Chapter Text
Sal is driving.
He’s no idea where he’s driving too, just knows that it’s away.
Away from…that.
Away from Eddie, his fucking fiancé, of all goddamn people. Driving away from the last fuck up in a string of fuck ups because Sal's finally hit the limit of what he can take.
He's got a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and with every passing mile his boot goes a little harder on the gas pedal. He clears the inner city limits without even noticing and it’s taking everything in him not to let the tears fall. Betrayal burns hot in his gut. Clenches tight around his esophagus and chokes the very breath from him.
All because of Eddie… Eddie standing there…in the middle of their fucking living room, hands around Shannon…
Sal's mind screams at him as he drives. She’s dead! She's dead and Sal would know because he was there! He was at the scene. Helped load her into the back of the bus, handing her off to Hen and Chimney who were waiting, both pale and sad and already knowing it was too late. But yet… there she had stood. Body almost blocked out entirely by Eddie's shoulders when he and Chris had stepped into the house.
Their house…
Sal doesn't think he had ever seen Eddie move as fast as he did then. His normally warm brown eyes, red rimmed and wet and—
And looking at Shannon with the softest expression Sal's ever seen on his face. The most in love kind of look, and one Sal is only just now realizing hasn’t been turned his way in longer than he cares to remember. But that look had shuttered and disappeared, morphed into insurmountable horror when Chris’s quiet ‘Mom?’ had echoed from Sal's side.
So now Sal drives.
The angry thud of Chris's crutches still echo in Sal's ears. The slamming of the teenagers door had been loud in the ensuing silence as Chris took off. As Sal let him go even as Eddie called after his son.
"W-Wait, Chris!" Eddie tries as the woman beside him stares back and forth between them in horror, hand covering her mouth. "Sal…"
Fuck… but it's like Shannon walked right out of one of the pictures that still hangs on their walls. Sal's chest heaves. Growing disbelief and anger welling up inside of him. All of the hurt clamouring to show on his face at once.
"I can explain." Eddie says stepping towards him. But Sal's finally done listening to Eddie's explanations. He's been standing by the edge of every one of Eddies previous fall outs, watching and supporting him through every aftermath.
This time Sal thinks he's stepped right on top of the trip wire that is Eddie Diaz, and now it's all getting blown up in his face. Sal had learned to expect the unexpected when it came to Eddie... he used to love that about him.
"What the fuck Eddie." Sal's voice is like ice as he stares at his fiancé. He can still hear Chris slamming things in his room over the roar of his heartbeat in his ears. He never could have expected anything like this though.
Couldn't even have dreamt it.
Sal clutches the keys he didn't even have time to put down before his entire world had had the rug swept out from under it. The teeth of the keys almost break skin as Sal whips around and barges right back out the door.
"SAL! Wait!"
He never will again. Not for Eddie. Sal has given him so many chances. Allowed Eddie to get away with so much all these years. Gave Eddie the excuse of the the grief, the pain, the PTSD… given him every opportunity to learn and change and do better. And Sal thought he did, but now... Sal's just realizing that he'd been unable to face face the man's complete unwillingness to grow.
Eddie hadn't grown when he allowed Sal to help him through the mess of losing Shannon. Not when Eddie welcomed Sal into his home when they got together. Not when Eddie promised a future and the commitment Sal had dreamed of for years. Not when Eddie had let Sal be the father to Chris he'd always wanted to be to a kid…
Maybe, Sal thinks, that's all he ever was to Eddie. Just someone to look after his house and his son. His responsibilities. A glorified babysitter that he got to fuck occasionally. Because Eddie never dealt with losing his ex-wife. He never took care of the house until Sal nagged him to death. Because despite that he had promised he would, Eddie never got around to getting Sal a ring. Just let Sal call them engaged without following through.
Eddie follows Sal out onto the front lawn, chasing him for the first time in their entire relationship, panic on every line of his face. Panic... but not remorse.
Sal almost rips the door of his truck off it's hinges as he hurries to get the fuck out. He's pissed off, hurt, angry… livid. Every synonym one would find listed under heartbreak.
Eddies hand clamps down on his shoulder—
—
Sal only pulls off the highway when his eyes start burning with too many unshed tears. It's gotten dark as he drove and no matter how upset he is, Sal's a first responder first, and he knows driving upset can be just as bad as driving drunk. So he rolls the windows down on both sides and lets the wind whip at him, the harsh air is cold enough to draw him back to himself as he speeds up the exit ramp.
