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Eddie comes to the conclusion that he wants Buck to rail him into next week on a nice, sunny Friday afternoon.
They’re 20 hours into a 24, and it’s a perfectly normal shift. Buck’s only been hit on a grand total of four times, compared to Eddie’s three, all of which had been men—apparently, the moustache he’s been sporting for the past four months has given him a certain… reputation. Amongst the people of LA. And, sure, while they’re not wrong, it had taken him a while to get with the program. It’s why it still takes him an embarrassing amount of stuttering to blush his way through rejecting any advances when his only thought is a resounding chorus of oh god oh god oh fuck oh god.
Like he said: a normal shift. There’s no blown up fire trucks or collapsed wells, no bullets tearing into shoulders, no unforeseen strikes of lightning, no earthquakes or tsunamis or landslides or whatever else LA decides it wants to throw at them.
This time there’s just Eddie. Just Eddie, and a dripping wet Buck, and the inexplicably horny thoughts of a repressed single father who has just now, in his thirties, begun to recognise that he’s maybe actually probably a tiny little bit gay.
So. The call.
There had… been one. He knows that much.
Right now, everything is kind of happening to him in slow motion.
There’s a swimming pool. Eddie knows this because Buck is currently resurfacing from it, rising out of the water like some kind of Greek God, like, he’s the king of the fucking sea—Poseidon, maybe, or Neptune, or—who is Eddie kidding, he’s not thinking about mythology right now. He’s a little preoccupied trying not to swallow his own tongue.
Because Buck has one arm secured around the girl, while the other moves to rake the hair sticking to his forehead out of his face. And it’s downright obscene, is what it is, the way his muscles ripple as he flexes, the way his—big, big, jesus christ, so fucking big—arms strain against his t-shirt, which is wet and clinging to his chest now, nipples poking through, where the cold of the water had clearly been a shock to his system.
Eddie’s eyes zero in on the way a single droplet of water slides a path down Buck’s cheek, over the cut of his jaw, down past the long line of his neck, and he feels his mouth go dry.
Ohhh. Oh. Fuck.
Buck is hot. Jesus fucking christ, Buck is so fucking hot. Eddie is so, so screwed.
It probably shouldn’t disarm him this much. Of course Buck is an attractive guy. It would be quite literally impossible for him not to notice that. Because he has. Noticed. He’s noticed the blue of his eyes, and the way his smile is like, brighter than the fucking sun or whatever. He’s noticed his long, long legs, and the strawberry-pink of his birthmark, the dimple in his cheek when he’s grinning so wide that the girls—and the boys, and Eddie, apparently—are falling all over themselves and swooning like a goddamn Disney princess.
It had all been… purely aesthetic. Obviously.
Only things are different now, because Eddie’s different.
Now that the box in his mind—the one that had been overflowing with all of those repressed, not-very-catholic, gay-as-hell homosexual thoughts—has finally been unlocked, the lid snapping open and every feeling he’d ever tried to push down rushing over him like a tidal wave, he’s been noticing men.
Like. A lot of men.
There was the barista with the pretty blue eyes last Saturday, who had smiled charmingly at him as Eddie recited the firehouse’s unnecessarily complicated coffee order; Chim and Hen had cackled when they’d seen the digits scribbled on Eddie’s vanilla latte, and he’d blushed furiously. Twenty minutes later, he’d carefully ignored Hen’s eyes on him as the empty cup was tossed into the trash. He’d barely looked at the number.
Then, on Sunday, there was Ted, with the long legs and the big arms and the bright grin. He’d trailed a finger down Eddie’s arm while he thanked him profusely for saving his kitten from the balcony she’d been trapped on for hours. Eddie had been more than a little tongue-tied.
At one point, during a particularly slow part of the shift, he’d found himself fixated on the way Bobby’s biceps had flexed as he stood at the counter chopping onions. That had been slightly harder to rationalise, but—Well. Eddie was only a man. A very gay, homosexual man. With eyes. And an affinity for big, bulging muscles.
And then, of course, there was the gay porn. The first time he’d clicked onto a video of two men caught in a compromising position—two strong, muscular, masculine men—his hands had shook with it. He could feel the warmth in his cheeks, embarrassment creeping through him even though he was home alone and there was no way for anyone to know what he was about to do. He’d felt inexplicably like God was about to come down and smite him right there and then.
The second the video started playing, though, none of that mattered. His eyes had been glued to the screen, his hand trailing down his body of its own accord. He’d gasped as the bigger of the men on screen had pressed the other down into the mattress, looming over him with dark eyes, because although the other wasn’t a small guy by any means, the contrast between them had made him seem tiny. Like, he could just be held down, and fucked, as if he weighed nothing, and Eddie—wanted. Wanted so badly that a violent shudder ripped through him and his toes curled and his cock jerked.
He’d come so hard he saw stars. When he moved to pause the video, the timestamp had read 3:49. Which. Okay. It was, like, technically his first orgasm as a man who likes men, so. Whatever.
Since then, he’s spent more time jerking off than he has in maybe ever. He’s probably had more orgasms these past 3 weeks than he has in his whole 33 years of living. He feels like a teenager discovering sex for the first time again except… gay, this time.
So. Yeah. Eddie likes men. Eddie really likes men, would even go as far as to say as he wants men. Wants to fuck men. Or, well, the other way around. He thinks.
(Definitely, definitely, the other way around. It doesn’t take him long to figure that one out. Just one single night and a bottle of lube and a couple of his own fingers, the stretch burning, his thighs trembling.)
And, now, apparently he wants Buck too.
Which is kind of awful, all round, for everyone. But mainly for Eddie. Mainly for his sanity.
And for Ravi, who breaks Eddie out of his Buck-induced stupor—he could have been watching him for hours, at this point, maybe days—by reaching out to flick him on the shoulder, one eyebrow raised disbelievingly and an expression that screams bro, really? etched across his features. Eddie scowls back at him, steadfastly ignoring the heat he can feel in his cheeks.
He’s just thankful Hen and Chim are too busy with the patient to have noticed Eddie undressing their coworker with his eyes, which, yeah… The call. He should be doing… something. His job, maybe.
Only it’s at that particular moment that Buck happens to glance over and lock eyes with him, his face breaking out into one of those bright, sunshine grins that Eddie is so hopelessly fond of. He doesn’t quite have the brainpower to do anything except smile back, even as his gut clenches and sparks dance up and down his spine.
