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Buck has always felt drawn to the ocean.
Maybe it was just that he’d romanticized the concept of it after twenty years landlocked in Pennsylvania; but once he was out on his own, Maddie’s keys cradled in his palm and a fresh hole in his chest where his heart used to lie, he knew he needed to head to the coast. East, at first, too used to cold winters and humid summers, picking up jobs where he can to make ends meet. There are girls, of course, adventurous and wayward just like him, and the first time he sets bare feet on the sand in Virginia Beach he is overwhelmed by a sense of cosmic insignificance. He feels small, standing there with grit between his toes, the vast unknown of the ocean stretching out as far as the eye can see and even further beyond. He clings to the only weapon he has against its mesmerizing pull, a bright blue polyurethane surfboard that glides over waves like oil, and he feels like he’s found a piece of himself.
The girls don’t last forever, and neither do the jobs, but his love for the ocean persists. He heads out west in his Jeep, past eons and eons of flat fields of corn and copy-paste commercial strips, until eventually he can’t go west anymore. California is as good a place as any, and he picks the most scenic postcards he can find to send to Maddie, hoping and praying that the blue skies and yellow sun tempt her away from Doug.
She never responds, but he snaps photos of the sunset for her anyway.
Bartending and construction pay the bills, but they don’t alleviate the unease in his gut— he wants to do something with his life instead of drifting aimlessly. Buck wants to matter. He’s down at the boardwalk on his day off when he walks past two NAVY Seals in their uniforms, and it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his head. He’s at the recruitment office the next day, eager and bright-eyed and bouncing on his heels, and he thinks to himself— finally. Somewhere to belong.
He passes the physical test with flying colors, sympathetic to all the other recruits who didn’t pass, wheezing for air and collapsing mid-test. Buck’s first instinct is to run over and help, but he’s quickly reprimanded— if they’re not up to snuff, then they’re getting left behind. He grits his teeth and backs off, but the annoyance persistently nags at him.
The cold water exposure portion of training is when everything collapses. The week has already been hell— up before the sunrise, hours of grueling training to push them to the brink, mediocre food lining their stomachs as they trudge through the exhaustion. Superior officers getting right in his face, screaming themselves hoarse while Buck chews on his tongue and fights not to roll his eyes. He’s tired, and his reserve of patience is running thin, and then they’re being unceremoniously shuffled out of bed in the dark to crowd onto a little rubber dinghy and told to jump in.
Buck does a double-take, because surely he didn’t hear that correctly, it’s dark and the water is easily only 55 degrees right now— but his fellow recruits dive in, dry clothes and all, and Buck bites back a grumble and braces himself for the shock of cold.
Nothing can prepare him for the stinging bite of salt water, goosebumps flooding his skin while his teeth chatter against his will, the grind of bone on bone echoing in his skull. Buck’s ears start to ring, drowning out the whooping of his fellow recruits, focused only on staying afloat. His clothes cling to him unpleasantly, waterlogged and weighing him down. It feels a bit like his boots are made of lead, dragging him into the cavernous depths that lie beneath his feet. It’s darkness in every direction, plunging into the pit of ice water below, illuminated only by the shimmer of the moon above him.
His heart is racing despite the cold seeping into every pore, and Buck cranes his neck to look out at the horizon. It’s so— empty out there, vast but still, the churning of the waves the only movement visible under the moonlight. He feels uneasy, despite the calm, because he knows for a fact— they aren’t alone. That just under the surface teems an entire ecosystem, fish and algae and mammals and things still yet undiscovered. They hover there, under his feet, lurking in the dark just out of sight. He strains his eyes, squinting now, desperately searching for something that isn’t there. But he feels it, at the back of his neck: something is watching him.
A strange feeling washes over him. He feels compelled to keep searching, to dip his head into the water and open his eyes against the stinging salt, to sink a bit lower into the darkness. He thinks, maybe, if he just swam out a little farther, a little deeper, if he just followed the tug at his gut— he could find it.
Buckley, his Chief Petty Officer calls out, and Buck whips his head back around where the rest of the recruits are climbing back onto the boat. The haze clears a little bit, the ringing in his ears subsiding while the noise filters back in, and when he holds out a hand to help another recruit get on board he’s reprimanded once again.
Help is for the weak, his Officer chides, and Buck feels a pulse of frustration blister at his temple and he thinks, maybe I want to help the weak. Maybe I’m good enough for that.