Trees go by him but the road is otherwise empty and Sal curses. He has no idea where the fuck he is. He scrubs a hand over his face and thinks of Chris, hopes the poor damn kid is okay, hopes that Eddie at least—
Sal makes himself stop thinking.
Street lamps suddenly bloom along the road, their pale yellow light guiding his way as Sal finally starts to slow his truck. It takes all of two second for him to pull over when he sees the large building to the left. The side of it is lit up with a neon cowboy hat and beer bottle and that's all Sal needs to jerks the truck into park next to a large swath of motorcycles.
The sign outside is old and too faded to read in the dark and Sal couldn't care less even if it was. Doesn't care about the dark exterior and blacked out windows. He just slams the truck door shut with a vengeance— just like he did in his damn fiancés face earlier. Ex-fiancé's face, if Sal has anything to say about it.
The inside of the bar is as old and worn as the sign outside, dark and dive like with low lighting and a sticky floor. Perfect for how he feels, because right now Sal needs more alcohol than any decent establishment would serve him. And hell, if he plays his cards right, he may be able to find himself a bar fight by the looks of the place.
Fuck Eddie. Fuck that stupid bitch too. Fuck whatever in the universe made him fall in love with such an idiot… fuck himself. He's the damn idiot.
All those chances he kept giving Diaz… and here it was, blowing up in his face. Blowing up in Chris's.
Again.
Sal waves at the lanky kid behind the bar; dark skin, fluffy hair and doe like brown eyes that make him look far too young to be a fucking bartender in a back water dump like this. But that's the least of Sal's concerns right now. "Whiskey. Leave the bottle and a glass."
The kid quirks a dark brow, hesitating for a moment as he looks Sal up and down. Accessing him; and for a split second Sal thinks the kid is going to refuse him. But dark eyes land on something over Sal's shoulder and the kid seems to change his mind easily enough. He reaches to the shelf behind him to grab a sealed bottle and Sal nods as a bottle of Crown Royal is set in front of him. A rocks glass full of ice and a shot glass appear on the bar next and the bartender turns away with a muttered, "Enjoy."
Sal lets it slide, doesn't care about anything right now except twisting open the stupid plastic crown cap and not spilling as his hands shake.
It's only as Sal's filling up the shot glass a second time that his surroundings finally click in. The loud rock music echoing from tinny speakers and the chorus of patrons all talking at once over the clink of glasses and the clack of billiard balls. The row upon row of black Harley's and Honda's outside. The stupid amount of leather that everyone inside is wearing; silver chains with patches sewn into leather vests and more tattoos than skin as far as the eye can see. All of them rough and tumble and looking like the hardened riders they are.
Sal huffs a laugh.
Leave it to him to wander into a goddamn fucking biker bar in the outskirts of Los Angeles. There's at least half a dozen people all eyeing him curiously. Like a chicken that just walked into a wolf's den. But..
Huh…
Fuck it.
Sal throws back the second shot and can't find it in himself to care one iota. No one seems bothered by him for now, so Sal lets his surroundings slip away as smoothly as the whiskey. He sips his next shot a bit more carefully and scrubs a hand over his face. Weariness and hurt burning as much as the liquor. If only he could not care about Eddie too.
Images of Eddie, of Eddie and Shannon, flash before his minds eye and Sal's just about to settle into a bar stool, to wallow and drink until he gets plastered enough to forget, when suddenly he's no longer alone. Sal thinks it far too early in his drinking spree for that kind of nonsense, when long leather clad legs slide into the stool next to him.
"Now what kind of business does a man like you got with the bottom of that bottle?"
Sal trails his gaze all the way up, and up and up…
Distractingly long legs clad in heavy boots and leather pants make Sal almost drop his shot glass. He follows them up with his eyes to take in the ripped black tank top and pale skin and tattoos. Colourful sleeves of ink curl and weave in dark lines. The face of an ancient Greek god sits amid a storm of waves on the arm facing Sal; and Sal can't help the way he stares at the stunning artwork. Swallows thickly when that all leads up to a round chin and cherubic cheeks with tantalizing scruff and the most stunning blue eyes Sal's ever seen.
His fingers go lax around the shot glass as he takes in bright pink lips and the red port wine stain above the newcomers left brow, barely hidden by tousled blond curls that give a 'boy next door' vibe to the punk ass kid now siting next to him.
