Taken

Tommy wouldn't have gone to Nashville for the games, and even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to prevent the kidnapping. Hell, Tommy could've been in the back of that car and died on impact.

But he could've been there. He could've helped with the search, could've helped with the recovery, could've helped manage his medication. Evan wouldn't have been able to hide it from him, if he took too much. Even if he somehow managed to hide the drug problem, Tommy could've been there when he detoxed. He would've treated him with a lot more trust and dignity than his fucking family, by the sounds of it.

But Tommy wasn't there. Tommy wasn't there for any of it, by his own design. No, Tommy got to skip all that, and be presented with the result.

With the version of Evan that sits infront of him. An Evan who is tired, whose smiles don't come as easy as they used to, whose jokes don't land like they're supposed to.

He doesn't even downplay it, like he used to. He looks Tommy straight in the eye and says, ”It was bad.” He's not talking about the torture, and fuck, that is one hell of sentence. Evan was tortured. Textbook definition tortured. No, the bad part is feeling the fight leave him. Once he knew Eddie was safe, the drive to survive went away.

Not completely, but compared to all the other times he's been in mortal danger, there was a distinct lack of desire to get out alive. He's glad he's alive, but it feels a little hollow to say, which he admits to Tommy.

That is the part that breaks Tommy. He knows what it's like to want to die, but Evan wasn't supposed to know what that feels like. Even now, Tommy can feel how detached Evan is. He's there, he's present, but he's full of loose connections. Things that disappear, under the right circumstances.

Evan might not be aware of it, because you don't feel it, when those connections disappear. It happens slowly and you're too numb to notice. Up until you have too many of them and you stop functioning like a person. He seems close to that point, but Evan is resilient. It might be further away, than Tommy thinks it is.

Tommy doesn't want to cry, this isn't about him, but Evan is the most beautiful human being Tommy has ever seen and the universe won't give him a fucking break. Tommy could've helped, Tommy could've eased his suffering, but he made sure he didn't do that.

He knows the guilt is misplaced, because he wasn't the one who chose to kidnap and torture a person, he wasn't the one who prescribed fucking oxy, but he could have been there. He could have made something easier.

”I'm sorry that happened to you,” he manages to say through the tears. It's not what he wants to say, but it's the only thing that comes out.

Evan smiles a little, because he knows there's nothing you can say to that. You can't listen to the story he just told and come up with an adequate response.

”What have you been up to?”

Buck felt his throat tighten painfully. Six months of this, middle-of-the-night terrors where Theo woke screaming for parents who would never come back. Public meltdowns in grocery stores. The constant, gnawing fear that one bad report to social services could undo everything he had fought for. He had spent years, being the dependable one for others, helping Eddie with Chris, sitting with Maddie through panic attacks and postpartum fog, always the reliable babysitter, the guy who’d drop everything to help his people.

And now? Now he was the one drowning, and the help felt polite. Conditional. Wrapped in concern, but threaded with enough judgment to make him wonder if everyone was waiting for him to fail.

He scooped Theo up despite the thrashing limbs, pressing the boy’s sweaty, tear-streaked face to his shoulder. “I like you,” he said fiercely, the words steady even as his voice thickened. “I like you so much. I’m not leaving you. Ever. You’re stuck with me, okay? We’re going to our new house. The one we picked together, near your new school, right by Dr. Miles’ office. The park with the big rocket slide. We’re gonna set up your room exactly how you want it. We can eat dinner in the backyard if you want. We’re gonna make it ours.”

“I love you,” Buck sang softly, the words slipping out on instinct because he didn’t know what else to do. This song almost always worked to soothe Theo's spirals.

Theo sniffed, rubbing his face against Buck’s shoulder, and answered in a small wobbly voice, “You love me.”

Buck swallowed around the ache rising in his throat and kept going. “And we are learning how to be a family. And we’re gonna have uh-ohs and oh no’s and make many mistakes. But that’s okay because…”

Theo’s lips trembled, but he finished their little song. “Because I love you and you love me.”

Buck let out a shaky breath, pressing his cheek against Theo’s damp curls. “Yeah, buddy,” he whispered.

“Can we have dinosaur nuggets for dinner?”

