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It was supposed to be a surprise.
Buck was meant to fly back from Hershey tomorrow night, but after another ruthless day with his parents full of pointed comments and passive-aggressive interactions, he’d had enough. He missed his men—so much so, he switched his flight without telling them.
As the Uber carried him closer to Sal and Tommy’s house, his pulse quickened, heat pooling low in his gut. The driver probably thought he needed to pee, with how much he kept shifting in his seat.
But he was just thinking about how Sal would take one look at him—that small ghost of a smile flickering through his face (delighted but pretending otherwise) before it sharpened into something threatening—and order him inside, into the bedroom in that mocking tone of his, just on the right side of mean.
How once there, Tommy would look up, giving him that wide, scrunchy smile that always made Buck’s heart stutter. How everything would fall into place again. The ache in his chest would ease, the loneliness fade, replaced by the grounding warmth of their hands, their mouths, their voices guiding him home.
He could almost feel it; the way they’d strip him bare, dragging every secret to the surface, tearing him down only to build him back up until he was trembling, undone. The thought alone nearly had him coming untouched in his jeans.
What met him at the house however, wasn't the homecoming he’d been imagining.
Buck let himself in quietly, dropping his bags in the foyer, and slipped out of his shoes, walking further into the room, only to stop in his tracks.
Sal had stepped out of the bedroom naked—drenched in blood. His chest heaved. His mouth curved into a wild, delirious grin, a carefree laugh spilling out of him. The sound died the instant his eyes found Buck standing frozen in the living room.
“Wh—what happened?” Buck’s voice cracked, heart clenching painfully. “Where’s Tommy?”
“Evan.” Sal’s tone was flat. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I came back early. I wanted to surprise you and Tommy,” he explained, voice jumping hysterically at the end.
Sal hummed, the sound low and dangerous. “Well…consider me surprised, baby boy.”
Buck blinked at him, searching for any hint this was some sick joke, not finding any. “Where’s Tommy?” he demanded, his voice rising.
He moved toward the bedroom. Sal reached out to stop him, but Buck slipped past before the other man could touch him.
He pushed the door open—
And his world stopped.
Tommy was sprawled on the bed, naked and still, his face serene. Grief nearly knocked Buck to his knees—until Tommy’s eyelids fluttered open lazily.
“Tory, you get lost?” he muttered groggily. “Wine was on the counter. You going senile in your old age…” His words dropped off, face blanching as he saw who was standing in the doorway. “Ev—Evan,” he whispered, horror dawning.
That’s when Buck saw him.
The other body in the room. A man sat slumped in the corner chair—the same chair they used when they watched each other. His clothes were soaked through with blood, a deep gash splitting his throat ear to ear.
Buck’s breath hitched. He stumbled backward, straight into Sal’s chest.
“Wait, Evan. Please. let us explain,” Tommy begged.
A strangled laugh burst from him. “Explain? Explain what? The corpse in the corner? That my boyfriends are fucking murderers?” he spat out, viciously.
Tommy flinched at the venom in Buck’s words.
A broken moan spilled past Buck’s lips as he clutched his hair, shaking his head like he could contain the revelations from penetrating any further into his head. “Who…who is he?”
“Scum,” Sal said simply.
Buck shivered. For the first time that night—and probably all too late—he felt true danger crawl beneath his skin. Every instinct screamed run. But he didn't move.
“They’re the worst of the worst,” Sal went on, voice eerily calm. “Trash that should’ve never been allowed another breath.”
“They?” Buck choked out. “There’s more?”
“Sal,” Tommy warned.
“Come on, T. No point in hiding it from him now.”
Sal brushed past him with lazy ease, the gleam of metal flashing in his hand.
“We clean up the streets, Evan. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles—monsters. We take care of them. We do what this world’s so called justice fails to do.”
“You’re talking like you’re gods,” Buck accused, waving his hands wildly between Sal and Tommy. “Like you get to decide who lives or dies.”
“We’re not gods,” Tommy said softly.