"The fuck you want?" Sal growls. Steadying his shot glass and refilling it as he tears his gaze away from the other man.
The man grins and leans on the bar, invading Sal's space. There's enough whiskey and rage welling inside Sal that he lets him. "You walk into my bar like a man hellbent on outrunning his demons, and you're gonna ask me that?"
"Tch," Sal growls and pours a splash of Crown into the extra glass with ice and sliding it over to the blond. What the hell, he could use a drinking buddy. "Demons? Nah…could take those. Fiancé tho..."
Blue eyes widen in surprise, jaw dropping open as the man catches the glass with long, thick fingers, laden with heavy silver rings. The surprise looks good on him, Sal thinks, at least until the man opens his mouth with a; "Whoa… wait, what? Who was stupid enough to let someone as hot as you go?"
"Buck!" The bartender snaps from the other side of the bar, appalled.
The man, Buck—and what kind of name is Buck, Sal grouses to himself as he sips at his next shot— rolls his eyes and waves off the bartender. "Relax Ravi, T's not here and I'm being nice so don't get your panties in a twist."
Ravi sighs heavily, in the manner all weary and burdened bartenders usually do on the inside, and not in front of their patrons, before he turns, storming off towards a group of other guys at the end of the bar. The group look more like the bikers Sal would expect from a dive like this. Rugged, old, with beards and shades on inside with more leather than skin… Classic biker gang.
Not whatever punk ass model the kid next to him is.
"Don't mind Ravi, he's a little uptight." Buck grins, biting his lip. Leans a bit further into Sal's space and takes a sip from the glass Sal gave him. "So…fiancé?"
"Look kid I ain't looking for a fucking pity party," Sal growls. "Either drink your drink and shut up or move the fuck on."
Buck lifts a brow, sipping at the shared whiskey as his expression cools. "Quiet the mouth on you." he mutters eyeing Sal up and down, before focusing on where Sal's lips are pursed tight. "In more ways than one. I bet she didn't like that."
Sal sneers and pictures Eddie. Eddie who used to love his mouth. Eddie who used to kiss him on it instead of just on the cheek. Eddie who— Eddie who… Sal can't remember the last time his fiancé brought him any sort of pleasure with his own lips and a spike of self loathing wells inside him. He empties his shot glass and fills it again. He still hasn't sat. "Well… he fucking used to."
Now Eddie's got that damn ghost.
And how the hell is Sal supposed to compete with that… why does he even have to compete in his own goddamn relationship.
A flash of pale skin and dark tattoos interrupt Sal's thoughts and his gaze narrows, trailing to the side to follow Buck as he presumptuously grabs Sal's bottle of whisky. Sal glares at him but doesn't stop him. Just watches Buck knock the cap aside with the bottom of the bottle before sliding his glass back to Sal to take a swig right from the short neck.
Buck's smirk is wild and dangerous, taunting and the thrill that goes through Sal feels a lot like rappelling down the side of a cliff towards a wreck.
"So," Buck hums, eyes bright with something that burns in Sal's blood. It's been a long time but Sal thinks maybe it's interest. "This dumb ass fiancé of yours, what'd he do?"
And just like that Sal snaps. Anger surging again and—
"Fuck off kid." Sal growls almost smashing the shot glass in his hand when he drops his fist to the bar top.
Unfazed Buck takes another swig from the bottle and continues. "Must have been something wicked."
"I said leave!"
Fuck, maybe Sal will get his bar fight after all.
Even several shots in Sal knows it's not smart to take on a biker in a fucking bar full of other bikers… but hell, Sal's made every bad decision he could possibly make in his life—impulsive childhood, the horror of high school, the Army, the 118 and 122, the 118 again. Gina, Tommy, Nash… Eddie… and all he's ever done is lose.
Just one thing after another.
So really, what's one more disaster?
Buck smirks. "No."
Fuck.
Maybe he's not the one rappelling down. Maybe all this time Sal's actually been the wreck at the bottom of the cliff. Twisted metal frame and pinned in place, half dead and dying before help can get to him. Grief and pain bubble in his throat, burning their way up like the worst kind of acid.
Yet instead of giving in and letting his tears start to fall, Sal does what he does best.
He makes the situation worse.
Sal kicks put, foot pushing on the rung of Buck's bar stool the metal legs screeching in the sudden veil of silence that had overtaken the bar.