Buck huffed a tired laugh that felt like the first real breath he’d taken all day. “Yeah, buddy. Dinosaur nuggets it is.” He pressed a kiss to Theo’s temple, tasting salt and sunscreen and the faint strawberry shampoo from last night’s bath.

He didn’t look back at Chimney or Maddie as he carried his son toward the truck. He couldn’t quite handle their concerned, slightly helpless expressions right now.

Maddie stepped forward anyway, brushing a hand down his arm. “Evan… you sure you don’t want us to bring some real food by later? Or keep him again tomorrow so you can finish unpacking?”

Buck offered her a tired smile. “We’ll be okay. Thanks though Maddie. I think I need my best lil crocodile to help me tomorrow.”

“Bye, Miss Maddie. Let’s go alligator,” Theo huffed from his car seat once Buck had him buckled in, voice thick with leftover tears. He kicked his little legs against the passenger seat, impatient.

“Call me if you need anything,” she added, voice warm with that older-sister worry that had once meant everything to him.

Buck didn’t miss the way Chimney’s face twisted, just for a second, at his wife’s words. A flicker between exhaustion and protectiveness, the silent conversation of two parents who already had their hands full.

Buck shook his head, offering the pair a tired smile. “We’ve got it from here. Thanks again for today.”

Buck pushed the cart while Sal walked half a step ahead, tossing things in with the confidence of a man who didn’t make lists. It was funny how far apart he and Sal sat on that particular scale, considering how completely Buck adored him. Or maybe complementary. Not that Buck hadn't tried to convince Sal at least once to write things down in some kind of order.

(That one had ended with Buck pinned to a counter and kissed senseless, until he blinked owlishly at Sal. "What were we talking about again?" Buck had no complaints. None.)

"Catch," Sal said, and a bag of some fancy-looking rice landed against Buck's chest before he'd fully processed the warning.

"You could just put it in the cart like a normal person," Buck said, though he was absolutely smiling at Sal's thinly veiled attempt to keep him from spacing out.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Tommy was somewhere back in produce, texting them a photo of two identical-looking bunches of basil with the caption which one, and Buck was midway through typing does it matter when he stopped, hand still on the cart handle, and just stood there for a second.

Nobody was looking at them. That was the thing. Nobody in the cereal aisle cared that Buck had a hand fisted loosely in the back of Sal's shirt when he got into touching range, or that when Tommy caught up to them a minute later, he slid his own hand into the back pocket of Buck's jeans like it belonged there. Because apparently it did now.

Nobody flinched. Nobody did a double take. It was just three guys and a cart with too much basil in it (It matters. Bring both.), arguing about whether they needed more garlic when they clearly, unambiguously, did not.

Buck didn’t think that they read as just friends from the outside. But he might be wrong. Or maybe it was just too early in the day — or everyone was just busy with their own lives.

There was a chance that Buck was only thinking about this at all because Tommy had started admitting, in quiet conversation, just how far back in the closet he'd lived in his early twenties. How scary coming out had been. What he'd learned to think, at home, in the army, under their first captain.

Buck's train of thought had a similar shape but a different flavor entirely. His was more about the realization that he had a place here. That he was home between these two people, and that this wasn't temporary.

Everything else beyond that was less important: Buck belonged.

The thought didn't come with any of its usual attachments, no bracing for it to be taken away, no counting down some invisible clock. It just sat there, plain and warm, the way facts were supposed to feel. Buck hardly knew how not to check it for stability. What to do with it.

"You good, Evan?" Tommy asked, their shoulders brushing.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Buck answered, a little too fast.

"You're doing the thing," Tommy said, low, briefly tangling their fingers.

Buck felt one of his eyebrows rise. Not his usual mannerism. "What thing?"

"The staring-into-the-middle-distance-having-a-moment thing."

He snorted. "I don't do that."

"You absolutely do that," Sal called back without turning around, already three steps into the pasta aisle. He blew Buck a kiss. "Don't worry. It's very cute."

Buck tried to resist the urge to stick out his tongue and promptly lost the battle. Sal's laugh rang out over the top of the shelves.

+++

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“Beer’s cold,” Buck said, turning off the burner and plating the food. “But you need to eat first.”

Sal snorted. “I’ve been on my feet for sixteen hours.”

“Then sit your ass down,” Buck grunted. A tone, Sal had never heard from him. “Before I make you.”

