I write stuff.

Most of my fics can also be found here on a03

Everything I post here on tumblr is tagged with #owlishwritings or exclusive/abandoned snippets #owl's tumblr

Bucktommy (9-1-1)

Good Teacher: Short Bottom!Tommy ficlet. (E)

Keeping You: Buck just wants to keep this. (E)

Praise: This time, it's Tommy on the receiving end of some praise. (E)

Smutty Drabble (E)

The past: Something dark about the past. (M)

Naughty texts from Buck (M)

Want: Buck wants. (T)

Devotion: Tommy just wants Buck to stay safe. (T)

Bad News: Tommy is taking care of Buck. (T)

Long Day: Some negotiations between Tommy and Buck. (T)

Getting Hurt: Buck narrowly escapes getting hurt rather badly. (T)

Migrane: Tommy takes care of Buck (T)

Past Nightmares: Tommy had dealings with the NCIS in the past. (T)

Mafia AU

Inception AU

Charmed AU (ramblings)

Reconnection (E)

Buck's grief (T)

Rules (T)

Old Habits Die Hard (T)

Shovel Talk (G)

Falling Apart: Buck falls apart, Tommy's there to catch him (T)

Dreaming about you (E)

Saltommy (9-1-1)

At Work: Skirting the line about what you can get away with in the showers at work. (E)

About Begging: Sal giving up on telling Tommy not to beg (E)

Playing a Little Meaner: Featuring a toy, Sal being mean and some name-calling. (E)

Sal's lap (E)

Worship: Tommy worships Sal. (E)

Teasing (E)

Lazy Afternoons (E)

Suit: Sal is wearing a suit. Tommy is kind of losing his mind. (M)

Nightmares: Tommy still has nightmares from his time in the army. Sal is good at comforting him. (T)

Protective: Sal shows how protective he is about Tommy when some idiot spews nonsense at a scene. (T)

Love: Sal confessing (T)

Family Ties (T)

Kids: A sweet little something about Sal handling kids. (G)

Hugs and Kisses (T)

Gerrad's Orders (T)

Name (E)

Stop All The Clocks (T)

To Feel It Completely (E)

First Time Bottoming for Sal (E)

Salbucktommy

Probie!Buck (G, for this snippet)

Trip to Italy (E), Part II

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

Biker Boy Dreams: Stiles having a thing for Derek in leather (E)

How To Be A Tease: What it says on the tin. Stiles is being a tease. (E)

Caught in the Act: Scott getting an eye full of Sterek action. (E)

Gentlemen Don't Kiss and Tell: Discussion between Allison and Stiles about certain part of werewolf anatomy. (M)

A Head Filled With Voices: Which is about Stiles's self-worth. (T)

Lydia's reaction to Stiles/Derek (T)

Nature's Call (T)

Rockon (S.W.A.T.)

Touch-starved Rocker part I and part II (T)

Hungry Eyes: Five times they fuck, while it's still an affair - and one time after. An earlier snippet from this fic is here. (E)

Hard Truths: Annie finds out about Rockon and slaps Rocker. (T)

You're Not Tommy: Rockon + Evan, After the break-up Evan meets Rocker and Deacon. Also a sequel with Rocker calling Tommy. (E)

Jealous Deacon: One of Rocker's exes flirts with him, and Deacon gets jealous. (T)

Keep Me: Deacon is spending the night at Rocker's. (E)

Past Ghosts (M)

Who Hurt You (E)

First Time Bottoming for Deacon (E)

Rockie Verse II (T)

Other Ships

Tarlos, Jealousy (T)

Tarlos, Sleepy Passion (E)

Ruca (S.W.A.T) Toys: On their day off, Rocker and Luca test out a new toy. (M)

"Hey," the hand on his cheek was an anchor point; one that Sal would have gladly taken if only the sea of his thoughts hadn't tried to drag him under so hard. "Breathe, Tori. You want me to pull out?"

"No!" Sal was surprised his voice sounded steady. "Don't move. Please don't—" He bit his tongue.

"Hush," Tommy soothed, holding entirely still between Sal's thighs, probably straining not to take advantage of how tight Sal was doubtless around his cock; Sal knew he was, he could feel it from the other side, and fuck did it feel tight. "Breathe. God Tori, you're the most stubborn person I know. We can pause this, take a break and try again—"

"D-don't," Sal said again, just that one word. Not steady this time.

"Relax," Tommy insisted. "I know it's a lot. The first time. But you have to relax a little, you're killing me here."

"Y-you can—"

"I absolutely can not, shut up."

Sal shut up, swallowing hard. He tried to breathe, to remember how muscles worked and how to unclench at least his jaw, which honestly had very little to do with the cock currently all the way inside him and feeling massive in a way that was entirely Tommy's fault.

"'Course you freak are fucking hung," Sal complained thinly, and he inhaled again to add whatever other nonsense he could come up with, but Tommy wisely caught that in a kiss.

For some reason, it was easier to calm down with Tommy's tongue in his mouth. Sal wasn't sure he liked the implications, but he liked being kissed a lot. And he knew how to pick his battles.