He doesn’t say that. He tells his commanding Officer to bite him, instead, and he stomps off base in his still wet uniform. His boots slosh with every thudding step, the ocean firmly at his back.
He’s drawn to Montana next, but the flat plains and mountainous valleys make him feel too closed in, too claustrophobic. He heads down to Peru, spending his days beachside pouring cosmopolitans for rich tourists, salt in the air and sand between his toes and missing Maddie fiercely. He’s about ready to call it quits anyway and head back to the states when Connor invites him back to California, to the city of angels, and Buck accepts because— really, where else would he go?
The day he joins the LAFD, he feels something click into place once more. This is where he’s meant to be. This is what he was put on this Earth to do. And yet, despite it all, he can’t help but gaze out at the Pacific sometimes and wonder—
Was something waiting out there for him?
His first impression of Eddie? This guy’s not all that. Buck seems to be the only person who shares that impression, though, because the rest of A-shift get along with him no problem. Buck is already on edge from there being a new guy on the team, but the fact that everyone’s first acknowledgement of Eddie is how good-looking he is just adds salt to the wound.
Okay that is a beautiful man, Chim says, and Hen immediately follows it with, where’s the lie? And I like girls. Buck bristles, because they already have a well-rounded team, and really, what’s so great about this guy anyway? They don’t even know him, but everyone is drawn to him straight away, laughing with him and asking him about his kid and inviting him to set the table with them. Even gossiping with him about Buck and Abby, apparently. Where was everybody’s loyalty?
Buck knows he’s prone to stubbornness— he knows he’s being a bit of a hardass. He’s just dumbfounded by the way everyone is pulled into Eddie’s orbit, his handsome face and his sweet kid and his friendly disposition. Dumbfounded, and maybe just a bit jealous.
He catches Eddie giving him these looks, eyes furrowed and mouth twitching down, smoothed out in an instant. Buck begrudgingly admits to himself that he’s only catching these looks because, well— he was looking first. When Eddie confronts him in the gym (what’s your problem, man?) and Buck puffs out his chest ready for a fight (okay, you. You’re my problem), he’s mildly embarrassed at the way Eddie still placates Buck with soothing (if sassy) words. A small, small part of Buck recognizes that he’s being unreasonable. He just— doesn’t feel the need to trip over himself to get this guy’s approval, is all.
During the call with the grenade, sometime between Eddie placing one bloody glove over Buck’s and the tense eye contact they make after securing the box, Buck feels the knot in his stomach ease up. He’s not sure what exactly to attribute it to; the adrenaline, the camaraderie, the competent way Eddie guides them through the procedure. All Buck knows is that once Eddie smiles at him afterwards, says, you can have my back any day, he feels his insides light up like fireworks. He smiles goofily, ducks his head and stammers out an embarrassingly sincere response, and from that moment forward he feels the pull just like everybody else. Like a sunflower, craning towards the sky.
Buck gets it now. There’s just… something about him.
He is caught in the path of something wretched and ferocious, unforgiving.
It pummels him with unceasing force, sweeping his legs out from underneath him and dragging him under. Buck can’t tell up from down, eyes stinging where they’re open under the waves, trying to reorient himself. It is dark despite the shining spotlight of the sun, taunting him high in the sky.
Buck gasps in mouthfuls of air when he finally surfaces, darkness ebbing away from the corners of his vision. His thoughts are mangled and desperate, treading water while he’s swept away with the current, desperate to find Christopher.
The sea claims hundreds of souls that day, lost to the formidable turbulence. Buck is not one of them, but he wonders, briefly, if they are lost there forever. He wonders if he was meant to be among them.
After that, he gravitates around Eddie like he’s the sun, pushing and pulling into his orbit. He likes Eddie as a friend and then loves him as a brother, loves his son, worms his way into their life with nary a complaint and secures his spot. Not just that— Buck doesn’t force his way in. Eddie invites him there. He makes room for him with assuring words and kind eyes and a firm touch.
Eddie almost succumbs to a watery grave, buried beneath the wet earth, and Buck claws and claws and claws his way through the muck. He’s not sure how, prayers or the universe or maybe just dumb luck, but Eddie stumbles his way back to them with waterlogged lungs and a vacant look in his eyes. Those eyes— they look almost—
But it’s dark, and Buck is near delirious with exhaustion and grief, so he convinces himself it was an illusion.