That earned him a slow blink. A brow lift. But Sal dropped into the chair anyway, because the kid had nerve. And he was tired. Bone-tired and fried. His body still humming from the adrenaline crash after the near miss. He had to yank his probie back seconds before the kid could get himself killed.

Buck set a plate in front of him. Pasta. Homemade. Garlic bread. Real salad, not the pre-bagged kind. Vegetables from Tommy’s stupid ass garden.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Buck sat across from him, arms folded. “Then eat.”

Sal shoveled a few bites in, irritated by how fucking good it was. He drained half the beer and picked at his food for a few minutes.

“They laughed. After. As if it was a joke, like they hadn’t just nearly gotten themselves burned alive. The little shit just turned twenty-one. Still smells like Axe and mistakes. And Jay, I expected better from him.”

Buck didn’t rush, just watched as Sal drained the rest of the beer and swirled the pasta around his fork.

“They laugh because they’re scared,” Buck said finally. “Because the second they stop grinning, they have to face how close they came. How fast it could have gone sideways. You remember being that young?”

Sal snorted. “Barely.”

Buck didn’t smile. “I do.”

He stood, picked up Sal’s empty and limped across the room to toss it out before grabbing him another one.

Sal watched the uneven gait. Noticed, for the first time, the soft grunt Buck let out as he leaned into the fridge door. The brief pause. The careful pivot.

“Leg giving you shit again?” Sal asked, brow creasing.

Buck tossed him the beer. “Not as much as you are.”

Sal scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a long breath as he twisted the bottle open. Tommy's favorite Pale Ale went down smooth. He didn't reach for the harder stuff. Didn't want to see the worry crease across Buck's forehead.

The third beer was gone by the time his plate was empty. He was warm and his shoulders had released the tension he had carried home.

“Come on,” Buck encouraged. “Living room.”

Sal raised an eyebrow. “You ordering me around in my own damn house now?”

Buck only shrugged and walked out of the kitchen, not waiting to see if he followed. Sal would, because he always fucking did.

The lights in the living room were low.

Sal dropped into his favorite chair with a sigh and let his head fall back. His eyes closed for a second.

They opened again when Buck’s palms landed on his thighs.

“Evan,” Sal said softly, not quite a question, not quite a protest.

Buck shifted, reached under the couch, and pulled out a black kneeling pad. He set it down with a soft thunk before lowering himself onto it. His eyes tightened for a moment, but then he grinned.

The gesture shut Sal up.

Because Buck thought ahead. Because Buck planned this.

Buck was already moving, hands sliding up his thighs. “Let me.”

He was already easing Sal’s belt open, sliding his jeans down. He paused to kiss the scar that sat just under his waistband. Ran his lips along the crease where skin met muscle.

“Evan.”

“Shut up, Sal.”

Sal huffed. “You gonna boss me around all night?” His voice was low now, rough at the edges.

Buck glanced up, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Only if you keep talking.”

Sal grunted. “Fuckin’ brat.”

Buck kissed the inside of his thigh. “Yeah, but yours.”

Sal’s eyes darkened. He threaded his fingers into Buck’s hair, gave a soft tug, pulled Evan’s gaze to his.

“You know,” Sal said lazily, “I ever tell you how pretty you are when you’re trying not to beg?”

“I don’t beg.”

“Bullshit.” Sal grinned wide, teeth flashing. “You beg so sweetly, baby boy. Get all breathy. Please, Sal. I’ll be good. Let me. Just. Please. You’re like a fuckin’ prayer when I’ve got you all amped up.”

Buck’s ears went red. “Your mouthy tonight.”

Sal leaned in, fingers curling against Buck’s jaw. Buck’s smirk shifted, and he sucked in a digit, drawing out a groan from Sal. He released it with a pop. “Bet I can make you beg.”

Sal knew he could. But he would never admit it. The kid had too much power over him already. Sal’s hand found the back of Buck’s neck. “Watch your mouth, brat.”

“Why?” Buck grinned. “You want it somewhere else?”

And before Sal could answer, Buck leaned in and placed his mouth over the bulge in Sal's jeans like he had all the time in the world to prove his point. He pressed kisses down the length of him, nosed at the zipper, breathed him in.