From beside him, Ravi lets out a deep sigh.
Eddie gets it. He really does.
The thing is, now that he’s noticed how deeply, insanely, life-ruiningly attractive Buck is, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to stop noticing.
It’s just… a lot. It’s a lot to unpack. And he can’t stop looking.
He thinks it would be a lot easier for him to compartmentalize, to shove into that tiny box (more of a colossal box, at this point) in the back of his mind filled with things he resolutely does-not-think-about, if it wasn’t for the fact that Buck is always there.
He comes into work, and there’s Buck, at his side immediately. He slides into the engine, and there’s Buck, the meat of his thigh pressing into Eddie’s own. He goes home, and there’s Buck, sprawled out on the couch as if he owns the place. (He does, Eddie would let him.)
Everywhere he turns, everywhere he looks: Buck.
He doesn’t mean that in just the physical sense, either. There are reminders of Buck everywhere—in the stain on the kitchen ceiling, that one time he’d got a bit too ambitious flipping pancakes, and they’d had to spend a solid ten minutes trying to get the remnants down while Christopher cackled from the sidelines; in the grocery store aisle, where a flash of pink catches his eye, and Eddie’s fingers twitch for 2, 3, 4 seconds before he’s huffing out a sigh and throwing a carton of the ridiculous, expensive protein-powder that Buck drinks into the cart; in the zebra swallowtail that he spots in the backyard and thinks oh, Buck would like that, he should take a picture to show him. Buck, Buck, Buck.
Their lives are so inconceivably entwined that it’s impossible for Eddie to get even the single, tiniest bit of reprieve from everything he feels about him. He can’t escape any of it, because there’s Buck, and he can’t exactly ask him to leave everything that Eddie finds devastatingly sexy about him at home because… well… that’s all of him.
Hey, Buck, do you reckon you could just like stop having such a gorgeous smile and such pretty blue eyes and such big arms and legs and thighs and shoulders and biceps and tits and also do you reckon you could maybe never look at me like that ever again because if I don’t get my mouth around your cock soon I might actually literally explode into flames and die? Sure. That would go over well.
Needless to say, Eddie is having a time of it.
A Time. Capital T, italicised for dramatic effect, complete with trademark symbol and an i dotted with a fucking heart.
He’s been stewing over all of this for the past twenty minutes, staring unseeingly at the television screen while Zooey Deschanel sobs to Taylor Swift, his fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on the arm of the firehouse’s couch.
Buck’s napping in the bunk room (along with everyone else on shift but, well. Buck.) so Eddie’s taking the time as a much-deserved break from thinking about being suffocated between his best friend’s thighs. Only then there’s movement behind him, and he’s attuned enough to every part of Buck to know that oh, nope, he’s found him. Never mind. Break time’s over.
“Hey,” Buck murmurs, dropping onto the couch next to him. His voice is rough from sleep, curls soft and messy atop his head—Eddie’s fingers twitch with the urge to run his hand through them—and he’s blinking more than usual as he fights to rouse himself from his nap. Eddie’s heart clenches in his chest at the same time goosebumps break out on his exposed forearms.
He’s a constant oxymoron, as hot as the fucking sun while simultaneously being the most adorable person Eddie’s ever laid eyes on. That impossible cuteness—and god, Eddie can’t believe he’s calling a grown man cute, but it’s Buck, it’s Buck, it’s Buck—does nothing to douse the fire in his veins every time he looks at him, because it just makes Eddie want to call him a good boy and finger him until he cries.
He’s a man of multitudes.
“Why’re you awake?” Buck continues around a yawn, oblivious to the thoughts currently taking up space in Eddie’s brain. He’s just thankful the room is dark, save for the glow of the television bathing the two of them in an ethereal hue, because it means Buck can’t pick up on the flush in his cheeks.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
It’s not a lie. Eddie couldn’t sleep, not knowing that Buck was in the bunk next to his, those ridiculous noises he always makes in his sleep loud in comparison to the calm stillness of the room. Not that Chim’s snoring from the other side was any better but, like he said before, Buck.
Buck frowns.
“Have you been sleeping?” he hedges.
Eddie rolls his eyes. Even that move is dripping in affection, in the way it always, always is. He’s so embarrassing.
“Yes, Buck.”
As if they hadn’t had this conversation literally last week. And the week before that. And the week before that. Eddie’s not an active suicide risk anymore; missing Christopher still feels like he’s walking around with only half of his soul intact, and that’s not going to change anytime soon, but he’s a lot more stable than he was four months ago. He’s coping. By thinking about getting railed but. Still. Coping, nonetheless.
Only Buck’s still frowning, those puppy-dog eyes out in full effect, and Eddie softens immediately. Because of course.
“‘M good,” he promises, "just… keyed up. From that last call, still.”
It hadn’t been anything crazy, not really. But there had been a single father sick with worry over his bright-eyed, curly-haired son in the midst of it all and… Well.
Buck’s expression clears, and he yawns, again, stretching his arms up over his head. Eddie strategically ignores the way the movement makes his LAFD t-shirt ride up, exposing a sliver of that soft tummy that he’s so desperate to sink his teeth into.
“Go back to sleep.” It’s automatic, the way his voice drops into that fond, icing-sugar-sweet tone when Buck is like this, sleep-soft and rumpled.
Buck hums in agreement, but he doesn’t rise from the couch. Instead, he flops down into Eddie’s space, shuffling around in a few ridiculous movements until he’s lying fully-horizontal, long legs swung over the armrest. He pillows his head on Eddie’s thighs, dangerously close to—
Eddie takes a few steady, calming breaths.
It’s not even a full minute before Buck’s breathing evens out and a faint snore escapes from his parted lips. Eddie runs a gentle hand through his curls and resigns himself to another hour in front of the television, pretending to pay attention to the will-they-won’t-they slowburn playing out on the screen and trying his damndest not to pop a boner while his best friend enjoys his beauty sleep, innocently oblivious to the horny thoughts of his stupid, pathetic homosexual pillow.
The thing is, Buck is single now—Eddie had resolutely not jumped for joy upon hearing that, by the way—single, and bisexual, and Eddie is gay, and hopelessly attracted to him, and all of a sudden it’s like all of the barriers that exist between the two of them and… something else… have been broken down.
Eddie’s going insane.
Buck is big. Big hands, big shoulders, massive biceps that he could probably crush Eddie’s head between, jesus christ. It makes Eddie feel a bit light-headed. And it’s not exactly like that’s something he’s able to ignore, either, because it’s right there in front of him, all the time.