Only Buck doesn't fall.
To the contrary, Sal doesn't see him move at all.
One moment he's trying to forcibly get Buck the fuck away from him; dangerous, tempting, sharp eyed Buck who's seen too much, asked too much, in the scant few minutes he's been sitting next to Sal. The next second Buck is on his feet, stool clattering to the ground as he darts forward with all the grace of a panther going in for the kill. Buck's all long limbs and lethal intent, crowding into Sal's space and pressing him back like it's as easy as breathing until Sal's spine hits the edge of the bar. It bites painfully into his back for all of ten seconds before Buck's knee is crashing into his and Sal stumbles sideways.
He struggles. Throws his weight forward in an attempt to push Buck up and off of him, but the whiskey makes Sal's limbs slow and uncoordinated. He's untrained where it seems like Buck isn't. Movements military sharp and effective.
Sal's a bruiser, he's relied on his strength all these years to cart around victims, win fights, intimidate. But he's already lost a fight today and now he's about to lose his second one. Buck strikes out and Sal's head rings. He's spun around and pinned face down on the bar, arm yanked up so far between his shoulder blades Sal shouts with the force of it.
Half an inch more and he thinks it'd come right out of his socket.
Crown whiskey spills onto the bar top around them and drips onto floor in a puddle. The bottle on its side from their tussle and Sal's eyes and nose burn from the smell and the alcohol. Against what little better judgment he has left, Sal struggles.
Buck, barely out of breath, grins like he's amused by Sal's meager actions. "Hmm, got some spunk in you don't you. Must have been a hell of a lovers quarrel."
Sal kicks back with the heel of his work boot, grunting when it connects with Buck's shin but it doesn't make the other man loosen his grip. Instead Buck tightens his hold and shifts forward to press his chest along Sal's entire back. Hips flush and Sal feels the strength of Buck's torso, muscle tense from where he's caging Sal in against the bar. Sal keeps struggling, though he has no idea why. The bar digs into his ribs painfully, but it just lights something inside of Sal up. Like he's got a physical representation of how much he's hurting and been fighting against himself on the inside.
Now it's not just emotional hurt. Now it's physical ache too. And Sal can deal with psychical pain.
"Need a hand Buck?" Another patron asks as the noise starts to kick back up around them.
Buck just laughs and suddenly there are fingers in Sal's hair, pushing his head down onto the bar painfully and Sal grunts with the force of it. "Nah Greg… he's just got a little bratty behaviour to work through. All good."
Sal grits his teeth, lashing out with his boot again. Hisses when it does t do more than make Buck tighten his hold even more. "Fuck you. If you're gonna kill me then just go ahead and fucking do it."
Like anyone would even care, Sal screams to himself. Hears the echo of it bounce around in his ears. In his head. In his bones.
In his heart.
That seems to give the biker behind him pause. Buck leans even further down until it blocks out the rest of the bar from what little Sal's can still see where he's pinned.
"Kill you?" Buck laughs, breath ghosting hot along Sal's ear. "Now why would I do that." Sal freezes when he feels Buck grind his hips forward, a hard line of heat rubbing against his denim clad ass. "Ass like this doesn't wander into my bar every day, you think I'd waste it like your clueless fiancé clearly has?"
The rush of blood is loud in Sal's ears. Caught somewhere between being horrified at Bucks insinuations and…
And…
Heat lances through Sal. That spark he felt minutes before, that interest…finally pings it as desire and arousal. It hits sudden and sharp, like the Jaws tearing through the metal of a wrecked car. And it feels so godsdamn fucking good after so long… because it's only just now hitting Sal how long he hasn't had that spark in his life.
Fuck.
“Hmm you got some spunk left in you don't you? Good." Buck chuckles still slowly circling his hips and Sal shudders when he can feel the hard length of him twitch even through the leather and denim. "Ass like this? Fuck, if he won't appreciate it then I will. Probably been empty for too long. Need someone to fill you up and fuck you proper.”
And Sal, Sal has lived with Eddie for years at this point, but he's still been responsible for his own orgasms for longer than he cares to admit…would never admit too. Because that kind of shame isn't new and somehow it tastes just like Eddies kisses. Tastes just like the bile the thought of Eddie and Shannon standing in their living room brings to the back of his throat.
But if Eddie can cheat then why the fuck can't he?