Sal maybe, maybe smelled better than Tommy. Maybe.

Sal groaned.

Buck looked up through his lashes. “Say please.”

Sal narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to flip the script.”

Buck unzipped him. “Maybe." He freed him and licked a broad stripe up the length without taking his eyes off Sal’s face.

Sal’s head fell back. “Jesus, Ev.”

Buck pulled off with a smile. “Not what I asked for.”

“You little shit.”

Buck licked his lips. “You want it? Say so.”

Sal gritted his teeth. His hand tightened at the back of Buck’s head.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, jaw clenched. He shook his head, but then Buck's tongue swirled.

And Buck smiled, all teeth, before rolling his tongue over the head of Sal’s cock and bobbing down.

“You’re going to do exactly as I tell you, aren’t you?” Buck smirked.

Sal thought it should be unattractive on him, but God, it made him hot under the collar. Or it would be if he was wearing one.

“You’re going to be good for your boy, aren’t you, Sal?”

Sal, gruff, steady, always in control, whimpered.

It was small. Barely a sound.

But it was enough to make Buck’s pupils blow wide.

“Hands off,” Buck said low with edged. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Sal’s body froze, but almost impossibly, his hands released their favorite grip in Evan’s curls. His chest rose and fell faster and faster, even as his mouth went dry. Staring down at Buck. At Evan. His Evan.

Evan with that sharp tone he’d never heard before. It lit heat and lust through his veins.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, twitching toward Buck for a moment before Sal physically pried them out of their stalemate and planted them on the arm of the chair.

He lifted a brow at Evan, asking without asking.

Now what.

Buck’s smile turned smug, cocky, like he was rolling a word around his head, testing it before giving it voice.

“Good boy.”

And Sal broke a little. A single exhale punched from his chest like Buck had reached inside him and undid a thread.

“Fuck,” Sal breathed, his head lulling back.

But Buck dragging his tongue along the underside of Sal’s cock. He sucked, swirled, and made that messy little guk noise that never failed to make Sal snap his hips.

He pulled back with a little hum, “I thought you only took orders from Tommy,” he murmured, thumb rubbing circles into Sal’s balls.

Sal swallowed hard. “Thought you didn’t give 'em.”

Buck leaned in closer, mouth ghosting over the tip. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

“Tommy gives different orders,” Sal admitted, breath stuttering as Buck teased the head of his cock. Sal couldn’t help the way his hips twitched, trying to chase the sensation when Buck immediately pulled back.

“Oh?” A mischievous glint hit Buck’s eyes. This was more familiar, but Sal had never seen it quite like this before. It was dark. Teasing. Hungry.

“Tell me what he likes to do to you when you don’t listen to him.”

Sal’s breath caught. The words seized in his throat. Because it was one thing to obey. It was another to confess.

His eyes flicked up to Buck’s, wide, unsure. But Buck didn’t waver. Just held him there under his gaze.  “He’s...” Sal started, voice rough and too thin. He swallowed. “He’s cuffed me before.”

Buck’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? Is that because you’re bad at listening?” He tutted, giving one long lick before pulling back. He sighed as Sal scowled and dropped his hand back down onto the arm of the chair.

“And when you disobey Tommy, does he let you come?”

Sal hissed, gritting his teeth as he shook his head.

“Words, Sal,” Buck insisted.

Sal’s hand flew up to grip Buck’s wrist and they both froze.

Buck’s eyes dropped to where Sal’s fingers wrapped around him desperately. His gaze flicked back up. A disappointment flashed through his blue eyes. Like Sal had just confirmed something Buck had already assumed.

And fuck, it hit harder than it should.

Sal’s gut twisted.

The fear that flared in his chest wasn’t about punishment; it was about failing. About proving that he couldn’t give this over, not really. He wanted it but didn’t know how to stay in it.

He yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.

His hand dropped to the arm of the chair, knuckles white.  “C-cause,” he rasped, eyes fixed anywhere but Buck’s. “He does it… 'cause I don’t listen.”

Buck’s voice was quiet, so unlike himself, measured and sharp, “And do you want me to do it, Sal?”

Sal’s throat bobbed.

Buck leaned in, brushing his lips just over the tip of Sal’s cock, the barest kiss of heat and breath. “Do you want me to make you behave?”