Buck looked at him. Tommy had pulled a sheet over his hips, like he was ashamed and trying to hide. The moonlight spilling through the bedroom's window fell upon him, and Buck caught the fine lattice of pink scars across his chest—some a couple of days old, others fresh, a few still beading with blood. A roaring started in his ears as he traced the slow drip of a drop of blood falling past Tommy’s dusty pink nipples.
Sal’s burning gaze pinned Buck in place, sharp and assessing. Buck tore his eyes away, away from the both of them and the dead body, out into the night beyond the window as he tried to gather himself. Tommy’s voice pulled him back.
“We’re just a necessary evil.”
Buck swallowed hard, shaking his head. “How did it start?”
Sal’s tone darkened. “With Tommy. A date who thought he could take what he wanted from him. The piece of shit drugged him and tried to drag him back to his place. But Tommy managed to text me before he passed out.” He smiled, humorless. “I lost control that night. But…” His eyes met Tommy’s, the silence between them electric, intimate, heavy with the weight of unsaid words. “it unlocked something. Something that bound us together.”
Shame burned through Buck as envy took possession of him.
“This wasn’t how we wanted you to find out,” Tommy murmured, pleading now.
“Tommy wanted to tell you, you know?” Sal said. “Ease you into it. I wasn’t so sure you’d understand.” He turned the knife in his hand, running a finger along its point, eyes glinting, and another shudder racked through Buck’s frame.
“I—I don’t even know what to think,” Buck whispered.
His gaze drifted—to the blood smeared over Sal’s skin, to Tommy’s beseeching expression, to the way those cuts looked, stark against his skin in the moon’s light. There was something hypnotic about it. The pattern of the cuts. The intimacy carved lovingly into flesh, because he had no doubts about the care behind each one.
He felt dizzy, overheated, breath catching in his throat as he fought to make his lungs work.
“Oh,” Tommy’s quiet gasp broke through the silence. His eyes dropped, and Buck followed his gaze—down to the bulge in his jeans.
And for the second time that night, his world tilted.
A low, dark chuckle brushed his ear. Sal had moved behind him again, silent as a shadow.
“Damn,” he whispered, reverent. “You were right, baby. The kid’s perfect for us.”
Buck trembled. What the fuck was he doing? Every rational thought screamed at him to run, to call the cops, to do something. But his body wouldn't move. Didn't want to move.
Oh, he was terrified. But not of them—not really. No, he was afraid of the thing unfurling inside him.
Because the sight of Sal slick with blood, Tommy languid and sated on the bed, hadn't repulsed him. It had lit him up.
“Shhh.” Sal’s voice was a seductive purr in his ear, as he ran his tongue down the side of Buck’s neck, licking the sweat that had gathered there. An arm snaked around Buck’s wait, dragging him back against his solid frame. His cock pressed hot and hard in the crook of Buck’s ass, and Buck couldn't stop himself from grinding back.
Sal chuckled, placing a soft kiss on the base of his neck. “Don’t think too hard, sweetheart. Just feel. Can you do that for us?”
Buck nodded like a bobble-head before the words had even landed.
Tommy rose from the bed, body gleaming under the moonlight. He stopped in front of Buck and tipped his chin up with one knuckle, eyes warm, adoring.
“Oh, Evan,” he whispered, awed. “You’re safe with us. Always. Say the word, and it all stops. Okay?”
Buck nodded again, helpless.
“Tsk.” Sal’s voice was amused. The knife’s tip traced a slow path up Buck’s stomach, cold and teasing even through his shirt. “Same rules, pup. Use your words, Evan.”
“I—yes,” Buck stammered. “Okay.”
“Good boy,” Sal murmured.
The blade clattered to the floor.
Hands caressed and gripped him—rough and reverent all at once. Fingers digging into his hips, tracing his ribs, mapping every tremor that rolled through him. The air was thick with blood and sweat and want as his body arched into their touch. Soon, his world narrowed to breath and skin and the press of bodies.
Buck finally let go—surrendering to them, to the pull of something dark and consuming. And he stopped trying to understand where fear ended and desire began. Comforted by the knowledge that he belonged here. That he was theirs. Sal’s and Tommy’s.