#beluca

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Buck had a problem. Not like a life-threatening one; he was well aware of that, having a lot of experience in that department. But perhaps it could still be considered a life-altering one. The kind that he hadn't dreamt of having a few years ago. Scratch that, Buck would have laughed his head off and perhaps considered sending them for brain scans if anyone had told him even a year ago that he'd be lingering in a Milanian alley, almost drooling over one Sal Deluca.

But really, how could Buck be normal about this? The Milanese afternoon sun seemed to freaking cling to Sal's dark hair, catching warm and almost gold in its strands as he gestured. His tan skin seemed to be radiating a warmth that mirrored the ancient stones around him. The fabric of his linen shirt stretched taut across his shoulders and chest, a size too small in Buck's personal opinion, and the way it moved with each breath was a subtle torment, a delicious kind of torture.

Truth be told, Buck was always into Sal. He tended to check Sal out a little too obviously if Tommy's teasing was any indication, which was rich coming from the man who could undress Sal with his eyes only. And Buck, too. Tommy tended to conveniently forget that . But Sal made sure to comment on that. So it was teasing all around, which Buck thought was fair enough.

But then again, at that particular moment in time, his problem was not gentle, stunning, hot, and perfect, Tommy, but rather roguish, sexy Sal. Who spoke Italian . In Italy. Which had no right to be this hot, but Buck's brain might be melting out of his ears -

"I know, right?" Tommy's voice, laced with amusement, startled Buck. He followed Tommy's gaze to where Sal was a few steps away, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he spoke with an elderly woman , his Italian flowing like the water in a nearby fountain.

"He's not even doing anything," Buck hissed, a mixture of annoyance and reluctant admiration in his tone. "How can that be so damn hot?"

Tommy chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "I've been wondering for years. Welcome to the club."

Perhaps it was the oppressive heat radiating from the cobblestones, or maybe years of shared intimacy had all but eliminated any pretence of nonchalance because Buck didn't even attempt to mask his blatant staring as Sal finished his conversation and sauntered back towards them. He snatched his phone from Tommy's hand, muttering something about taking over navigation - not that Sal needed the phone for that - and then gestured for them to follow.

"Hey, you two coming or what?" Sal's voice, tinged with a playful impatience, drew Buck from his daydreaming.

Tommy huffed, the sound swallowed by other voices around them. But he followed Sal without hesitance. Buck fell into step, and soon enough, the scent of sweet pastries filled his nostrils as Sal led them to a small table tucked beneath a row of trees, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead.

When they ordered, Sal effortlessly switched to Italian, the melodic sounds rolling off his tongue. Buck liked the way his tongue curled around the syllables. Probably a little too much. A quick exchange ensued with the waitress, punctuated by Sal's low chuckle and a shake of his head, a hint of annoyance in his dark eyes.

As the waitress walked away, Tommy, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, voiced the question echoing in Buck's mind: "What was that about?"

Sal huffed, leaning back in his chair. "Apparently, I speak like a local but still sound oddly American."

"She was flirting," Tommy stated, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Oh, for sure." Sal's tone held a touch of something Buck couldn't quite place. But Tommy seemed to know what was up immediately.

"Don't tell me you're taking that as an insult?" Tommy raised a questioning eyebrow.

Sal simply shrugged, a gesture that spoke volumes. Buck might have mocked him a little for it in any other scenario. As it was, he felt indulgent enough of Sal's moods to give his impulse to soothe.

He hooked his foot around Sal's under the table, the gentle friction of their ankles a silent offering. For a long moment, Sal didn't react, his gaze fixed on something across the piazza. Then he started to gradually relax , and eventually, his dark eyes flickered to Buck, a burning intensity within them.

"Behave," Sal murmured, the sternness of his tone softened by the ghost of a smile. He gave Buck a look that promised consequences, then glanced pointedly at Tommy, a silent 'can you believe this?' passing between them. Tommy simply grinned, thoroughly enjoying the unfolding drama.

"Maybe he needs a little... instruction," Tommy purred, his eyes flicking suggestively between the two of them.

@fuselsstuff my love, my everything, thank you for always being my biggest cheerleader, helping me get through my doubts and getting me to actually finish things lol. Love you lots!! 💗🍇✨

Salbuck | ongoing | ch1 ch2 | ch word count: 4.4k

Snippet/Teaser:

Buck growls and slams the dough onto the counter with a satisfying thwack, thoughts spiraling as he pictures broad shoulder, condescending eyebrows and that steely flash of irritated eyes.

“You okay there, Buck?”

Ravi doesn’t even glance away from the game, his voice more amused than concerned.

Buck makes a noise—somewhere between a grunt and a growl—as he flattens the dough onto the pan with a dramatic push of his wooden rolling pin. “He’s the worst,” he mutters. Another push.

“Who is?”

Eddie groans from the armchair. “Don’t get him started.” He pleads, recognizing the signs of a Buck rant coming.

Too late.

Buck scowls at the back of Eddie’s head before turning his glare back to the dough. “My new next-door neighbor,” he grumbles. “He’s a cocky jerk. Thinks he’s hot shit. He struts around in those…those tight shirts and jeans and just—bangs on my door half naked. Who does that?”

He conveniently ignores the part where he was also shirtless when he opened the door.

Eddie mutters under his breath, “Someone doth protest too much.”

Buck ignores him. “And—and, then he demands I turn my music off in that dumb…growly voice. It wasn't even that loud!” He complains, as he studies the shape of the dough critically.