Sal nodded.

“Words, baby boy,” Buck said again, throwing Sal’s favorite nickname right back at him.

Sal’s gaze finally met Buck’s nowhere to hide under that sharp, too-blue stare.  “Yes,” he whispered. “I want, fuck… I want you to do it.”

Buck smiled.

It wasn't sweet.

Nor kind.

“Then keep your fucking hands down,” he said, and took him in deep, no warning, no mercy.

Sal choked on a moan, head snapping back, one hand twitching off the arm of the chair before he slammed it back down, fingers digging into his own thighs.

And Buck worked him.

Every time Sal’s thighs twitched or his hands dared to lift, Buck would stop and lips pulling off with a cruel pause, his thumb brushing his hipbone.

And Sal, powerful, unflinching, always in control Sal shuddered under him.

Buck tilted his head, coaxing his voice. “What else, lovely?”

“He always makes me wait,” Sal added, the confession whispered, emboldened by Buck’s firm hand on his chin.

“Makes you wait, huh?” he murmured, thumb brushing Sal’s balls. He dipped his mouth and pulled in the skin his hand had just been massaging. “Bet you’re aching by the time he lets you come.”

Buck’s lips curled. His eyes fluttered under thick lashes. “It’s okay,” he murmured, blue eyes too blue, too sweet, almost dangerous. “If you’re not ready yet, babe...”

Then he sank down. Mouth all hot, wet heat. Cheeks hollowing.

Sal choked on his own breath, hands clawing uselessly at the chair.

The please lodged in his throat, but the loud “Fuck” made it out in the next breath. Sal’s head fell back as he struggled not to give in.

His fingers missed the soft give of Evan’s hair. Missed the breathy whine that always followed a hard pull.

Instead, he was grasping at air. Struggling to keep his noises down and his head up.

Buck moaned low around him, like he knew. Like he felt every twitch, every surrender Sal was too proud to voice.

Sal’s hips jerked, breath stuttering. He was close. Too close. And Buck was still holding back.

Sal gritted his teeth. The ache was unbearable. And when Buck’s tongue flicked just right, Sal almost did it. Almost pulled his hair, forced him deeper, demanded everything.

But Buck pulled back and took him in.

“Look at you, so fucking pretty, all flushed, pink, needy...”

Sal cursed. “Ev, dammit.”

“Come on, Cap. Just one little, tiny please and I’ll let you fuck my throat just how you want to.”

Buck pulled back and stroked him once. Tilted his head as he rolled his tongue over his lips.

Sal’s jaw dropped. He was about to say fuck it all and do it anyway.

But movement by the door caught his eye. Tommy stood in the doorway, broad shoulders leaning against the doorframe. Looking every inch the commanding figure he was. And just like that, Sal’s composure broke.

“Fuck. Evan. Please. Please, baby, let me fuck your throat.”

Buck’s mouth wrapped around Sal and he teased only a second more before he sank down deep, taking Sal to the hilt in one smooth, hungry motion that pulled a broken, grateful sob straight from Sal’s chest.

Tommy smirked as Sal twitch and jerk under Evan’s devilishly talented tongue.

Then, like something out of Sal’s worst nightmare, Tommy stood directly behind Evan and leaned over him to pin both of Sal’s wrists to the armchair. His grip was unrelenting. Sal thrashed, pinned in place.

“Yes he did, baby... but not very well. You can’t be too easy on him.”

Evan hummed. The captain’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Tommy laughed a little cruel but full of fondness.

“You wish, love,” he whispered, his words brushing Sal’s ear as he pressed his weight down until Sal’s wrists ached. “But see, this is what happens when you play stubborn. You get edged by your brat and pinned by your husband.”

Evan’s mouth never stopped. But his eyes were bright and gleaming with delight as he sucked slow. Mean. Letting Sal feel every inch. He knew how to work his mouth. How to change his pace to keep Sal right on the edge.

Sal threw his head back and howled.

“Seriously... fuck.”

Buck popped off with a wicked, wet sound and exhaled, eyes glossy, lips red. He pouted.

“Now that’s not very nice.”

Tommy’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, his fingers tightened until the ache bloomed sweet under his skin.

He hummed low in his throat, leaned down, and brushed the shell of Sal’s ear.