Eddie is a professional, thank you very much, but he’s still also just a man, and Evan Buckley’s tits should definitely come with a warning. They’re a safety hazard, for christ sake. The citizens of LA could be crushed in the backseat of a car, or burning to a crisp in a smouldering building somewhere, and the firefighters of the LAFD, who are supposed to be the ones saving lives, are otherwise preoccupied with thirsting over their colleagues. It’s ridiculous. He can’t work in these conditions.
“Eddie,” The man of the fucking hour—of the month, of the year, of Eddie’s entire life, whatever—is hollering, because of course he is, and Eddie has to count to 5 very slowly in his head so he doesn’t do something stupid like jump his bones.
The thing is, Buck knows. Eddie knows that Buck knows.
Eddie might be repressed and kind of a loser and incapable of talking to attractive men and all-round the biggest gay disaster to ever walk the streets of LA, but that doesn’t mean he can’t tell when someone is flirting with him. Which is a thing that Buck is doing. All the goddamn time.
He wasn’t around for the infamous Buck 1.0—and thank god for that, because he’s not sure he could have survived it. As it is, having all of Buck’s attention on him, ruddy cheeks and sunshine grin, is doing terrible, terrible things to his heart. And his lungs. And his dick.
They’re three hours into their shift, and Eddie’s already nearly brained himself on 5 different objects as a result of Buck touching him. It’s ridiculous. There’s absolutely no reason for him to trail a hand across the small of his back when he’s moving past him, or to hook an ankle around his at the table at breakfast, or to caress his fucking knee when they’re getting up out of the engine together. He feels insane.
And the thing is… no one appears to be noticing anything out of the ordinary. Like. This cannot be normal behaviour. There’s no way Buck usually touches him this much. He’s leaning into Eddie, giggling into his shoulder at the affronted look on Chim’s face when the 9 year old he’d been checking over had asked him if firefighters were ‘allowed to be that short,’ and Eddie thinks that the way he feels must be written all over his face, and… nobody’s saying anything about it. Hen and Chim had barely even paid the two of them a second glance.
It’s weird, and he doesn’t like it, and then Bobby’s calling for the two of them and he forces himself to ignore it for at least the next five minutes.
Which turns out to be closer to three.
They’re just finishing loading the equipment into the engine, Buck off on a tangent about the youtube video on capybaras he’d watched last night, when there’s a sharp sting as Eddie catches his finger, just barely, on… he doesn’t even know. He was a little too distracted staring at Buck.
It’s the tiniest cut. Barely an inch long, surface-level; something he’ll forget about in ten minutes.
But Buck’s frowning, having turned to him immediately when he’d hissed quietly, grabbing at his hand to inspect further. He eyes the tiny droplet of blood that’s pearling at the tip and—sucks Eddie’s finger into his mouth.
All he hears is white noise.
His mouth is hanging open, he registers, blinking furiously as Buck bobs his head slowly, teeth dragging against the side of his finger as he pulls off, staring into his eyes the whole time.
“What?” He shrugs, an innocent gleam to his eyes that’s so fucking far from genuine. “Saliva heals cuts. You know this.”
Eddie’s pretty sure that’s not even true in the slightest.
“Mmm-hmm,” he manages to force out.
Buck smiles, dazzlingly—Eddie can see the mischievous glint in his eye, the knowing smirk—and practically skips off.
Eddie stares after him, heart hammering in his chest.
He’s either gonna kill Buck or kill himself; he hasn’t quite decided yet.
He thunks his head back against the truck, forcing an even breath through his lungs in a desperate attempt to calm his racing heart. He turns his head. And there’s Hen.
Because of course.
There’s Hen, staring directly at him, her eyebrows halfway up her forehead and a knowing, smug sparkle in her eye. Her lips are pressed together tightly with the force at which she’s trying to hold back from laughing at him outright.
Eddie sends her a look, one of those bitchy ones Karen affectionately refers to as his angry-gay-kitten-glare, and it’s enough to have her cackling.
“Ohhh, babe,” she drawls, shaking her head slowly, eyes alight with mirth, “you’ve got it bad.”
Eddie groans and hits his head one more time for dramatic measure.
Hen sighs.
He gets it, okay.
So. The fact remains that Eddie has had sex before. He’s extremely well-versed in it, in fact. He and Shannon managed to make a kid after all.
She was his first, and they learned, together.
The two of them had never been perfect, not by a long shot, and Eddie wasn’t always the best boyfriend, or the best fiancé, or the best husband. But sex, cataloguing all the things he could do that would have Shannon sighing into his mouth and shaking apart in his arms—that, he could do. He knew the parts of her that were most sensitive, knew how to make her feel so good her back arched with it, knew how to angle his hips and kiss her neck and move his fingers until he had her seeing stars.
And he liked sex—he did. He liked the intimacy of being inside of her, for a while, as if they were one body entwined. It was nice. It felt good.
He’d never quite understood the way the guys in the army seemed to mourn that loss of intimacy, because sure, he missed the smell of Shannon’s hair, but seeing her smile through a screen was almost enough.
He’d never quite got it, because in between losing Shannon and messing things up with Ana and blowing his life apart after Marisol, he’d never found himself craving any form of sexual intimacy—not the way he’d heard other men claim they did. He’d never found himself dreaming of breathy whines in his ear or a pink mouth sticky with lipgloss or the curve of a warm body against his own. His right hand was enough.
And he’d figured that was just him: he just wasn’t the kind of guy that needed sex. Wasn’t the type of guy that craved it. The stress of his job and the stress of raising Christopher alone and the stress of losing Shannon and the stress of his parents and the stress of almost losing Buck had just lowered his sex drive, he supposed.
So. Turns out that was a fucking lie.
Turns out he is the kind of guy that craves sex, after all.
Just not with women. Fucking clearly.
He’s become pretty aware of that fact, considering how many of his fantasies—which he didn’t even know he could have, by the way, repression is a hell of a thing—now consist of Buck bending him over various surfaces in the fire station and in Buck’s loft and in Eddie’s house and literally anywhere he’ll have him, actually.
He’d managed to go years in between sleeping with anyone back when he was a married man, but now, almost a month after his big gay revelation, he thinks he might actually go clinically insane if he doesn’t feel the touch of another man soon.