People come and go— Ali, Ana, Taylor, Lucy— but their bond holds steady through it all. Through fire and brimstone and bullets in the street, holding Eddie’s life in his hands between blood-soaked fingers.
Are you hurt? Eddie asks him with fluttering wide eyes, looking down at the mess of blood, and he looks…
Panicked. Maybe even guilty.
No, no, I-I’m good, Buck says, and Eddie’s eyes roll back into his head, and Buck feels like he’s lost a part of himself. But he gets Eddie back. They always come back to each other.
After the lightning strike he’s bombarded with visitor after visitor, watchful eyes surveying him 24/7 like he’s gonna slip back into a coma if nobody is there. The constant feeling of eyes on him makes him feel beyond smothered. When he finds his opportunity to escape, scribbling tell Maddie I went out on a note and tacking it to his front door, he indecisively bangs his fingers against the wheel of his Jeep for all of ten seconds before deciding his destination.
Every mile closer to Eddie’s house feels like a weight being lifted, like something is calling him there, pinging his destination like a satellite radar. He hasn’t seen Eddie in a couple days, so he tells himself he just misses his best friend, but— somehow, it feels like a lie.
Eddie’s face breaks out into a soft smile when he opens the door, and all he gets out is a joyful hey before Buck halts his words with a flippant hand gesture and a, please don’t ask me how I am. He sighs in relief when he sinks down onto the couch, every muscle in his body relaxing, molding into the soft cushions like he belongs there. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he cracks open his eyes again they’re dry and crusty at the edges, the fading sun outside long gone.
They talk about death— as much as they’re able to, anyway— and when Eddie hands him the sandwich he was making he says, “it’s funny— I was just thinking about you before you came over.”
Buck blinks up at him, hands restlessly clenching in the soft bread and leaving a row of indents from his fingertips. “Oh, uh, yeah?”
“Your ears must’ve been ringing,” Eddie teases, grabbing two more slices from the bag and laying them out meticulously. His movements are a little clumsy— he must be tipsier than he’s letting on. Maybe those beers are what gave him the nerve to speak so candidly about being shot, blanketed by the courage of alcohol. “I would’ve called you, but I figured you were busy with your guests.”
Buck scoffs, shaking his head. “I just, uh— I had to get outta there. Felt like every bone in my body was begging me to escape.”
“So you came here?” Eddie asks, smearing spicy mustard over half the bread. He gets a little on his thumb, and Buck’s eyes track the way he draws it up to his mouth, licking it clean. He feels weird.
“Yeah, guess so,” Buck answers lamely. His voice is hoarse, and he shoves his sandwich into his mouth to alleviate the dryness.
Eddie hums, tossing the knife into the sink with a loud clatter. “Figured you would want some alone time after all that. I’m surprised you didn’t check into a motel.”
He exhales through his nose in amusement, swallowing before he’s really finished chewing and wincing at the harsh lump that drags down his esophagus. “This place was just… calling me, I guess.” Eddie looks up at him, then, brows pinching together and eyes moving rapidly like he’s thinking something over, and Buck feels shame prickle at the back of his neck. “Must be your supreme sandwich making skills,” Buck adds, trying to lighten the mood.
Eddie blinks for another tense moment, mumbling, “right,” before snorting softly, his expression clearing up to something more lighthearted. “Either that or my magic couch.”
They stuff the rest of their food in their faces in the dim light of the kitchen, and the salty aftertaste of the bologna clings to his teeth when they migrate to the living room. The TV flickers on, more for background noise than anything, and Buck relays Eddie with the tales of his sister-induced imprisonment. Eddie makes Buck laugh until he’s red in the face, and he’s practically dragging his feet by the time he’s heading home. Every mile further from Eddie’s house feels like yarn being pulled in his chest, too taut, fraying at the seams.
Buck doesn’t often dream— even less after the coma— but when he does, it always leaves him in a daze, disoriented and struggling to parse through what is reality and what’s not. He always texts Bobby, just to be sure he’s really awake, and while he waits for a response he sucks down air and muddles through what he can remember. Flashes, always just flashes, but the feeling they leave behind persists long after the memories slip away.