Because fuck, if he’s not going to get his fucking bar fight then why shouldn't Sal not get fucked at least. Thinks it would be nice to get fucked and not just fucked over for a change.
Sal twists to look over his shoulder back and up at Buck and ignores the burn it creates in his scalp when Buck's doesn't relinquish the hold in his hair. It sends bolts of years long buried lust through his veins and Sal can see the spark of interest it lights up in Buck's eyes in return. Sal's always liked the sharp bite of pain with his pleasure. Given it up when Eddie refused to even leave a hickey on him.
The same Eddie that busted up other guys faces in a fucking fight club but wouldn't listen to Sal's own voiced desires. Like Eddie never trusted Sal to know what he wanted, thinking he always knew better than anyone else.
Sal grins up at the biker, defiance and hunger curling his lips into a sneer. "You think you even could kid?"
Buck grins like he's won something and Sal watches his gaze go sharp and dangerous. Eyeing Sal like he's caught his prey and not like it had walked into the snap trap with a death wish all on it's own. There's something about watching Bucks gaze go black that sends shivers down Sal's spine. Something cold and hidden in those blue eyes that would normally makes alarm bells ring in Sal's mind. Right now he's past caring.
"Oh I think you'll find I can get every last thought of him out of your fucking head." Buck promises hotly. "Can even get you to forget your own name."
Sal gnashes his teeth together on a hiss when Buck suddenly lets go of his arm. Blood rushes back and pins and needles stab along Sal's nerves as his arm falls to his side. And because he's Sal, Sal who used to be cocky and brash and never knew when to shut up. That Sal from so long ago says; "Promises, promises."
Sal's yanked up off the bar before he can even get to enjoy the taste of the snark. Where it used to annoy Eddie and make him defensive, Buck seems to revel in it. Spurred on by it. And like he weighs nothing at all to Buck, the other man hauls him up and spins him back around until he can crowd back into Sal's space. This time their chests sit flush together, and Sal's jaw drops open when the promising line of Buck's cock suddenly presses against his own.
"You keep talking like that and I'll fuck you right here in the middle of this bar." Buck threatens, thin rings of blue around his blown black eyes. The red flush on his cheeks speaks of an appetite to do just that.
Fuck. Sal's half tempted to fucking let him do it too.
The slam of a wet rag on the soaked bar beside them has both of them jumping. Buck recovers first and looking up at Ravi, standing behind the bar with his arms crossed looking pained and annoyed.
"Just because your husband's not here doesn't mean you get to act like you're in the wild-wild west." Ravi grumbles looking right past Sal to Buck. "I'm sick of watching you fuck in my bar. Go upstairs to your damn office. Or literally… anywhere else!"
Sal flushes hot, embarrassment ripe as he remembers the crowd in the bar. The crowd, that upon closer inspection, seems to be wholly ignoring them.
Buck just rolls his eyes and mouths; "Nag, nag, nag." He fists a hand in Sal's t-shirt and yanks him forward as Buck steps back.
Sal stumbles and barely manages to catch himself, Buck taking most of his weight if he's honest and he watches the biker scoop up the fallen bottle, saving what precious little whiskey hasn't been spilled and bringing it with him as he starts to pull Sal across the open floor.
He shouldn't go. He should grab the Crown and get back to his seat and away from the blond that's crowding into his space as he leads Sal to a back hallway just as the shitty overhead music blares louder. Like the bartenders turned it up to drown them out even if they haven't made it upstairs yet.
The thought flies away the second Buck gets an arm around his waist when they hit the back of the bar. They're shrouded in shadow back here but Sal can easily spot the exit sign glowing to his left and a doorway with stairs to his right.
Then he doesn't see anything else other than Buck in front of him. Every inch of the tall blond is captivating and Sal's attention is caught when he takes another drink straight from the bottle. Sal doesn't even have time to reach for it for his own swig before Buck is hauling him in as close as he can and sealing their mouths together.
Sal makes a sound he's sure he's never made before. Surprise and lust and shock as alcohol burns its way into his mouth. He swallows as best he can, not caring that he's clinging to Buck's broad shoulders. Some of the whiskey slips from the corner of Sal's mouth and drips down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. Buck's tongue follows on its tail almost immediately and Sal moans as the wet heat rattles something loose inside him.
Buck is back not half a second later, kissing him in a way Eddie never did. Like he's the most delicious thing Buck's ever tasted.
Like he wants to devour Sal whole.
And Sal wants to let him.