The wonders of un-repression have opened him up—quite literally—to the world of not only gay porn, but also prostate orgasms, and like… what the hell. Why had no one told him what he’d been missing this entire time? It’s like he’s ascended far beyond the mortal realm, to some kind of higher level of pleasure he hadn’t even realised existed. Like, he’s having to rediscover everything he thought he knew; relearning all of the parts of his body, all over again.
As it turns out, spending every night fucking himself on three of his own fingers—or, if he’s feeling fancy, the eight inch flesh-coloured dildo in his bedside drawer that had looked intimidatingly realistic the first time he’d sat and gazed at it in trepidation—is a pretty effective method of letting himself have joy. It’s maybe not quite what Father Brian had in mind, but he hadn’t been forthcoming with examples either, so who knows, really.
In any case, he’s not thinking about Father Brian while he’s fingering himself. (Not since those first couple of times, anyway, back before he’d recognized his attraction to Buck and immediately lost every single sense of rational thought that had ever entered his brain.)
He is, however, thinking about Buck. Thinking about his smile, and his big shoulders, and the way his thick fingers would feel pressing inside of him, and—
His phone is ringing.
He has half a mind to ignore it, because unless it’s Christopher or his parents it’s probably not that important, but when he glances over, the screen is lit up with an incoming call from Buck.
The two fingers he has inside of himself brush up against his prostate, and Buck’s contact photo—a stupid selfie he’d set himself years ago that Eddie had never bothered to or wanted to change—stares back at him, and Eddie moans helplessly.
He uses the hand that isn’t currently coated in lube to press accept call before he even knows what he’s doing.
“Hey!” It’s Buck’s voice on the other end of the line, bright and cheery, and, well, yeah. Obviously. It wasn’t gonna be anyone else.
Eddie hums an inquisitive noise in response, eyes closed as his fingers move in and out leisurely, waiting for Buck to start talking.
“...You good?” he huffs, fondly, when the silence stretches out.
“Yeah. Sure,” Eddie doesn’t need to see him to know that he’s shrugging, chewing at his bottom lip. Probably lying across the couch, feet kicked up, twiddling his thumbs. “I’m boreeed.”
It’s not the first time Buck’s rung him up, expecting to be entertained. Eddie indulges him every time, because, well. It’s Buck.
“Alright,” He’s grinning, hopelessly enamored. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Buck huffs.
“Whatcha doing?”
And. Well. For a singular, brief moment, Eddie contemplates telling the truth, but that’s maybe a bit insane. This is… a little bit fucked, actually. He’s kind of an awful person.
But lying here, loose and relaxed, with a warm flush spreading over his skin and a lazy sense of pleasure singing in his veins, he’s a little too gone to care. Buck’s voice is dripping in starlight, hot and familiar in his ear, and with his eyes shut he can almost pretend that he’s here, beside him. He can almost pretend it’s Buck’s fingers that are making him feel this good; can almost pretend that Buck’s eyes are on him, dark and wanting as he watches Eddie lose himself.
A soft moan rips from his throat.
There’s a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then Buck laughs, warm and delighted, and the breath that Eddie had been holding whooshes out of his lungs like a tidal wave.
“What are you doing, Eddie?” Buck asks him, again, his voice dipping low. Eddie bites back a whimper.
“Buck,” he whispers, helplessly.
“Yeahh, alright,” Buck says through a laugh. Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Have fun without me.”
I’d have way more fun if you were here, Eddie wants to say. You should be here, now; it should be your fingers opening me up, your cock stretching me open.
He almost does. He bites his lip to stop the words rushing out.
Come over, rattles in his head like a mantra. Come over, come over. Come fuck me. Come take me apart.
Buck’s steady breathing is loud over the speaker.
With a silent gasp, Eddie spills over his stomach.
“You know,” Buck says conversationally. “I’m pretty entertained, actually. Thanks Eddie.”
The line goes dead.
Eddie groans.
Yeah. He’s fucked.
One of them was always going to snap eventually. It had only ever been a question of when.
And sure, maybe Eddie’s a little bit tipsy right now, leaning into Buck in the booth that Hen and Karen had secured when they’d all agreed to join them at the bar after shift—to celebrate Karen’s promotion, Hen had claimed—but it’s probably not the alcohol’s fault that Buck’s presence beside him has him buzzing out of his skin.
The stars had aligned enough that all four of them had the next 96 off—the last 24 had been calm enough to warrant not immediately going home to pass out from exhaustion—which means that a couple of celebratory drinks had turned into… a couple more than that.
They’re all a lot less sober than they would be under normal circumstances. Eddie doesn’t let himself get like this very often, but he can’t deny that it’s a nice change of pace, to let loose like this. To let go of everything, for once.
Buck’s thigh pressing into his underneath the table isn’t anything new, but what is new is the hand that had drifted onto Eddie’s thigh at some point and… stayed there. Eddie is achingly aware of every single point of contact between them, of the way Buck’s fingers are resting oh-so-very-casually, as if the touch isn’t driving him halfway to insanity.
Buck keeps sneaking little glances over at him—Eddie can feel the heavy weight of them pressing into his bones, and it’s making him feel wanted, in a way he’s never experienced before. It’s a heady feeling, sinking into his veins like hot honey. He’s warm all over, floaty and tingly and vibrating out of his skin.
Karen’s halfway through a story about her new gen-z coworker, hands gesturing frantically, and Eddie can’t help the way he’s giggling at the affronted look on her face and the way her voice keeps rising higher as she gets more and more passionate.
Buck’s body is warm against his; he presses even closer, leaning as far into him as he can through his laughter, focus on Karen even as he practically wiggles onto Buck’s lap. He can feel his eyes on him. Karen doesn’t pause in her retelling, but she does narrow her eyes at Eddie with a knowing grin.
Chim leans forward, then, with a question about said coworker that Eddie doesn’t quite catch, too busy preening under the weight of Buck’s attention. He flicks his eyes up to find him already staring at him, gaze intense in a way that makes Eddie go hot all over.
He’ll blame the alcohol for the way he blinks, slowly, tilting his head towards Buck and gazing up at him through his lashes.
Buck swallows.
It feels dangerous.
Eddie’s heart is thrumming in his chest.
“You wanna go home?” Buck leans in to whisper into his ear, a puff of warm air.
Eddie shivers helplessly.
Buck’s mouth curves up into a grin, dark and predatory and gorgeous, and Eddie is lost.
He watches as Buck tips his head back to swallow the last dregs of his raspberry-pink cocktail in one gulp, his eyes drawn to the long line of his throat, shameless in his staring. Heat stirs low in his stomach.