Dark and tumultuous waters, crashing violently against the shore, deafeningly loud. His limbs sapped of strength, every movement sluggish and heavy like he’s sinking into the earth. The moon, its imposing presence hanging tranquilly in the sky; a spotlight he has to squint against. They’re interspersed with real memories sometimes, memories of being battered by a tsunami wave, of his lungs screaming for air, of the way his hair stood on end right before the lightning struck.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. Something is watching him. Something menacing that makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle. A beautiful melody, tempting him to disappear into the waves. To paradoxically seek warmth and safety in the arms of something so deadly.
He almost goes. He respects the ocean, the way a person respects a wild animal, cautious and wary of its power. He should back away— but he wants to get closer. Wants to see what it’s really capable of.
Buck always jolts awake then. The visions blur away in his mind as he comes to, antsy and restless at being ripped away. Mere moments from sating his curiosity. There’s something else, too, something dark and warm where it rests in his guts, half-hard in his boxers with fear still lingering in the back of his throat. Sometimes it lingers all the way to his shower, and Buck will soap up his hand and spit down on his cock and let the fear morph into something new. Something laced with sharp, serrated edges.
He pumps at himself with unrelenting strokes, one forearm braced against the shower wall while he tilts his head down to watch his cockhead pop through the hole of his fist. He thinks of the water, spilling down his body in rivulets, and he imagines being completely submerged, imagines the water filling up his mouth, his nostrils, his lungs. Buck’s abdomen clenches helplessly, the heat building in his thighs and his pelvis, and when he comes with a ragged gasp he swears he can taste salt on his tongue.
By the time lunch rolls around, he’s all but forgotten it.
When Eddie and Tommy become friends, thicker than thieves, Buck feels desperate and jealous in a way that has even Maddie raising her brows. Eddie’s allowed to have friends— of course he is, he has lots of friends, Buck knows that— but there’s something about the way he and Tommy immediately bond that has Buck’s mouth going sour. Tommy floods Eddie with gifts and attention, stuff Buck couldn’t afford in his wildest dreams, and the way they connect over Muay Thai and cars and sports— things Buck doesn’t have a clue about and frankly doesn’t care to— well. It kinda feels like he’s being replaced, is all. Being left out like this has him reverting to a childlike state, stubborn and reckless, acting out for attention.
Therapy has helped over the years, and Buck is self-aware enough now to recognize that it’s just his abandonment issues flaring up, but still— he watches Eddie gush over the phone, laughing until he’s pink, and Buck feels something possessive and ugly worm its way into his chest. He wants to crowd into Eddie’s space until those warm caramel eyes are focused only on him, haughtily pushing back anybody who tries to get in-between them.
That ache that sits in his chest gets hotter and darker, and he lays awake at night and rubs at it to alleviate the pain. Buck lies there and fumes, mind drifting towards Eddie: Eddie’s charismatic smile, the infectious melody of his laugh, the captivating way his eyes grow big and dark when he wants something. Of course Tommy was drawn to him— who doesn’t like Eddie? Everybody loves him. Everybody orbits him like he’s the sun, and Buck is starting to feel a bit like the moon, distant and yearning to line the pieces up. A total eclipse.
When he butts his way into the basketball game against the Westside guys, he feels a red haze settle over his eyes, a fog that won’t cease. Eddie’s grinning, just happy that Buck is there, teasing him playfully and high-fiving his teammates when they score. High-fiving Tommy. When Buck not-so-accidentally body-checks Eddie he immediately regrets it, skin going cold despite the oppressive heat of the blinding sun.
He stands there helplessly, the fog clearing at the sight of Eddie in pain. When every guy in a fifty foot radius surrounds Eddie where he’s lying on the floor, Buck feels it like a knife in his gut. Every one of them is eager to help, surrounding Eddie like a wall from all sides, and it’s not until Chimney physically pushes them away that they back up a bit. Uh, hey, I can bring my Jeep right up here, Buck offers, desperate to fix this, but then Tommy says, my car’s close. There’s an urgent care on the way to his house, I drove him, I can take him. Bile spits up at the back of Buck’s throat, bitter and acidic, at the thought— Tommy picking Eddie up at his house, Tommy driving him home, Eddie relaxed and pink and sweaty in his passenger seat, thighs spread wide. Inviting him in for a beer.
Buck’s vision swims as he watches them hobble away, and his whole body feels raw like an open wound. Uneasiness, guilt, insecurity— they swirl around his bloodstream like a deadly miasma, pounding at his subconscious. He shifts on unsteady feet, ready to go home with his tail tucked between his legs. He’s so caught up in his own whirlpool of misery that he almost doesn’t catch that every other guy there is doing the exact same thing; watching Eddie walk away, captivated, feet glued to the ground. Inching forward like they wanted to follow.