“That wasn’t begging, Tory,” he said, voice warm like hot honey. “That was just whining.”

Tommy glanced down and saw Buck’s fingers pressing into his own calf. He didn’t stop. Just kept going, with that smug, slick mouth, sloppy wet sounds echoing in the space between them.

But Tommy knew exactly what Buck was doing. Knew he was trying to rub the ache away.

“Switch.”

Buck pulled off slow, licking his lips as he sat back on his heels. His breath was measured, practiced, but his left leg twitched, spasmed.

Tommy released Sal’s wrists and stood to his full height. His hands found Buck’s instantly, helping him to his feet. He ran hands over his arms, down his biceps, then back up again.

“You did good,” Tommy murmured. “Go sit on the arm. Watch him fall apart.”

Buck’s pupils were wide, lips swollen, chest rising and falling. He nodded once and moved to the arm of the chair, settling with a wince.

Tommy turned back to Sal.

He dropped to his knees slipping into the space Buck had left behind, one hand braced against Sal’s thigh.

“Now,” he said calmly, lips just a breath away from the flushed head of Sal’s cock, “you owe both of us some gratitude.”

From the arm of the chair, Buck watched.

He sat crooked, his weight off his left leg, one arm draped along the back cushion.

Tommy wrapped his lips around the head and sucked once, hard enough to make Sal jolt.

And that was it.

Sal snapped his hips.

Not wildly. Not even fully on purpose. Just a short, sharp thrust his control slipping after too long dancing on the edge. It punched a gag from Tommy’s throat and spit string between his lips as he pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing.

From the arm of the chair, Buck’s voice cut through the thick air. “Bedroom.”

Tommy turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at him, but Buck didn’t break eye contact with Sal.

“You can’t ride him in this chair."

Tommy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood. One hand gripped Sal’s jaw as he leaned in, letting his words land hot against his lips.

“Up. Now.”

Sal didn’t argue. He moved like his body wasn’t fully his, following the command before it was even finished.

Buck slid off the arm of the chair with a grunt, favoring his right leg. He followed behind them, when he reached the bedroom, he turned the lights to low.

The cuffs hung from the bedframe. Black leather. Tommy had already set the room.

Tommy steered Sal to their bed, fingers wrapped around the back of his neck.

“You ready for this?” Buck asked as his eyes rolled over Sal.

Sal just nodded, letting out a shuddering breath.

Tommy pushed him toward the bed.

“Then be a good boy and get on your back.”

Sal climbed onto the bed, arms falling above his head out of instinct. He didn’t resist when Tommy reached for the cuffs. Just laid there, chest rising fast, breath already hitching as leather wrapped around his wrists and locked him in place.

Buck watched as he leaned against the dresser for a moment watching the way Sal arched off the mattress as Tommy straddled his hips.

Tommy turned his head slightly, just enough for Buck to catch the flush in his cheeks, the tension riding high across his shoulders.

“Need a hand?” Buck asked, already moving toward the drawer beside the bed.

Tommy didn’t answer with words. Just looked over his shoulder, eyes heavy and dark blue, and gave a slight nod.

Buck came up behind him. He pressed one a kiss to Tommy’s shoulder as he reached for the bottle of lube. His other hand dragged down over the curve of Tommy’s ass, kneading the flesh there once, twice, before pulling him in close.

“Breathe,” Buck murmured into the back of his neck, licking the skin there. “I’ve got you.”

He popped the cap, slicked his fingers.

Sal moaned from beneath them, the sight alone enough to drive him insane.

“Fuck,” he breathed, tugging on the cuffs. “You two…”

“You’re lucky we’re letting you watch,” Buck said, voice sharp again as he pressed deeper. “So shut up and be good.”

Tommy’s hips rocked back against Buck’s hand, needy now.

“Almost ready, babe,” Buck whispered against his shoulder, breath warm. “Then he’s all yours.”

Tommy groaned low in his throat, his hips pressing back into Buck’s steady, slick touch as his fingers worked him open. The heat coming off him rolled over Buck’s skin as he leaned in closer, twisting to catch Buck's lip with his.

“You’re ready,” Buck whispered, pulling his hand away and giving a firm slap to Tommy’s ass before stepping back. His own breath caught for a moment, not from arousal but from the sharp protest in his leg.