The hand resting on his thigh shifts, and Eddie almost pouts at the loss of contact, only for that same hand to move to trail fingertips down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Buck’s thumb presses to the inside of his wrist, for a moment. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.
“We’re gonna go," Buck announces to the table at large, dragging Eddie to his feet with their now entwined hands. It’s subtle. Really subtle. Eddie’s face is on fire.
“Byeeee!” Karen yells back delightedly, clutching onto Hen—who’s gazing at her fondly—with a bright grin. Chim lets loose a cat-call, to which Buck responds by flipping him off; Ravi’s texting on his phone furiously, and Maddie looks like she might be close to tears, for some reason, but Eddie’s not really focused on any of them right now.
Buck’s smiling shyly at him, even despite the tension curling between them, and Eddie is gone, gone, gone.
He’s not sure how they make it home, actually. It’s all kind of a blur. Eddie had been more than content to let himself be dragged along by the big, warm hand that was tangled with his own.
But they’re here now. In Eddie’s kitchen. Buck’s stepping towards him, closing the distance between them, and the anticipation that he’s been feeling for days burns bright and hot and heady.
Here, their height difference is even more pronounced. Eddie, slouched back against the counter. Buck, stepping closer still, his arms sliding onto the counter either side of Eddie to box him in.
He has to tilt his head up to meet Buck’s eye, and he’s dizzy with it.
God, Buck just towers over him. Eddie’s not exactly a small guy, not by any means, but right now he feels tiny. Feels like one of those dolls Soph and Adri used to be so obsessed with. It’s intoxicating. Makes him feel… delicate. Like a fucking flower. He’s spent his entire life trying to be something he’s not, trying to force himself into all of the boxes his father had built for him, even as their sharp edges cut at his paper-thin skin.
It’s… freeing, in a way. To let himself have this.
“Eddie,” Buck breathes out shakily. He’d been all confident smirk and dark eyes up until now, but this close, Eddie can see the way he falters.
“If—if we do this…” Buck starts, trailing off. “Um. If we do… Us.”
He blinks rapidly, stupidly pretty. He’d been taking the reins, so far, and Eddie had been more than happy to let him take control. But now: he’s nervous, all of a sudden, biting at his bottom lip, unsure and so fucking sweet, and something about that makes Eddie feel calm.
They were always going to end up here.
And Eddie can be brave enough for the both of them.
He reaches for Buck’s belt-loops, tugging him in until their bodies press together, flush against one another. Buck gasps.
“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, tilting his head to catch his eye. Buck swallows, eyes so impossibly bright and blue and pretty in the kitchen light, and Eddie loves him. More than anything. He has to tell him as much.
“I love you.”
The disbelieving, shaky grin that takes over Buck’s every feature is the prettiest thing Eddie’s ever seen.
“You—god—” Buck tries to say, and then breaks off, giggling incredulously. Eddie’s hopelessly fond of him. His heart, having been pumping at a solid 120 bpm since the moment Buck’s hand landed on his thigh, squeezes in his chest.
“I—Oh my god, Eddie, I had a plan.”
“Was your plan just to stare at me until something came out of your mouth that made sense, or—”
“I’ll show you what comes out of my mouth—”
They both pause.
“Wait. Hang on,” Buck backtracks.
Eddie snorts unattractively.
“Shut up, god, you’re the one that’s been giving me bedroom eyes all night—”
“Because you wouldn’t stop touching me—”
In one swift movement, Buck presses forward. Startled, Eddie falls back into the kitchen counter, the heat of Buck’s body trapping him against the cool surface.
He promptly stops talking.
“Do you want me to stop touching you?”
Eddie’s throat goes dry. Like a puppet with its string cut, all of the fight goes out of him and he melts, boneless, into Buck’s hold.
“Yeah,” Buck’s grin is all sharp teeth. “That’s what I thought.”
With anyone else, Eddie would probably have whiplash with the way they just cycled through from ridiculously sappy into bickering into horny as fuck within the space of 30 seconds, but, well—it’s Buck. It’s him and Buck. It’s them.
Even with all that delicious tension curling around their bodies, drawing them together like a gay ass moth to a… bisexual… flame—Eddie’s not exactly in the headspace to be coming up with anything too poetic right now—it’s them.
“I love you,” Buck whispers, with a quick kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose that has his stomach fluttering. “So much. So bad. And we’re gonna talk about this later, obviously, but right now—”
He pauses, a hand snaking up to trail featherlight across Eddie’s neck, making him shiver, the pad of his thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. Eddie swallows.
“—Right now; ‘M gonna take you apart.”
Anything, Eddie wants to say, you can do anything you want to me, but his mouth can’t move to form the words. All he can do is whine, and nod, reduced to a blushing, aching, desperate mess in his own kitchen.
Buck’s lips curl up into a devastating smile. He leans in, torturously slowly, and that delicious tension that’s been surrounding them all night builds to a crescendo, and then snaps. He slides one hand into Eddie’s hair, the other gripping his chin to tilt his head how he wants, and slides his tongue into Eddie’s waiting mouth.
And—it’s—Oh.
He’s—It’s—
Eddie promptly loses all brain power.
He’s whining, he registers briefly, a high-pitched noise that he’s never heard before. He opens his mouth, wider, digs his hands into the meat of Buck’s shoulders and holds on for dear life as Buck takes him apart with spit-slick lips and that wicked, clever tongue. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. He feels undone, broken open, unmoored and adrift from his body because of nothing more than a slow, dirty kiss.
He’s shaking, he realises. When did he start shaking?
Buck backs off, slightly. Not away, just far enough for their eyes to meet and for Eddie to recognise the worry that’s crept onto his face.
“I—I didn’t know—” Eddie mumbles, mind a million miles away.
Buck’s brow is furrowed, his eyes wide with concern.
“What—”
“I didn’t know it was supposed to feel like that.”
“You—Kissing?” Buck asks, wounded. Eddie’s close enough to see the way his heart physically breaks.
He nods, blinking up at him, his eyes tracing over the slope of his nose and his red lips, the way they’re swollen and shiny with spit because they’d been kissing, Buck had kissed him and it had felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before, and he hadn’t been prepared, for the way his life would rearrange itself before him, and—oh, he’s crying. Why is he crying?
“Baby,” Buck whines.