Buck physically shakes the feeling away, rubbing at his sun-kissed neck and trudging towards his bag. He petulantly ignores Chimney’s disapproving expression where it bores a hole in the side of his face.
Buck’s still reeling from his conversation with Maddie when Tommy shows up at the loft, so he stutters his way through a weak apology. Look, you don’t have to tell me how great Eddie is. You know, I’ve known that since the first day I worked with him, and then Tommy is inching closer and Buck’s heart is pounding hard enough to ache. Their voices grow hushed, softer, and oh, he’s being kissed, a man is kissing him—
His brain is like static after that, just parroting what Tommy is saying back to him, and just before he leaves he says, and for God’s sake, please call Eddie. Now would be a good time, he’s on pain pills. The door shuts firmly behind him, and Buck stands in the middle of his loft while his brain moves a mile a minute— he kissed a guy, and he didn’t hate it, and his heart is racing so fast it hurts, and Eddie, Eddie feels bad for excluding him, Eddie is sitting at home alone in pain—
Buck rubs at his stubble and paces, staring down at the phone in his palm, when he decides maybe there’s something to Tommy’s words— clearing the air over a phone call isn’t enough. He should really go down there in person.
The house is eerily still when Buck pulls up to it, sliding into the driveway next to Eddie’s truck and killing the engine. The sounds of traffic nearby provide a steady stream of white noise, but it’s otherwise quiet on South Bedford, front lights dimmed as the people inside settle down for the evening. The crescent moon hanging in the sky is being swallowed up by stormy looking clouds, grey moonlight reflecting and silhouetting the shape of them.
Buck knocks hesitantly, two quiet raps of his knuckles against wood, unwilling to disturb the uneasy tranquility on the street. He hears rustling in the bushes nearby; perhaps it’s just the cool breeze that blows over him, making him shudder and break out in goosebumps, but it’s enough to have him trying the doorknob. He succeeds, the handle turning without trouble, and he slips inside and shuts the door behind him with a sigh of relief.
“Eddie?” he calls out, just above normal conversational volume, the living room encased in shadows. The light is on in the kitchen, a dim yellow bulb flickering just above the stove, but it’s otherwise empty. Chris doesn’t seem to be home— Buck thinks after all the chaos with the ankle, it’s a safe bet that he’s probably with Pepa.
Something curls up Buck’s spine, like a gentle tendril of smoke, twisting around his neck and settling just behind the lobes of his ears. He slaps at his neck like he’s swatting a mosquito, but the fresh wave of goosebumps shiver through him regardless, settling in his skin and sinking down to the bone. “Eddie,” he calls again, stepping further into the house, still ensconced in darkness, and then he finally hears it— a low melodic hum coming from down the hall.
His heart pounds erratically in his chest, banging against his ribcage, head tilting towards the source of the noise. His feet move almost without his permission, drawn towards the sound as if by instinct. It feels uncannily familiar, the tug in his gut, something primal inside of him that says— follow. It’s not fear that guides his steps, but something softer; curiosity. The promise of something resplendent.
He tries to place that familiar feeling as he pads softly down the hallway, drawing ever closer to the source. There’s a faint light coming from the crack underneath the bathroom door, shadows flickering with movement, and as he hovers just outside the door he catches a whiff— salt.
Buck should knock. He should call out Eddie’s name again. He should, he should, he should.
The doorknob opens without a fight, a soft familiar creak, swinging open and bombarding Buck’s senses with a stronger waft of salt. Salt and cool alkaline water, coalescing in messy puddles on the floor, dancing shadows reflected from the light of sweet, misty candles. The humming is louder, accented by the slosh of splashing water, and when Buck drags hazy eyes to the tub his throat tightens in shock.
Fear floods his adrenals, molding his feet to the floor, immobile and incoherent. His pulse pounds against his neck as he gapes at the sight, lagging brain desperately trying to keep up through the dizzying fog settling in his mind. There’s— there’s something here, something in the tub, something horrifying and incomprehensible and inhuman—
No. Not inhuman. It’s— It’s Eddie.