He didn’t move to join them on the bed. Didn’t even reach for himself. He wanted to…God, he wanted to but the memory of that white-hot pain in his calf last time, the one that had left him breathless and locked up for half an hour, was enough to keep his hands still. He wouldn’t risk it. Not tonight. Not when just watching them was already burning him alive.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. He lined himself up and sank down slowly, his breath ragged, his hands braced on either side of Sal’s ribs. Sal’s body arched against the cuffs, pulling instinctively toward the source of the pleasure.

“Jesus, T…” Sal’s voice cracked into something hoarse and hungry. “Fuckin' move already."

“Shh,” Tommy murmured, voice all authority and molten patience as he bottomed out. “You’ve been a pain in the ass all night. Now you take what I give you.”

Tommy started to move. Each thrust drew a sound out of Sal that Buck wanted to bottle, that helpless, grateful little groan that lived in surrender. The cuffs rattled. Sal’s heels dug into the mattress.

“You’re watching Ev,” Tommy drawled over his shoulder, rolling his hips lazily. “You gonna make him say your name before I let him come?”

Buck’s mouth curved, but his hands didn’t move from the dresser. “Tempting,” he murmured. “But I’d rather let him sweat. Keep him wondering if I’ll give him anything at all.”

Sal’s chest heaved. “You…” The word broke on a thrust. “…are fucking evil.”

“That’s my boy,” Buck replied, heat curling in every syllable. His eyes stayed locked on Sal’s face, reading every twitch, every attempt to keep himself from spilling over too soon.

Tommy’s pace picked up, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Buck let his head fall back for half a second, breathing through the ache before snapping his gaze forward again.

“I want those pretty eyes on me, Sal,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the air. Sal’s eyes flew open, finding his across the space.

Tommy smirked down at Sal, clearly enjoying the tension snapping between them. “You heard him.”

Sal made a wrecked noise, half-protest, half-need. His body strained against the cuffs, his knuckles white where they wrapped the leather. Arms flexing as he snapped his hips “Please..” The word was torn out of him on a gasp. “Please, pup.”

“Not yet.”

Tommy groaned low, his rhythm stuttering as he caught Buck’s eye. “God, you’re mean.”

Buck just smiled faintly.

Sal whimpered, still locked on Buck’s eyes, the cuffs creaking at his desperate pulls.

Buck pushed himself off the dresser, his limp more pronounced as he moved towards the bed. “Hold still,” he murmured, leaning over Sal. Sal’s eyes flashed as he watched Buck work the buckle loose and then the other.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, brows drawn. “Ev…”

“Shhh,” Buck said without looking at him. “I’m not finished.”

The moment Sal’s wrists were free, Buck’s hand landed hard on his chest, holding Sal in place so he could leaned in, voice low enough for only Sal to hear. “Flip him. Now.”

Sal’s grin was dangerous as he surged up. Tommy let out a startled sound, caught entirely off guard as Sal rolled them hard, pinning him to the mattress with his knees bracketing Tommy’s hips.

Buck stepped back, his mouth curving as Tommy blinked up at Sal, wide-eyed for half a second before his expression melted into hunger.

"Your turn to behave.” Sal’s voice was low, his hands already locking around Tommy’s wrists and shoving them into the pillows.

Tommy’s breath caught, that telltale spark in his eyes igniting as he tested Sal’s hold and found it unmovable.

From his spot at the foot of the bed, Buck leaned on the post, leg eased off the floor. “Funny thing about control, T,” he drawled. “Sometimes it’s only yours because I let you keep it.”

Tommy’s answering groan was half-laugh, half-surrender.

"Give him what he wants Sal." Buck smiled.

Sal’s grin was all teeth as he shifted, pressing against Tommy’s hole.

When Tommy’s gaze flicked past Sal and landed on Buck, he reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing air in Buck’s direction.

Buck’s whole face softened for half a second then shuttered. He shook his head. “No. Don’t.” His leg twitched, his breath too short. But he wasn’t ready to let go. Not of the reins. Not of them.

Tommy froze, pulse thrumming in his throat.

“This isn’t about me,” Buck stated quietly. “Eyes on him. Keep those hands right where Sal puts them.”

 “…Yeah.”