Stars explode in his chest; a firework, the crack of a shotgun. The tears sliding down his cheeks taste like communion, like the first drop of water in a hurricane. It’s just… overwhelming, he thinks, realising that he’s been missing such a big part of himself. That he’s spent 33 years of his life locking himself away from all of this joy.
Buck’s hands come up to cup his cheeks, fingertips brushing away the tears that had fallen; his eyes are still shimmering with worry but there’s a wobbly smile taking over his face as Eddie starts giggling.
“I can’t believe I’ve been kissing wrong my whole life.”
“Because you’ve… not been kissing me?” Buck’s brow furrows.
Eddie laughs, bright and loud and free. He feels alive, in a way that’s always felt so impossibly far out of reach for him.
“I mean, yeah, sure. It just never felt like that. With women. Like, I’ve been missing out on so much.”
Buck’s eyes sparkle.
“But you’re here now,” he mumbles, pressing an achingly sweet kiss to his mouth. Eddie’s teeth catch against his bottom lip with the way he can’t stop smiling.
He tugs him in, his hands running through Buck’s soft curls, and their hips brush again, and Eddie remembers that oh, yeah, they were in the middle of something. Something that he’s been dreaming about for weeks. He grins, deepening the kiss again, and Buck falters.
“Are you… sure?” he hedges. “You’ve… been through a lot of emotions tonight. I don’t want—”
Eddie scoffs.
“Buck,” he states, firm, “I’ve been thinking about your dick for weeks. The only emotion I’m going through right now is horny, okay?”
The breath stutters out of Buck’s chest.
Eddie tightens his grip in his hair, dragging their lips back together in a filthy slide and swallowing the moan that shakes out of Buck.
“Are you—” He tries to press against his lips.
Eddie growls.
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna go out there and find someone else who will.”
It has the intended effect.
Buck makes a shuddering noise of disagreement—some mix between a whine and snarl that should not be as sexy as it is—and clutches at Eddie’s hips, fingertips bruising.
“No, you’re not,” he mumbles in between searing kisses. Eddie’s answering moan is the only confirmation he needs.
Buck’s hands move to his thighs, and Eddie’s too busy sucking his tongue into his mouth to realise what’s about to happen, and then he’s—fuck—being lifted onto the counter, as if he weighs nothing; Buck doesn’t even falter, doesn’t even take a breath or stop licking into his mouth or react to taking Eddie’s weight. And christ. It’s so hot. It’s so fucking hot. Eddie is not going to survive this.
He digs his nails into Buck’s shoulders, wraps his legs around his waist without a second thought, needing him closer, closer, closer. He can feel Buck’s hardness pressing into his, and it makes his head spin, has him mewling desperately as he shifts his hips again and again, searching for more friction. He needs—
Fuck, he needs—
He tears his lips away from Buck’s, chest heaving as he sucks in lungfuls of air. Buck takes the moment to press his mouth to Eddie’s jaw and trail biting kisses down his throat, hot and possessive, teeth scraping at his skin and then immediately soothing the sharp sting with his tongue.
“Please,” Eddie hears himself beg, doesn't even know what for. He’s frenzied, sweaty and out of his mind and gagging for it, for anything, for Buck’s fingers or Buck’s tongue or Buck’s dick, for some kind of relief for his aching cock, for a hand, for—anything. “Please—I need—Buck—”
He cuts himself off with a gasp, trembling.
“Yeah,” Buck’s murmuring in his ear. His hand moves to unbutton Eddie’s jeans and rub at him over the fabric of his boxers before he takes him out, and even that simple touch has him seeing stars. “Yeah, sweetheart, I got you.”
“Please,” he whines again. It should be insane, maybe, how quickly he’s taken to begging, but he can’t find it within himself to care.
Buck, jesus christ, spits on his hand—it should not be that ridiculously hot—and curls it around him, fisting Eddie’s aching cock and setting a deliciously slow rhythm, hot and steady and tight. Eddie watches, as his cock disappears in the grip of Buck’s hand. The sight is so beautifully obscene it has his eyes rolling back in his head.
It’s—god, it’s nothing like his own hand. The sensations feel like they’re multiplied by a thousand, the rough drag of the calluses on Buck’s hand, his panting breaths and his dark eyes on Eddie’s as he moans and shudders and shakes apart.
“Fuck,” Eddie hears himself sob, “Buck—I can’t—I’m not gonna—”
“Shush, baby. It’s okay. Let go for me,” Buck soothes, thumb rubbing over the slit, and that’s what does it; Eddie tenses, his back arching, and comes so hard he forgets his own name.
When he comes to, Buck’s swiping at his spent cock with… the dishcloth. In the kitchen. That’s used to clean the kitchen.
“You cannot be serious,” he groans, his voice no less shaky.
“Shut up,” Buck grins back, rolling his eyes. “You’ve got plenty more.”
Eddie huffs, even as he’s reaching a hand out to grab at Buck’s dick, mind still hazy from that spine-tingling orgasm. Buck bats his hand away, and Eddie blinks, because—Oh. He’d already gotten himself off.
Buck smiles bashfully. Eddie tries not to pout over the fact that he’d been denied seeing him come in real time.
“Just taking the edge off,” Buck murmurs, pressing a cotton-candy-sweet kiss to Eddie’s temple. Eddie’s helpless to the blissful smile that blooms across his face. “Ready to go again in 15?”
He’s grinning, wickedly enchanting, and Eddie might be 33 years old, definitely not a teenager anymore, but he’s also sleeping with a man for the first time—sleeping with Buck—and he thinks that’s surely gotta do wonders for his refractory period.
“Gimme ten,” he mumbles, nipping at Buck’s bottom lip.
Buck giggles, cheeks pink, and lifts him up off the counter.
Oh god.
Eddie swears, startled into winding his arms around Buck’s neck and wrapping his legs around his waist before he’s even registered the shift in position. Buck’s cackle is loud in his ear as he carries him to the bedroom.
They’re still kissing languidly, up against the door, Buck’s hands tight on his thighs and his tongue hot in his mouth, when Eddie feels himself stirring in his pants again. He grins victoriously—he’d never been able to get it up again this quickly, even ten years ago. Yet another win for homosexuality.
Buck’s laughing at him as he’s thrown down onto the mattress.
Eddie falls back against the bedsheets, catching himself on his elbows, fingers fumbling desperately at the buttons of his shirt. He manages, somehow, tearing it off and throwing it to the side, his eyes lingering on Buck all the while.