Buck’s lungs shudder for air, every cell in his body begging him to move closer, to get a better look, to bare his neck in submission. The candles only provide a meager light source, flickering and dim as they are, but there’s no doubt to what Buck sees before him: Eddie, lounging in the bathtub, and the elegant drape of his otherworldly tail where his legs used to be.
“Holy shit,” Buck exclaims, words caught and quivering in his throat, and Eddie’s eyes shoot open in alarm. Buck’s vision goes spotty, head rearing back as they lock eyes; he was so distracted by the hypnotic flex of his dark tail that he hadn’t even noticed the rest of him. Sharp nails that protrude from his webbed fingers, almost like claws, hooked and dyed an ashen grey. His protruding veins that run all up and down his arms and neck, black as the night, his skin almost pallid in contrast. His teeth, too-big where they sit in his mouth and poke past his lips, filed down into lethal points. And above all, his eyes, milky-white and ethereal and so deeply, terrifyingly unearthly. A predator, through and through.
He looks stunning.
“Buck,” Eddie whispers, sitting up straighter, arms clutching tightly to the rim of the tub. His voice is mesmerizing, almost echoing off the walls of the small room and harmonizing with itself, a chorus of one. Buck’s heart ricochets wildly in his chest. “Buck, you need to leave.”
No, he thinks, flinching away at the prospect. He needs to stay, he needs to get closer, he needs to—
“Buck,” Eddie hisses, and oh, Buck has moved closer, he’s so close now, he’s kneeling on the floor and reaching one trembling hand out to Eddie’s tail. The water on the floor soaks through the knees of his jeans in an instant, and he ignores the unpleasant sensation to marvel at the shimmer of scales beneath his fingertips. A dusky shade of green, maybe, or a rich navy blue, it’s hard to properly make it out in the dark. His finger catches the edge of a scale near Eddie’s hip, and it slices through the thin skin without remorse, blood welling up and dripping into the bath water.
Buck smears the blood over his scales, the red nearly invisible against shadowy ink. The fog worsens.
Eddie grabs his finger and drags it away, clutching it in a too-tight grip. More blood wells up from the pressure. “Buck,” he says desperately, the delicate bones of Buck’s wrist creaking in his fist. “You need to leave right now, I can’t— I can’t control it like this.”
“Can’t control what?” Buck manages, throat bobbing to swallow against the dryness.
Eddie’s face pinches up in agony, eyes closing in frustration. No, Buck thinks desperately, breath hitching in despair. No, please, open your eyes again, let me see. “My appearance, my— my powers,” Eddie says. “I don’t want to hurt you, please.”
Hurt me, Buck thinks, eyes darting back and forth between Eddie’s when he mercifully opens his eyes again. Hurt me, use me, you’re my best friend, you’re the most bewitching thing I’ve ever seen.
Eddie groans in frustration, and it’s almost like a trill, melodic and enchanting. Buck shifts closer, knees now pressing painfully into the porcelain, his shirt and jacket starting to get wet, too. His dick pulses weakly, thick and chubby where it's filling up in his jeans, the heat leisurely creeping in.
“Eddie,” Buck breathes, head swaying closer. Eddie’s grip tightens in warning. “Eddie, have you always been like this?”
“Yes,” Eddie answers, and then shakes his head with a grunt. “I mean, no, not always. When I was overseas, something— something happened to me.” He swallows, and Buck rips his gaze away to track the movement. It feels like tearing a limb to look away from his eyes, but the bob of his throat and the shallow heaves of his chest sends a surge of heat through Buck that makes his gut throb. “The memories are… hazy.”
Buck nods dazedly, only half-processing his words. “And now you’re… this.”
“Yes,” Eddie whispers, and Buck feels his eyelashes flutter, his guts starting to tighten. “I try to… push it down. To ignore it. But for some reason lately, it’s been getting harder and harder.”
Buck’s heart cracks at that. He wants to say something like, don’t push it down, don’t ever push down who you are, but instead he says, “does… Chris know? Marisol?”
Eddie hesitates before shaking his head, mouth dropping open to breathe harshly. Buck’s core aches at the sight of his teeth, shifting restlessly from his spot pressed up against the tub. His knees hurt. “Just… just you.”