“Good,” Buck murmured, leaning back against the post again.

Tommy’s chest rose and fell faster, pinned and held, his wrists flexing under Sal’s hands as if testing Sal’s hold, only for him to tighten it. Sal leaned down until their foreheads nearly touched. “You heard him,” Sal murmured. “Gonna be a good for me?”

Tommy’s eyes darkened.

“Words, T,” Buck’s voice cut in from the foot of the bed.

“Yes,” Tommy breathed, like it cost him something to say it.

Sal’s smirk widened. “Good.”

He shifted his weight just enough to thrust slow and deep making Tommy groan into the pillow. The rhythm was purposeful not to push him over, but to keep him balanced right there on the edge.

Buck’s gaze tracked every movement, every twitch in Tommy’s jaw. “Slower,” he said, and Sal obeyed instantly, rolling his hips until the pace was maddening.

Tommy’s head turned toward Buck again, lips parting maybe to plead, maybe to curse but Buck just shook his head. “Eyes. On. Him.”

Tommy's pupils widened. His gaze snapped back to Sal, swallowing hard.

“Fuckin’ insane, right,” Sal groaned, sweat dripping from his jaw as he rocked his hips deeper. “That tone. Baby boy been hiding shit from us.”

Tommy hands fisted in the sheets for half a second before Sal caught them again and held him down, pressed into the sweet spot that made his mouth fall open.

“You want it?” Sal dragged the words out all filth and reverence all at once.

Tommy nodded, chest heaving, eyes glassy.

“Yes.”

“Ask.”

“Please.”

Buck rubbed his leg, watching them. “That’s better. Let him have it, Sal.”

Sal didn’t waste a second. His pace shifted from slow torture to a deep, relentless drive that had Tommy breaking apart in under a minute, back arching, hands fisting in the sheets. His release hit hard, a sound catching in his throat as Sal held him down through every pulse of it.

When Tommy finally sagged into the mattress, boneless, Sal released his wrists but stayed hovering over him, breathing hard.

Buck pushed off the post, crossing the room with a measured limp. He ran a hand down Sal’s back, then over Tommy’s sweat-damp hair. "God, you two are a mess.” He kissed Sal’s shoulder, then Tommy’s temple in turn. “My mess.”

Tommy’s eyes fluttered open. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

Buck’s mouth curved as he sank onto the mattress beside them, stretching his leg out. “Of course I did,” he said simply. “Control’s only fun when you know how to share it.”

Tommy was still breathing hard, his forehead pressed to Sal’s shoulder. Sal’s arms had already shifted from holding him down to holding him close, one hand rubbing slow circles into the small of his back.

Buck leaned in and he realized he was weighing down the sheet twisted around Sal and Tommy’s feet. He pushed himself up, moving to free their limbs and winced as a tight pull shot through his lower back and up the side of his leg.

It wasn’t searing pain. Just a sharp tug, warning him that he’d overdone it.

“Buck.” Sal’s voice was low, the kind of tone that didn’t invite argument.

Buck glanced up, caught between guilt and instinct. “I’m fine,” he said automatically, then sighed, clarifying. “Just tight.”

“You stayed on that leg too long,” Sal said, already shifting to sit up. His hand curled around Buck’s wrist. “Lay the fuck down.”

Before Buck could argue, Tommy tugged at his shirt again, gentler this time. “C’mere,” he mumbled. "Want you."

Sal guided Buck between them, carefully easing him down, one arm slipping behind his back while Tommy curled in from the other side. A pillow was tucked behind Buck’s knee, and Sal's warm hands started kneading circles into his calf.

“You were so good for us,” Sal murmured against his temple. “Ran the whole show. Like a fuckin’ ring master.”

Tommy hummed, already half-asleep. “Five stars,” he mumbled.

Buck chuckled softly. “You gonna leave a Yelp review?”

Sal didn’t answer right away just pressed a kiss to the side of Buck’s head, thumb stroking along his jaw. “Better,” he said. “I’m gonna make you breakfast in the morning. Both of you. You earned it.”

Tommy was already drifting, cheek pillowed on Buck’s bare chest, one arm flung across his stomach. Buck’s hand rested in Tommy’s hair, but his blue eyes were locked on Sal's.

Soft. Open. Unmistakably in love.