Buck’s pulling his own shirt over his head, his muscles rippling with it, and it’s—it’s such a boyish move, he’s such a man; the reminder has Eddie’s blood running hot.
Buck’s a man, and he’s shirtless, in Eddie’s bedroom, and he’s climbing onto Eddie’s bed, and Eddie’s going to have sex with him, with a man, with Buck, and it’s— it’s—
“What?” Buck huffs out, giggling at whatever awe there is written across his face.
“Nothing,” Eddie manages, even as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m just—really fucking gay.”
It startles a glittering laugh out of Buck.
“Yeah?” he teases, mouth curving up into a smirk. “This do it for you? Big, strong men in your bed?”
Yeah. Yes. Fuck.
He shakes his head. Buck quirks an eyebrow.
“Just you. J’st you in my bed.”
Buck’s smirk turns dark and dangerous as he moves to settle over Eddie, hot and heavy and solid on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. Eddie’s eyelids flutter.
“Fuck,” he hisses, “been dreaming about you holding me down.”
Buck sucks in a breath.
“Yeah?” he bites out through a grin.
Eddie’s about to open his mouth to reply, but then Buck’s shucking off his boxers— jeans already discarded ten minutes ago— and Eddie’s a little distracted by his dick slapping up against his stomach.
“Oh my god,” It’s punched out of him in a goddamn whimper as his mouth drops open, spit pooling in the corners of his lips. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Buck’s cock, hard and leaking, the tip flushed red and glittering with precome. God, he wants it in him. Wants it in his mouth, on his tongue, between his thighs. Wants to feel it brushing against his rim, wants it pushing inside of him, splitting him open.
The thought has him whining.
Buck, because of course he does, fucking preens.
“Jesus. You’re gagging for it, aren’t you?” He’s smirking, eyes disbelieving, and Eddie is. Has been, for the past month. For way longer than that, since way before he recognised it for what it was, this all-consuming desire to be surrounded by Buck for all eternity. It knocks the wind out of him, how much he wants it. It’s a wonder it had taken him this long to figure it out.
“Need it,” he whines, pleads, begs, maybe.
He doesn’t know how Buck’s managed to do it: reduce him to this desperate, writhing mess, aching for something inside of him, and he should be embarrassed about it, maybe, but Buck’s looking at him like he wants to devour him, and he feels… he feels sexy. It’s an alien feeling, one he didn’t realise he was even capable of, because Eddie’s hot, right—objectively, he knows he’s hot—but he’s never quite felt like something to be desired until now.
It sends a hot surge of power rushing through his veins, having all of Buck’s attention like this. Makes desire coil in his stomach, a live current of electricity; he wants to show off for him, for Buck, and it’s—it’s fun. Like this, Buck’s nails digging into his hips and his eyes trailing all over him, he feels wanted.
Eddie arches his back, deliberately, flutters his lashes in a way he hopes looks coy, channels all of the desperate want that’s swirling inside of him, gazing up at him like… like… like a girl.
He feels… pretty.
And he wants to be pretty, wants to be good, for Buck. Wants to be a good, pretty girl for Buck.
He watches, with a hot rush of satisfaction, as Buck’s mouth drops open; he whines, long and low, and Eddie thinks, yeah. Gotcha.
“Eddie,” Buck murmurs, voice catching in his throat. “Fuck. You’re so—Jesus Christ. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.”
“No one else,” Eddie slurs. “Just you. Only you.”
Just him. Just Buck. Because he’s his. Every single inch of him, tattooed with Buck’s name and seared with Buck’s touch and dripping in Buck’s blood; two halves of two different hearts occupying his ribcage, stitched together with that blazing thread of devotion that runs through both of their veins, glowing in a crimson hue.
Buck’s breathing heavily, his fingers twitching on Eddie’s sides, eyes impossibly dark. He knows he feels it too: this all-consuming desire to claim—to snarl and roar and scream it from the rooftops, that no one else can have him, no one else ever again.
“Do you have—” Buck starts.
“Top drawer.”
Buck grins, reaching over, and Eddie’s a little too preoccupied ogling the way his arms flex with the movement to remember what else it is that lives in that drawer alongside the lube. Buck’s head whips back around to look at him.
“Yeah?” He grins, his eyebrows raised teasingly, lips curving into a smirk.
Inexplicably, Eddie feels himself flush. He’s naked on his bed, with his best friend, who is also naked, about to put his dick in him and give him the railing of his life, and somehow, he’s blushing about said best friend discovering the dildo he’s been fucking himself with for the past month.
Buck hums.
“You get a lot of use out of this?” he asks conversationally.
Eddie groans, throwing an arm over his face even as he’s nodding, face burning.
“Poor thing,” Buck coos. Eddie shudders. “Been so desperate for someone to come and give you the real thing, hm?”
God, his voice is just on the right side of mocking, a low drawl that has Eddie’s stomach clenching, a wave of… something burning through him. Because Eddie has. Has been so insanely, stupidly desperate for it; for Buck to come over and give it to him, to take him apart. And he might be acting all smug and cocky about it right now, but Eddie knows he hasn’t been alone in this. That Buck’s been right here with him this whole time.
And Eddie knows just how to drive him crazy, too.
He nods, lets a pretty little gasp fall from his parted lips, gazes up into Buck’s face from beneath his lashes, eyes wide and begging and simmering with want. He looks good like this. He knows he looks good like this.
“Mmm-hmm,” he mumbles, biting his lip, “you wanna know why I picked that one?”
Buck raises an eyebrow, even as his eyes are darting from his eyes to his mouth to his chest to his dick to back again. Eddie grins wide enough to reveal his canines.
“Made me think of you. Of your cock.”
Buck sucks in a sharp breath, eyelids fluttering as he blinks rapidly, cheeks pink and the strawberry-kiss of his birthmark captivating in the lowlight. He whimpers. Eddie laughs.
“I mean, you’re gonna make it good for me, right?”
Buck swallows. He’s nodding frantically. Eddie feels on top of the fucking world, drunk on the knowledge that he has this kind of effect over Buck—that he’s the one making him look like this, flushed and panting and gorgeous, the prettiest thing Eddie’s ever seen.
“Always knew that you would,” he goes on, voice breathy. “You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else.” A brief moment of hesitation, but— he’s already come this far. “…Gonna fuck me like a good boy.”
Buck makes a noise Eddie’s never heard from him before.
“Eddie,” He whines, weakly, “you’re gonna kill me, oh my fucking god.”