The smoke at his ears slips into his brain, light and airy, soothing his overworked amygdala. His heart beats steadily against his ribcage, a thudding pulse that’s sure to bruise. Buck leans in further, mouth hovering just above the row of sharp, grotesque teeth. “Eddie…”
“Buck, you have to go,” Eddie pleads quietly, his eyes drawing Buck in. His mouth says no, but his eyes scream, come here. Lose yourself in me. Surrender to the deep. “With the pain meds, I really can’t control the pull.”
“Don’t,” Buck says, and then his tongue darts out to lick over Eddie’s teeth, quick and fleeting. The tip of his tongue catches over Eddie’s top lip, and that contact makes him lightheaded, makes him pant against Eddie’s skin. The kiss earlier awoke something in him, something long buried, a frantic heady throb that sits in his guts and begs to be let out. “Don’t fight it, I want it, I want it—”
“You’re already—”
Buck tilts his head to slip his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, past stunned lips, past razor-sharp teeth. He licks at him sloppily from the get-go, possessed with a violent need that ricochets through his body, ping-ponging heat all down his spine. Hot and flushed at his face and neck, he whimpers as the cut of Eddie’s teeth slice into his tastebuds, hips bucking forward and aching against the zipper of his jeans. He smears that blood onto Eddie’s tongue, onto the flat of his teeth, the plush skin of his lips while his chest heaves and heaves. The salt that clings to the air makes every shuddering breath feel like he’s swallowing knives.
He feels crazed, out of control, and when Eddie swallows down the coppery taste of his blood Buck feels shaky. He needs to be closer to Eddie, needs to press their bodies together, needs to find comfort in the wicked embrace of Eddie’s arms and his claws and his deadly, venomous mouth—
Eddie’s tail thrashes when Buck climbs into the tub without fanfare, water level rising and spilling onto the floor in a flood. Buck lays his body on top of him, knees pressed tightly against either side of the tub, too small for two grown men. His clothes immediately start to soak through, and Buck notices for the first time how chilled the water is, and he’s violently reminded of a moment from his past— the ocean, lit only by moonlight, the weight of his waterlogged uniform weighing him down. The uneasy tug of something just out of sight.
Buck sees it now, laid out before him, panting and hypnotic and drawing him in with just the slow blink of his eyes. His eyes, unnaturally white, opaque and hiding the normally warm, honey-brown glow of his irises. Buck absorbs the sight of him like a starving man at a buffet, taking and taking and taking, swallowing the greed in huge, messy gulps. His traction slips a bit, falling further onto Eddie, mouth agape and unable to find the words through the haze. So beautiful, he thinks, hips fucking down and grinding the sweet friction of denim against Eddie’s tail, flushed with warmth despite the glacial chill clinging to his skin.
“Buck,” Eddie says, dangerously, voice morphing into something silken and inhuman. His mouth dips forward to find the crook of Buck’s jaw, nosing at the skin there, the sharp drag of his teeth scraping fine, pink lines. He soothes the ache with pillowy lips, and Buck is helpless but to shudder in his arms, surrendering to the otherworldly, supernatural pull of his best friend.
This should feel wrong. Buck should feel terrified. He should be asking more questions. But he feels so fucking good, and how could something so good possibly be bad for him? How could finding comfort in the arms of his best friend ever be wrong?
He's starting to feel feverish now, the warmth of his cheeks sinking down to his chest, following the aching twinge of his guts. Every flex of his hips drags his cock through the wet, tangled mess of his boxers, clinging to the shape of his cock and squelching with every shudder. Buck paws at Eddie’s chest with clumsy hands, eyes fluttering shut when Eddie’s claws drag down the knobs of his spine and settle over the shape of his ass, pulling him down harder.
“Eddie,” Buck slurs, tongue fat and swollen and slippery in his mouth, thighs quaking at the unrelenting heat throbbing at the base of his cock. He cracks open his eyes, desperate for the sight of Eddie’s body, and his head swims dangerously. Eddie’s eyes are— they’re glowing, or maybe it’s just a trick of the light, or maybe it’s just a trick of Buck’s mind, slow and hazy and buttery-smooth around the edges. He sinks further into that feeling with no fight given; he’s so tired of fighting. “Wanna come.”
Eddie hisses between needle-like teeth, and when he keens Buck feels the dreamlike feeling ebb and flow over his body in waves. It’s getting harder and harder to piece together his thoughts, quickly losing all cohesion— but maybe he doesn’t need to think. Maybe it’s perfect, just like this, sinking into the dark fog that clouds his vision and falling headfirst into the hot rush of euphoria. Floating and floating and floating. He knows Eddie will catch him if he drops.