"Yeah, okay," Sal muttered between them when Tommy finally had to breathe.

"Are you—"

"Yes," Sal said with more confidence than he felt.

It seemed to be enough for Tommy. Slowly, surely, Tommy rocked his hips forward, and Sal heard himself make an embarrassing noise, exhaling with too much sound. He did it again when Tommy thrust forward the next time and then a third time, louder when Tommy somehow found an angle that made Sal's shoulders try to rise off the sheets.

"Just like that," Tommy muttered, finding the same angle again, and Sal couldn't keep track of his voice, much less the way his hands clung, when Tommy kept going for that devastatingly steady rhythm that made Sal feel like he was fraying apart.

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But the noise Sal made. That noise that rang clear despite its breathlessness, and skittered down Tommy's spine like a physical thing, curled heavy in his gut.

"Not too tight, is it?"

Tommy didn't recognise his own voice like this, low and demanding, and vaguely taunting. Sal's eyes were wide and dark. Pupil swallowing all the rest, and dimming his gaze into something drunk and heady.

He forced himself to breathe. Focus on the hand at the back of his neck, the pressure of Tommy's knuckles, the pulse of leather against his throat.

"No," Sal rasped, and again. "No, it's not." He tasted the edge of a harsh laugh in his own voice. "It's good."

Tommy hummed, endlessly pleased. "Wanna play?"

Almost of their own accord, his legs spread wide, leaving a very obvious open space between his thighs on the ground next to the bed. He wasn't sure if Sal wanted an order, if he needed it. Tommy had no problems making it into one.

But maybe this was better. Forcing Sal to show exactly where he wanted to be, even when he was so hesitant with his words, making Tommy drag them out of him.

He dropped his hand slowly from Sal's neck, fingers spread as Tommy touched Sal's chest on the way down, thumbing at a nipple, before trailing further down. His exploration stopped just short of where the coarse hair on Sal's stomach was thickest, diverting over his thigh.

Tommy let himself grin, leaning back on his palms. An offer, an invitation.

Sal’s body moved before his brain could catch up, a clumsy drop to his knees that scuffed the rug and sent a dull ache up his shins. The collar drew a line of heat around his throat, every breath tugging against the buckle and the soft material, broadcasting his own pulse that’s loud in his ears.

The thing was, out there… in the station, on the job, at any given bar, he’d talk over anyone, even Tommy if the mood suited him. No one got the last word on Salvatore unless he let them have it.

But here, in Tommy’s orbit, with his eyes fixed on him, that need for power and control vaporized. Tommy didn’t even have to order him to kneel. Sal went down without command.

He hated how much he liked it.

Tommy’s gaze burned down. Sal tried to meet it, tried to hold out, but the attention alone was enough to make his chest hollow out. He wanted.. fuck he didn’t even know. Only that Tommy’s approval was addictive, and his disappointment left a bruise that Sal would tongue for days.

Tommy couldn't believe his luck. How had he ended up here with this man that had caught his attention from the very first moment, had kept it always -- how did he deserve to be looked at with such devotion?

"You look so pretty like this, Tori," Tommy reached for Sal's jaw, tilting his face up. The reaction was beautiful: A shaky inhale, sweet rosiness spreading slowly as Tommy watched.

Sal's eyes fluttered, and Tommy couldn't help but wonder if his lashes had always been so dark, the colour in those irises always like the horizon sky melting into the darker layers above.

His fingers went to the collar, brushing the outside, then hooking between the leather and Sal's heated skin like a call to attention. Sal shivered visibly, but his body stayed all loose and trusting. All that Tommy felt was awe.

"You're so quiet."

Sal's mouth opened, but even when Tommy waited, nothing came out. He counted one, two, three in his head. Then, he pulled Sal in, leaning down to kiss him, hoping that he managed to pour everything into that lip lock. His affection, his adoration. How much he wanted Sal.

Tommy made himself draw back, fingers over the smooth leather. Over Sal's throat, where his pulse was hammering so wildly, it felt like it was bleeding into Tommy's skin.

"You still good?"

A nod. Sal tried for words, found only a rasp, and nodded again.

Tommy’s thumb smoothed the line of Sal’s jaw. He loved the roughness there.

“Alright,” he murmured and the way he took charge of the room made Sal’s skin shiver with anticipation. “Hands behind your back.”

Sal folded his arms behind, knuckles pressing into the small of his back, shoulders drawn like he was about to accept a medal or a punishment.

“That’s it,” Tommy said, nodding approval. He leaned in, giving Sal every chance to balk. Sal held still, knees burning now, but the heat in his body made it impossible to notice much else.

Tommy thumbed the corner of Sal’s lip. “Open.”

Tommy pressed down on Sal's tongue, letting the saliva gather. He felt Sal suck like an impulse. Sal had always enjoyed having something in his mouth; it didn't even matter if it was only fingers. But Tommy didn't intend to stop there.

He pulled free with a wet plop, watching as Sal's mouth hung open, eyes imploring, but every line of him perfectly obedient, staying right where Tommy had put him. Tommy dragged a thumb over the corner of Sal's mouth, wet fingers brushing his cheek.

