit, Buck found out there was a union he could have gone through and saved himself some trouble, so he contacts them and sets up a meeting. His rep, Sal, is loud and brash and has a bit of a grudge against Bobby, so he's more than happy to take on his case.
"Nash give you that shiner?"
"What? No! Of course not. It–it's a long story. I don't think it's really relevant."
They talk about his options, Sal helps him fill out more paperwork, he makes phone calls. At the end of the day, he asks Buck to join him for a beer.
"You've got a long story to tell me," he grins, indicating Buck's eye.
3a. "You didn't think a senior member of your team punching you in the face was relevant to this case! Jesus fucking Christ!"
4. Sal finds Buck a placement with the 217 and introduces him to Tommy. Buck thinks its pretty obvious that they have a thing, and that's cool! He's an ally ✊️ (Sal looks skyward for strength and Tommy nearly falls in the floor laughing.)
"Keep in touch, kid. Let me know if he gives you any problems." Sal slaps Buck on the shoulder and that should have been the end of it.
5. Buck kind of follows Tommy around like a puppy for a while. He feels weird in a new place and everyone knows about the truck bombing/tsunami/lawsuit and he doesn't like how they all stare at him like they're dying to ask questions. Toomy feels safe and doesn't seem to kind having Buck underfoot.
"He's kind of adorable," Tommy tells Sal one night in bed. "He's always asking me questions and telling me fun facts about helicopters like I don't already know them all."
"They way he stutters when gets flustered is pretty cute," Sal admits. Tommy smiles.
"Speaking of, he asked if he could buy me a beer sometime," he murmurs, running his hand down Sal's chest. "Said he'd buy you one, too."
+1. Buck is awkward but sweet at the bar while he tells them he thinks he may always have been interested in guys but hasn't ever explored it. He's so cute they can't not kiss him about it.
AU: Sal and Tommy are 35, married, and have been at the 118 (with Hen and Chim) for eight years. Buck is 26 in Peru. Sal and Tommy are on vacation to celebrate each of them transferring (122, lieutentant position with intent to become Captain very soon and 217, pilot). Whirlwind romance that ends up with Buck following them back to LA and being married right before Buck's probie year.
mooorrrre under the cut :)) again just straight up stream of conciousness hope ya like it :)
Buck is constantly talking about his partner but never mentions being married and never mentions there being two of them.
Bobby is out for some reason, nothing major but their temporary Captain is a complete idiot, making every wrong call and unfortunately Buck gets the short end of the stick.
He's being wheeled on a gurney with a pipe sticking out of his leg. Hen and Chimney are on either side of him trying to get him into the ambulance when their Captain comes over and starts berating Buck for "not paying attention," "doing this to himself," and "making the Captain look bad." It's all bullshit and everyone knows it, but Buck had started to be in a weird headspace right before the call, only intensifying as the call went on.
He was generally very good at keeping a hold on his emotions, but the pain, anxiety, and headspace is a godawful combination and he can feel his breath getting faster and tears filling his eyes.
There's an onlooker recording the Captain yelling at a clearly injured and emotionally distressed firefighter. They post it to Twitter and tag it LAFire118, a tag Sal has saved (as well as LAAir217 & LAFire217).
He sees the video and sees red. Him and Tommy call Hen and ask what hospital. She's confused, because as far as she knows, they have no idea who Buck is. She tells them anyway, past and present 118 support she guesses.
Buck is already heading back to surgery when Sal and Tommy storm in.
"Where the hell is that rat bastard?"
"Woah, Deluca, calm the hell down."
"Don't tell me to calm down, Hen. Where's the Stronzo who berated my fucking husband while he's bleeding out through a goddamn rusted pipe?"
"Wait-"
"Hen."
"He's back at the scene or headed back to the station. The fire was almost out when we left."
Sal turned to Tommy. "Stay here." Sal gave him a quick pat to the cheek and a squeeze on his bicep.
Sal was gonna make that sad excuse for a Captain pay. He quickly sent a text to his friend in the Union before speeding off to the 118.