“At least fuck me first,” Eddie smiles teasingly.
Buck falls forward, slides between Eddie’s spread legs—Eddie thinks he should stay there forever, wants him to make a home there and never, ever leave. His giggle turns into a moan as Buck rubs over his rim with the pad of his thumb and then presses one slick finger inside of him, looking up with dark eyes and a determined set to his brow.
“Oh, I’m gonna," he smirks.
And it’s fun, the constant back-and-forth, both of them knowing exactly how to push each other’s buttons. Eddie had no idea sex could be like this, could be this easy—comfortable and familiar, even while desire burns him alive from the inside. That it could be just him, and Buck, and everything that exists between them: warmth and safety and fire and heat and love and lust and eternity and forever. Could be just Eddie, moaning unashamedly as his best friend fucks three thick fingers into him, rubbing at his prostate determinedly while Eddie tries not to lose his fucking mind.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he can hear himself muttering, writhing on the bed as Buck fingers him like he wants him to forget everyone and everything that isn’t Buck, that isn’t his perfect fingers and his pink cheeks and his pretty fucking blue eyes as he gazes up at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s real. He feels so so good and he could come like this, he knows he could, but he needs Buck’s cock in a way that he’s never needed anything else.
“Buck, c’mon, I’m ready, I can take it. Please, please,” he’s begging, delirious. He needs it he needs it he needs it he needs—
“Fuck, okay. Eddie. Jesus,” Buck moans, voice shaking. “‘M gonna give it to you, I promise.”
He pulls his fingers out and Eddie whines at the loss, feeling unbearably empty, clenching around nothing.
“Shush, I’ve got you,” Buck murmurs comfortingly. He’s slicking up his cock with one hand, the other resting on top of Eddie’s beating heart, Eddie’s fingers curled around his wrist.
He heaves a shuddering breath as the blunt head of Buck’s cock catches against his rim. Slowly, carefully, devastatingly, he slides in.
Eddie blinks hazy eyes open, staring down at the place their bodies meet, watching with rapt attention as Buck’s cock sinks inside of him. It’s fucking obscene, god; they make such a pretty picture, the two of them.
Buck groans, sliding in further, and Eddie gasps as he’s filled, so so perfectly, and everything is warm and wet and incredible, and oh, Buck’s all the way inside and oh, fuck. They’re having sex. He’s having sex with Buck.
It’s— oh.
There’s a moment where neither of them move. They’re staring at each other, eyes wide, as if they’re only just now realising exactly what this is. Seven years of friendship, of devotion before they even understood what it was, what it meant, culminating in this one, singular moment. Eddie shivers, and Buck shudders against him, and, oh.
“I love you,” Eddie breathes, because he has to say it. Because he never wants to stop saying it.
“Love you,” Buck gasps, rolling his hips. He fucks into him—slow, deep thrusts that have Eddie whining, clenching down around him. He feels hot and shivery all over, spine melting into liquid gold, the blood that sparkles in his veins vaporised into stardust.
It’s—god, the real thing is nothing like his fantasies. Nothing like anything he’s ever experienced. It’s fucking biblical, that gorgeous stretch; Buck’s warm, pulsing cock splitting him open, filling him up in a way that Eddie surely must have spent his entire life searching for. Hot, ardent pleasure zips up and down his spine, punching high, breathy moans out of him.
“Yeah?” Buck’s murmuring in his ear, all low and rough and mind-numbingly hot. “Like that?”
Likethatlikethatlikethat. He can’t tell if the words are falling from his lips or they’re only in his head; he can’t focus on anything that isn’t white-hot burning pleasure.
“Fuuuck, look at you,” Buck groans, “take my cock so well, shit.”
It shouldn’t surprise him, that Buck talks just as much during sex as he does outside of it. It’s endearing, so him, so fucking hot and perfect, so Buck.
Eddie mewls. Every nerve-ending is on fire. Buck’s eyes are twin pools of black, his gaze locked onto him so intensely Eddie can feel it in his fucking soul. He wants to be claimed, and claimed, taken apart and put back together under Buck’s patient hands—wants Buck inside of him, like this, for all eternity.
“Ohhh, fuck, you were made for this,” Buck says, and somewhere deep in his mind, Eddie agrees.
He’s reduced to broken little whimpers and gasping moans, by this point, tongue heavy and useless in his mouth, the entirety of both the English and Spanish languages fucked out of his brain. Everything feels brand-new, like he’s chasing pleasure he never knew existed all over again.
And he knows what he wants, but it’s just… there, out of reach. And he can’t—he can’t say the words, but he needs—
He gasps up at Buck, and Buck… Buck knows him. Buck knows him better than anyone. Knows him better than he knows himself. And he’s never, ever let him down.
“So pretty, Eds,” he whimpers, eyes hot and dark, voice low and rasping and everything. “So gorgeous. You’re so fucking good for me. My good, pretty girl.”
Eddie arches his back and sobs as he comes.
He thinks he might actually ascend to heaven.
“... Oh,” he breathes, finally, minutes or maybe hours later, “fuck.”
Buck giggles next to him. They’re both dripping in sweat, sticky and sated—Eddie can feel Buck’s come leaking out of him, making a mess of his cock, still warm inside Eddie’s body, and it should be disgusting, maybe, but he wants to bask in it forever.
Buck makes a move as if to pull out and Eddie whines in disagreement, shaking his head.
“Don’t go,” he slurs.
Buck, forever on the same page as him, just smiles. He moves them carefully so they’re both lying on their sides, wrapped all around Eddie like the world’s comfiest blanket. Eddie hums in contentment and settles down further against him.
“Good?” He can feel Buck’s grin pressing into the back of his neck.
“Ngh,” Eddie says, in lieu of response. Buck hums in agreement, laughing quietly.
They’re disgusting. Covered in each other and absolutely filthy with it. They should definitely shower, or at least wipe themselves clean, because they’ll definitely regret it in the morning, but Buck’s pushing a finger in beside his soft cock, pressing his come back into Eddie’s hole, and Eddie doesn’t want to go anywhere.
They’ll have things to do in the morning. A whole host of friends begging to know everything. Dried come to peel off their bodies and complain about even though they very much put themselves in this situation willingly, some new stains on the bed sheets which may never, ever come out.
A son to talk to about their relationship, eventually. HR forms to fill out. Conversations to be had.
But that can be tomorrow’s problem.
For now, Eddie curls into Buck’s warm body and thinks about forever.