"C'mere," he demanded, and reached to give his half-hard cock a few pulls.

Sal shuffled forward, breathing slightly unsteady, eyes on the grip of Tommy's fingers. As if he didn't already flatter Tommy more with that hunger in his expression alone, he liked his lips in a move that was probably subconscious. Tommy bit down on a groan.

He used the collar to direct Sal closer and feed him his cock. His movements were careful and steady, telegraphed openly. Sal looked up at Tommy, and even when his eyes became a little unfocused, he didn't break the contact, sinking down with Tommy's direction.

Tommy held him there, waiting for Sal's reaction. But, oh, Sal only seemed to relax more and more with each moment. So willing, so sweet.

He guided Sal, waiting for even the tiniest hitch that might mean stop. There was none.

Sal’s lips sealed tight, damp heat around Tommy enough to make his breathing shift. Sal took him like he was meant for it. Collar and all. The urge to mark the moment, to say something cutting or clever, fizzled out.

The sight made Tommy’s throat knot. Sal’s hands locked behind his back, face upturned, sweat starting at his temple and a flush creeping across his cheekbones. Obedient. So unlike every other moment outside this room, and so goddamn right.

Tommy nearly laughed at the cosmic joke of it.

He kept the laugh in. Barely. Instead, Tommy focused on the little wet click in the back of Sal's throat every time he pushed forward far enough. That was the only little bit of resistance, even as Tommy's hands went to cup the sides of Sal's jaw.

"Swallow," he rasped, and pulled Sal forward all the way.

He saw the shift in Sal's shoulders as his hands flinched, before the tension eased again. Sal trembled, but didn't fight Tommy's hold, not even a little.

Fuck. This level of trust made Tommy's head spin; it stroked the heat in his core.

He let Sal up a little, watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled as best as he could with his spit-slick lips still firmly wrapped around Tommy's cock. Tommy grit his teeth, willing himself not to come apart right there to the thought and the feeling of that hot-tight-sweet mouth around him.

"Look at me," he demanded, fingers digging into Sal's skin.

Sal's eyes were watery, blown wide. He looked like he was only half there, floating. Like he felt really, really good.

Tommy let himself smile -- and dragged Sal in again with a thumb over his throat, feeling the skin there bulge.

Sal tipped his chin, opened wider, and forced himself to relax, coughing once against the sensation and then, with a swallow, let Tommy in deeper. The leather of the collar bit into his neck, a constant reminder of exactly what was being asked of him, what he was letting happen. His knees ached, but his world had narrowed to Tommy's cock, the slide of skin, the taste of him… salt, musk, a metallic tang that caught behind Sal's teeth. His vision blurred at the corners as Tommy jerked a few times, “Tori… then stilled to let Sal breathe through his nose, spit pooling at the corners of Sal's mouth, a sharp sting in his jaw that he welcomed. He focused on the rhythm, proving that he could do this… no, that he could do it better than anyone. Tommy liked to say Sal was a show-off; he’d fucking show him. He let his tongue flatten, relaxing his throat felt Tommy rumble of approval somewhere behind his ribcage.

Tommy groaned.

"Just like that," he muttered, unable to stop himself from touching the corners of Sal's wide-stretched mouth in reverence. "Just like that. So good for me, sweetheart."

A shudder ran through Sal at the touch, or the pet name, or the way Tommy kept fucking his mouth with barely kept control. Tommy didn't know. But it took away none of the determination underneath, that strong-willed mind that Tommy adored.

He could have let himself come like that easily, and he was of half a mind to do just that. But Tommy wanted Sal to allow himself to be soft here, to give himself up so completely that all he could do was feel the pleasure Tommy dealt.

"Mhm, that's enough of that," Tommy heard himself say. "Come up here."

He touched the collar again, hooking two fingers under it. Sal blinked up at him, breathing raggedly. But he didn't need more than the suggestion to move, to let himself be pulled up right into Tommy's lap. Sal settled clumsily and heavily, but Tommy steadied him with ease, dragging him into the cradle of his hips, letting their cock's brush together just to hear Sal moan.

"So hard just from sucking cock," Tommy taunted, twisting his fingers to make the fit of the collar tight. "Just for me."

Sal's fist clench where they rest, knuckles white with the effort of staying still, straying silent. The words burn in his throat, but he swallows them down, focusing on Tommy's touch instead. He bites his tongue, literally, the urge to push back almost as strong as the need to please.

Tommy's grip on the collar tightens slightly and Sal fought not to whimper at the pressure. The struggle between submission and defiance burned through him, a war he was losing willingly.

"I can feel you fighting it," Tommy tsked, the slight disapproval slid through Sal's chest. "Always gotta push back, don't you, sweetheart?"

Sal's breath caught as Tommy's free hand slid down his back, fingers racing each knob of his spine before settling at the just above where his hands were still obediently clasped.

"You're allowed to speak," Tommy told him, thumb tracing along the edge of the collar. "Tell me what you want."

The permission unlocked something in Sal's brain, but the words tumbled out rough, "I want..." he swallowed hard, feeling the leather shift against his Adan's apple. "I want whatever you want."

Tommy laughed, shook his head, "that's not what I asked, shithead."

Sal closed his eyes, the nickname sending another tremor through him. His cock throbbed painfully where it pressed against Tommy's, the friction maddening but not enough.

The words tore from his throat like barbed wire. "I want you to fuck me." His jaw clenched, eyes flashing defiance even as his voice cracked on the last syllable. "Please," he added, softer.

Tommy hummed. He should have made Sal wait, dragged this all out. But he was achingly hard, cock spit-slick in the cool air.

It was Sal's luck that he begged so sweetly.

There was no warning for Sal before Tommy grabbed his hips and flipped them over, all but tossing him on the bed. Predictably, Sal yelped, and his hands shot out to steady himself. Tommy decided to be mean about it.

"What did I say?" he demanded when he grabbed Sal's wrists, and when Sal didn't respond: "Answer me."

"T-to keep them--"

Tommy bullied his way between Sal's thighs, ripping his hands up over his head and pinning them there. He watched Sal's eyes widen, his fingers twitch even as he went unresistingly.

"What's that?" Tommy tauned.

"To keep them there, sir."

The little o-shape of Sal's mouth told Tommy everything about how intentional that address had been. Sal swallowed hard, tensing.

"Tommy--"

"Oh, I like that, Tori," Tommy cut in. "Say it again."

"S-sir," Sal repeated, the word catching in his throat like a hook. Heat rushed up his neck, spilling across his face. Saying it made his insides twist, deeper than embarrassment, almost like shame coiled around dark thrill that flared up his spine. Tommy's eyes went molten, his grip on Sal's wrist tightened, thumbs stroking over where Sal's pulse jumped.

"Good boy."

The praise sank into Sal's bones, he couldn't hold Tommy's gaze, he twisted his head to the side, exposing more of his neck where the collar sat snug against his skin, he glared at the wall as his eyes burned.

Tommy's mouth was wet-hot against Sal's neck, connecting just above the collar and working his way to the hinge of Sal's jaw. He left a trail of kisses, trying to make Sal understand what he clearly didn't, first with actions alone and then when he whispered a firm promise:

"I've got you, Tori." His grip on Sal's wrist turned tight for a moment. "Keep them there for me."

He could have slapped himself with his lack of foresight, having to lean back and to the side to reach the side table. His fingers were already slick when Tommy settled back between Sal's thighs. He stopped, watching the display under him: this strong, capable body all laid out for him, while Sal's eyes were still fixed on the wall.

Tommy trailed his hand down his own body, teasing himself with how slowly he was moving. Putting on a show as he wrapped a hand around his cock, stroked. He could have ordered Sal to look at him, but this was better; this was getting the attention of those clear eyes by working for it.

Sal's eyes flickered to the movement, drawn like a magnet to Tommy's hand working over himself. He couldn't help the deliberate strokes that commanded his attention. His mouth went dry as he watched Tommy's thumb circle the head of his cock.

"You want this?" Tommy asked knowingly. Sal nodded, eyes so fuckin’ blue as he wet his lips. He growled softly, frustrated at how the words tangled in his throat. His nostrils flared. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. "Fuck. Yes," Sal managed to choke out. Tommy released his cock, slicked his fingers further, and leaned forward. "Keep those hands where they are," he reminded as he reached down between them.

Sal swallowed hard; he fucking swallowed with that beautiful collar still around his throat. The way it shifted was tantalising, making Tommy want to grip it and twist it so much tighter. Perhaps Tommy was a bit cruel with the two fingers he pressed inside in response to that. But he knew Sal could take it.

And Sal did. He took them beautifully, the muscles in his arms popping with how tightly he held onto the sheets, scrambling for a headboard that was out of reach by Tommy's careful design. Tommy wanted to wreck Sal, and now that he had his attention back, he would.

When Sal moaned, Tommy repeated the careful spread of his fingers, dragging them almost all the way out, before hooking them back inside. Sal's feet slid in the sheets, thighs trembling where Tommy had them caught over his bent arms.

"Good boy," he cooed again, giving Sal a third finger, feeling the tight fit. "Such a good boy."

Tommy preened at how prettily Sal responded. He kept up the slow, brutal rhythm until Sal started to strain, hips rocking up to meet the pressure of his hand. The slick noises between them grew louder, obscene. Tommy couldn’t stop grinning. He wanted to see Sal break, to see him come apart at the seams, all that hard-earned composure disintegrating into need, and want he so rarely lets himself have. He pressed his thumb against the base of Sal’s cock, watched Sal's hands flex against the mattress. The war is back, with the second flex of fingers, so Tommy covers his hand with his and pushes it back into the mattress as a reminder.

"Beg," he coaxes, pushing another finger just to the knuckle and holding it there. "C’mon baby, can do better than that."

Sal’s throat bobbed, and he made a rasping sound, a cross between a curse and a whimper. He looked ruined already, eyes glassy, skin red from the chest up. He tried to arch his back and Tommy pressed him firmly to the sheets. The only thing Sal could move was his mouth, and he did. "Please, sir…” The words came out thin, desperate and much to Sal’s horror, needy. "Want you, please, need you, fuckin’ Christ Tom… fuck me."

Tommy pulled his fingers free with a filthy sound and used that same hand to strip his cock hard a few times, spreading the access slick. He didn't look away from Sal, though, wouldn't have known how with how close he was to shattering so sweetly for him.

"Oh, Tory. You're doing so well," he praised, and paused long enough to see the relief on Sal's face, before adding: "Try some more."

If Sal noticed the way Tommy's fingers dug into his thigh in a bid to steady himself, he gave no indication. The expression on his face was shocked, the sweet denial breaking him open. Sal's breathing hitched, almost a sob.

"Please, please," Sal babbled, finally, perfectly vulnerable. "I'll be so good for you, sir. Don't you want to fuck me?" and his hand reached down to bare his hole between the V-shape of his fingers. "Gonna feel so good, be so tight, for you, sir. All for-- Tommy!"

The shout of his name rang loud through the bedroom, almost seemed to bounce off the walls, but all Tommy could hear was the roaring in his ears as he buried himself to the hilt in one hard thrust.  

He was almost mindless with it, but not enough to ignore the shiver that ran through Sal's whole body, the pleasure-pain that Tommy knew from intimate experience. It gave him pause, made him still for long enough to realise that Sal had moved without permission.

Tommy had made Sal a promise. He couldn't let him skirt the rules now. So, he pinned Sal down by the collar, hearing him whine sharply, and demanded, "Hands."

It took a few seconds for Sal's eyes to clear enough that he understood what Tommy meant. He let go of Tommy's shoulders in increments, reaching up slowly.

"Good boy," he hissed, voice dangerous.

Sal shuddered at the word. There was a darkness that knew exactly how to glow, and it pulled at things in Sal that he tried to keep hidden. With Tommy holding him by the collar, every instinct screamed at him to fight, to break away. He dug his nails into his own palms instead, starbursts of pain, he wanted this. Tommy moved, hips rolling, and made Sal feel every inch. It was excruciating, the way he didn't move fast enough, the push-pull between their bodies a torment Sal. But the slow thrusts made his nerves flicker at every point of contact, dragged him in until the white noise in his head was only Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

The collar pressed deeper as Tommy's hand flexed. Sal gasped, head angled further to bare his neck. A thread of drool escaped the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t care, couldn’t think. There was nothing left of him in this moment except the sensation of being filled and held and wanted. Really fucking wanted, in a way that was more brutal than gentle, he panted.

Tommy watched the shift in Sal. He traded slow and steady for harder thrusts. His hips shifted back and then forward with force, holding there, before doing it again. Every time he seated himself, Sal cried out, head tossing, and body twisting under Tommy even while there was no way to go.

It took every bit of willpower he possessed, but Tommy pushed forward and stayed there, stilling completely even as his body protested the same way Sal did under him with wordless vocalisations. He leaned down, pushing the collar up and sucking a bruise right in the place where it would rest. So high up that Sal would bitch about it later.

But Tommy couldn't quite help himself and barely kept himself from using his teeth. He licked over the mark when he was satisfied. Sal trembled under him, watery eyes unfocused.

"Mine," Tommy whispered, full of possessiveness, far too greedy, but he didn't care. "You're mine."

Sal whined sharply and clenched down in a way that was definitely not intentional. Tommy clenched his teeth and groaned as he ground forward, making both their breaths hitch.

"Yeah? You want to be mine?"

When Sal opened his mouth, Tommy withdrew and seated himself deep again. Instead of words, he got a shout. His grin was hungry and dark as he picked up the pace.

"Yeah. You're all mine."

"Yours," Sal gasped. "Tom. Yours."

Tommy inhaled sharply. "Touch me."

Sal reached up tracing along the rigid lines of Tommy's chest. He hooked his fingers in the taut muscle above Tommy's ribs, pulling him closer. The world telescoped down, full of salty sweat and the animal noise Tommy made in his ear. The sudden freedom to touch made every nerve in Sal’s hands come alive; he dug his nails into Tommy's back. Tommy hips snapping as the bed frame shuddered against the drywall. Sal clung, wild, his head canted back as Tommy rocked into him over and over. He could see nothing but heat-shimmer and Tommy’s jaw gritted in focus, could taste nothing but spit and the sharp tang where Tommy bit him. Tommy’s growls, punctuated only by the slap of skin and Sal’s own choked moans. He lost track of his body, surrendered entirely to the rhythm, to where Tommy filled him. Sal had been trying to hold off, to savor the stretch and burn, but the way Tommy's cock hit his prostate, nearly shoved him over the edge with a whine that was pitiful.

Tommy's vision blurred around the edges as his muscles locked. His orgasm wrecked him, hollowing him out to the point that all he wanted to do was flop down on the bed and somehow get his heart rate under control. But they weren't done, not quite.

He grabbed Sal's collar, pulling him up by the leather until their lips were almost touching, and then whispered right into the space between their mouths, as he rolled his hips, grinding his softening cock deeper: "Come for me, my good boy."

Sal's breath caught, and he came so hard between them that it made a mess of absolutely everything. Tommy dove in for a kiss, doing all the work as Sal clumsily tried to hold onto him, nails digging in viciously.

He lowered them both down, thoroughly exhausted and barely aware enough to shift his weight off, Sal. When Sal pawed at him clumsily, Tommy almost misunderstood and rolled away, but a whine and surprisingly precise nails got him on the right program, tucking Sal close, definitely making the mess between them worse, but really not in any state of mind to care. There was a bit of white right under Sal's jaw that Tommy swiped away with a tender gesture and then proceeded to lick off his thumb.

He reached to undo the clasp of the collar, but Sal twisted away and said something that was all vowels, which made no sense to Tommy. He inquired with a soft: "Hm?"

"'eave it."

Sal's voice cracked, but the message was clear enough.

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"E-evan—"

"Hush," Buck cooed, and there was the rustle of fabric shifting behind him as he shifted to get more comfortable.

Tommy wanted to scream. When Buck dragged a nail right over that spot, he nearly did. There was a wet sound of Buck's fingers dragging out and pumping back in again; idly, almost mindlessly. Like Tommy was no more than a toy.

"C-can't—"

"You're nearly there," Buck promised sweetly for about the dozenth time. "But you know we can always stop. We'll just have to start again."

Tommy couldn't see the clock; he didn't know how much time was left. When he blinked, tears ran down his cheeks.

"Stop?" Buck prompted, voice neutral.

Tommy shook his head, and the fingers twisted up; punishing. He gasped: "Don't stop."

He couldn't see Buck smile, but it was plain in his voice: "Good boy."

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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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"Breathe," and then, fucking into that tight impossible heat again. "Just take it. All you have to do is take it. Let me do all the rest."

Tommy moaned, arched, and then proceeded to go limp under Buck, shivering when Buck pulled him back onto his cock with the next movement and somehow slipped in a little deeper.

"Fuck," Tommy dragged the sound, almost sing-songing the curse.

It made Buck snicker. But it didn't make him speed up.

"You said, and I quote—"

"Fuck what I said," Tommy tried to say, only it came out a lot less coherent.

"Nah," Buck drawled, keeping the rhythm achingly slow. "You have the best ideas. Don't move your hands."

Tommy groaned.

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Tommy was sorry immediately that his anger had gotten the better of him. But he was fairly certain it didn't translate to his face. Tommy didn't want it to translate, to be visible — this stupid face which gave so much away (and also not: Always a cold mask when it mattered; when his best friend had needed him.)

The man — boy, he was so painfully young, maybe not even twenty yet — spluttered and good god he was cute.

"I-I just," he stopped and then seemed to rally himself, before he started again. Somewhat. "I wanted to say. You. I see you here a lot—"

Oh god, was this boy gonna hit on him? Tommy had so many other problems, prime among them the very one why it was cruel of the universe to send him this sweet curled-haired thing. God, why was he thinking that?

"— you know about rest days, right? Y-you might hurt yourself?"

"…what?" Tommy said again, dumbfounded.

For a beat, they both blinked at each other. Like they didn't quite speak the same language. Maybe they didn't. Tommy doubted this boy had ever had the misfortune of wanting something so badly and knowing he absolutely could never let himself have it. This boy wasn't gay. There was no way.

"A-anyway," the boy finished. "I just wanted to… you know, I'm a trainer here, and clearly you know what you're doing, but I just wanted to say. You should probably incorporate rest days into your play. Okay. Bye."

Tommy watched him go.

But it only took like three more machines (and rather hasty sets) before all the anger had fizzled out. What Tommy was left with was guilt. He wasn't like this, he really wasn't.

Maybe this was something at least that he could work on.

When Tommy walked up to the counter, his face schooled into something neutral, something friendly; the boy's lips — his name tag said 'Buck' — faltered for a bit at spotting him, going from embarrassed and then a little sheepish. That blush went all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Ah. It's you," Buck said. "I meant to come back to say sorry. My boss told me you're a firefighter and might have… something to deal with. You know. Because your work is probably not easy. I didn't mean to bud in."

"No, that's—" Tommy trailed off. "I'm Tommy."

Buck did a double-take. "E-evan."

Evan, huh?

"You could make it up to me," Tommy heard himself say. "By taking me out for coffee."

Evan blinked. Harder than before. And then, of all reactions he could have had: His lips split wide into a bright smile, and those baby blues fucking twinkled. Good god, Tommy was a fucking masochist to do this to himself.

"Yeah, absolutely! I'll be done in 30 minutes, if you want to take your time changing?"

Tommy, like a lunatic, agreed.

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"I'm not judging!" Buck said immediately, resisting the urge to do something entirely childish like stomping a foot. Even though he kind of wanted to. His hands made up for it, fluttering around in big gestures without Buck even trying. "I'm just saying it's a little mean."

Tommy tossed his keys onto the sideboard and fully turned to Buck; it wasn't a full laugh now, nor a smile. Those teeth were grinning sharply, a little darkly in a way that promised things.

"I thought you liked it a little mean, Evan."

Buck wasn't prudish. Or easily embarrassed. It was just... Tommy. All that muscle mass on his arms and the big hands reaching for Buck, finding his bicep in a way that shouldn't be hot; the line of the jaw and the stubble; the dark hair too and the faintest grey; and fuck yes, that stupid cleft too, of course Buck was into it.

"Sweetheart," Tommy muttered, sounding positively delighted. "You're blushing."

"Your fault," Buck muttered, and Tommy huffed: "Yeah, yes, I imagine it is. Let me at least make it up to you."

The sentence trailed off into a kiss, the last words barely a breath between them as Buck bridged the last sliver of space himself, reaching for Tommy's hips to keep him right there as Buck worked on kissing him silly. Or the other way around. Not that it mattered.

"Do you know what the difference is between the couple in the restaurant and us?"

The couple that had sat only a few tables away, one of them shifting the whole uncomfortably in his seat the whole evening, while the other kept slipping a hand into the pocket of his jeans with eyes that grew darker and darker in the low light. Buck knew because jeans guys had made eye contact, head tilting when Buck didn't look away until Tommy noticed to, and linked their ankles under the table.

Buck gasped. The hands on his ass had come from nowhere, and Tommy knew exactly what he was doing when he squeezed, making Buck moan as the plug inside him shifted deliciously. Tommy nipped at his ear, and the shiver that went through Buck all but wrecked him: "Still good, Evan?"

"So good," Buck sighed, arms coming up around Tommy's neck as he leaned forward. Tommy caught his weight, humming, and the leg pressing between Buck's thighs was nothing if not perfectly placed.

"What's... the difference?" Buck prompted, already breathless.

Tommy caught Buck's jaw, kissing him again. Briefly, fondly. Sweet like a piece of candy.

Buck shivered when Tommy said in a voice as low as Buck had ever heard: "I know my boy can take it without squirming."

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Buck found himself nodding before he'd caught up with his own movement. He could see it. He could see Sal standing between Tommy and a wall of bureaucracy without budging an inch, the way he'd stood between Buck and his own worst thoughts more than once now. Would keep standing.

Then Buck thought about the cutlery in the sink and the way Sal was hovering in the kitchen but decidedly not cooking anything. About the fact that neither of them had eaten, probably, in a while. Buck pressed a kiss to Tommy's hair and slid out from under him.

"Stay there."

Tommy pouted, which was mean, because it almost made Buck move right back into position. Almost. "Where're you going?"

"To cook. Don't argue."

Tommy looked at him for a moment, surprised in a way that was small and unguarded, and Buck felt something settle in his own chest at the sight of it.

"Okay," Tommy said, and Buck was moved to the pantry.

It was still organised in Sal's particular system, which Buck only understood about sixty percent of, even now. Something that he'd have to put his foot down about. Only, knowing Sal, he'd cave delightfully easily if Buck asked the right way.

For the moment, Buck worked with what he could find without asking. Pasta. Garlic. The cheaper olive oil in the back, because the good one was for finishing only, and he didn't have the nerve. A can of tomatoes. Anchovies, which Buck was learning to be braver about. ("They're just anchovies, Evan," said fondly, sweetly; with a kiss pressed to the crown of Buck's head.)

Sal came off the phone with a noise that might have started life as a curse in Italian before it had been swallowed. There was a pause, then footsteps, and then Sal's hand was settling on Buck's hip as he came to stand beside Buck at the counter.

"Evan. What are you doing?"

"Cooking."

"You don't have to--"

"I know."

Buck didn't look at him, just started chopping. He could feel Sal hesitating beside him, the visible internal effort of someone who had been on the phone for too long, trying to redirect that energy into something gentler. Sal let out a long breath before he spoke.

"At least let me--"

"Tori," Buck said firmly, but not unkindly. "Sit down."

There was a pause. Then a huff of a laugh, surprised and not displeased. The line of Sal's mouth turned cheeky: "Yes, sir."

Buck went pink and tried not to be obvious about it. Sal kissed the back of his shoulder once, twice, before drifting over to the couch. From the corner of his eye, Buck saw him fold down beside Tommy, who immediately and without comment turned to fit himself along Sal's side.

Sal exhaled like he had been waiting all evening to do it.

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A cruel instinct made Sal want to sneer something like 'do this a lot, do you?', only he bit down on it, because even in his fucked up head, he realised that it was a bit too obviously showing his hand. Or perhaps Buck knew anyway. Still, he didn't waver.

"Alright," Sal allowed, not even sure how he hadn't ended up at a resounding 'no'. It was something about Buck. This ridiculous puppy of a man, who smiled brightly and immediately promised to text Sal the address from his car.

"See you in a bit!"

He wasn't wrong. Sal arrived at the dinner-style place less than twenty minutes later and parked next to Buck's jeep. Perhaps there were some backroads he didn't know of, because Sal was very sure he'd pulled out of the parking lot at the firehouse first.

If Sal's nondescript irritation at the situation as a whole showed at all, Buck didn't let on. He just led Sal into the restaurant, and never once, between going inside and sitting down and ordering, stopped keeping up a conversation that was somehow easy and flowing without becoming superficial. Sal couldn't pin him down. Not at all.

"Did you know that spider silk is one of the strongest naturally occurring materials by weight?" Buck asked, with his chin resting in his palm. It looked lazy, almost, but the way he kept considering Sal was too calculating for that. "Once a net is spun, it's structurally sound. Durable too."

"I feel like you're trying to make a point," Sal said. "There's no need to lead me to make my own conclusions; you could just tell me."

Buck gave him a lopsided grin. "Have you always been this alike? Or is it because you've been partners for so long?"

The way Buck said that word, partners, was heavy beyond reason. Back in the day, Sal had realised its weight once, just once, and then forced himself to shove it all back down and never think about 'this is Tommy, my partner' ever again.

"It was like that for me with my partner for a while. Eddie," Buck went on, when Sal made no move to reply. "But that one ended a bit badly. He moved. Then came back. He has a bit of an anger issue."

Sal controlled his flinch. But something must have shown in his expression, because Buck's eyebrows rose. "It's a different story."

"When I left the 118, it was out of anger as well," Sal heard himself say, aware that the words could cut him, but unable to stop himself. Damn those pretty curls and the honest expression on Buck's face. Part of Sal wanted to give away much, much more than just a few minor truths about the past.

"That's not how Tommy tells it," Buck said. "He said Bobby transferred you because you were too good at leading."

Sal looked up from his food, a little stunned. "It feels like that's a little biased."

Buck shot back immediately: "Sure. Because Tommy cares about you."

Sal had walked into that one. Barreled straight into the knife that was always right there, just waiting to cut him. Sal should know better at this point.

There was a merciful streak in Buck because he pivoted the conversation. Not quite without letting on that he was doing it, but still. Sal asked him about work, and Buck sighed, making a motion with his hand that indicated it was all a bit difficult even before he admitted it. Sal really had no leg to stand on in demanding more details, so he didn't.

When they finally paid and left, the parking lot was already mostly empty; it distinctly felt like that was by design. Or if it wasn't, Buck at least took hold of the opportunity before Sal could even fully gather it was one. One moment, he stood next to his car, trying to find a way to say goodbye without being too mean or too honest.

The next, Buck stepped into Sal's space, hand curved around the side of his neck, and kissed him. Unhurried, open-mouthed, like he had all the time in the world. Sal could feel the kiss hook into his heartstrings, and it was hard to fight the meaning behind it.

He swallowed hard when Buck let him go. "You and Tommy are together."

"Will you keep using that as an excuse?" Buck asked, unimpressed. "Tommy knows I'm here with you."

Sal laughed, a jaded sound. "So what? Is it an open relationship now? And you've decided to play—"

"No." Buck backed away a little, something sharpening in his voice. "It's just you. You know that."

Something shifted in Buck's expression, quick and quickly gone. He looked almost hurt. Sal's mouth snapped shut.

Buck sighed. "Honestly, you want to know what's funny? You both do the exact same thing. He soft-pedals to avoid scaring you off. You bolt before he gets the chance. I'm surprised you're even talking to each other still."

"Hey—"

"Oh?" A flicker of something that wasn't quite a smile. "So when Tommy called you a friend because he didn't want to spook you, you didn't flee your own apartment because you wanted to be more than that?"

Sal took a step back, out of Buck's immediate reach. He felt unbalanced, and it took a moment before he found his anger: "You're—"

"A nosy bastard?" Buck's grin took an edge. "Nah."

He held Sal's gaze, and something in his expression settled, not softer, exactly. Quieter. More dangerous for it.

"I already love him. And I could fall for you so easily."

The silence stretched. Buck let it.

"So yeah," he said finally. "I'll push a little."

A funny thing was happening in Sal's chest. One which he felt entirely objected to, weathering an uncontrolled storm. He did that well, usually. But 'I could fall for you' and 'easily' wasn't a combination of words Sal had heard before or even thought he'd hear.

"Think about it," Buck pressed, still pushing. "Here, give me your phone."

Sal did, too unbalanced to resist Buck's open hand, palm to the sky with an ease that belied the weight of what he was offering. Maybe Buck didn't realise it, or maybe he was always this open with his affection. Sal could believe it with everything Tommy had told him.

"There," Buck said and handed Sal's phone back. "You have my number now. Think about it. If it's too hard to talk to Tommy, text me."

"What makes you think that texting you is easier?"

Buck's smile was instant, wide and true. "You don't love me yet, Tori."

Yet. Like inevitability. So fucking confident. Sal could have teased, could have said something about arrogance. But Buck was the furthest thing from that, and the implication was startlingly clear.

You love him.

When Buck touched his arm just above his elbow and pressed another quick peck to the corner of Sal's mouth, he was still absolutely frozen.

"Text me," Buck said, and Sal's gaze fell from those startling eyes to the screen of his phone. He'd saved his contact as 'Evan'.

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