He can’t fight the tremors, rutting frantically against his best friend and trembling in his arms. He’s only vaguely aware of Eddie’s hand grabbing his own, guiding him down to smooth over the spot where skin meets tail, inching down further until Buck feels an opening. A slit, hardly visible to the naked eye, and when Buck rubs his fingers against it more firmly Eddie convulses and trills. It’s wet, slick and slippery beneath the water, and when he slips two fingers in to fuck Eddie open he’s hypnotized by the way his abdomen clenches against the intrusion.
“Fuck,” Eddie cries, voice melodic and gorgeous and drenched with sex, thick strings of saliva clinging to the back of his throat. Buck ducks his head to slot their lips together, tongues curling in a filthy mess, spit dribbling between their chins while he futilely tries to gulp it down. Buck pulls back and pants into Eddie’s open mouth, their lips sticky with spit and clinging to each other. The heel of his palm obscenely slaps against scales while his middle and ring finger crook and drag over swollen, fluttering flesh. Eddie grunts out a little punched-out noise, hot breaths whispering over Buck’s cheeks and sending lightning up his spine. “Faster, please, I’m so fucking—”
“Wet,” Buck mutters, smearing his lips over Eddie’s jaw. “So wet and tight, Eddie, fuck, your cunt is so small,” he slurs, only half-aware of the filth pouring from his mouth, heady and floaty and molten at the base of his spine. His cock is throbbing, a desperate drumbeat against his zipper where it’s full and fat in his jeans, aching to bury itself in that warm, wet sleeve he fucks his fingers into.
Eddie’s mouth drops open wider, brows pinching together while he shivers around Buck’s fingers. “Fuck me,” he breathes, silky-smooth, and Buck is beset by a glorious vision: Eddie, lurking in dark, shallow waters, the elegant billow of his tail as he arches against storm-damaged rocks. He’s helpless but to answer the siren call, bewitched by his song, sweeter than honey and thick as molasses.
Buck pulls his hand away, pulling wrinkled fingers up to his face. The slick sticks to them in thick, viscous strands, and when he sucks them into his mouth he whimpers at the taste, feverish and woozy: salt water, and the pungent bite of acid, sour and noxious and melting deliciously on his swollen tongue. His breaths come out rough and ragged, and he’s too mindless to get his cock out, rutting his hips down and working his mouth over his own fingers. Buck gags when he bobs his head too deep, melting into the press of Eddie’s hand against his cheek, hot and shaky all over.
“You need it so bad,” Eddie whispers reverently, claws dragging through Buck’s hair, yanking his scalp with a loving grip. Buck nods pathetically, slurping around the weight of his fingers. When he leans forward dazedly to slot their lips together he forgets to take his fingers out, just licks desperately around where they’re plugging up his mouth with a frustrated whine. “Can’t even control yourself,” he mumbles around the sloppy press of Buck’s tongue. “Can’t protect yourself from— from me.”
Protect myself from what? Buck thinks, groaning when Eddie’s hands start to claw at his jeans. He rips his fingers from his mouth to try to help, blundering and eager and nicking himself against sharp claws when their hands fumble together. He hisses from the pain, and when Eddie gets the button free and tugs his pants to his thighs, Buck drops his freshly wounded hand down to his cock, palming over the tip. He tugs at himself with indulgent, decadent pulls, thighs flexing as he works his hips into his fist, smearing his cock with salt water and spit and fresh, sticky blood.
Buck’s hips stutter forward, cock dragging clumsily over skin and scales and the slick slide of Eddie’s hole. He’s mindless with it, brain foggy and incoherent, only cognizant of his body; warm, and shivering, and pulsing hottest at his groin. He needs it, needs Eddie, needs to fuck and come and—
“C’mon,” Eddie encourages with a shaky voice, reaching down to line him up, and oh, fuck, the warmth that encases him is fucking heavenly. It’s warm and wet and gripping him like a vise, pulsing around his cock as he sinks down until his hips rest flat against Eddie’s tail. His gaze goes blurry at the way Eddie seizes up, face crumpling in bliss.
“Fuck,” Eddie cries, thrashing and gasping, claws digging lines into Buck’s ribcage where he’s rucked his shirt up. He can barely feel the pain, too brainless at the skin-melting heat of Eddie’s cunt, more fluid gushing up around his cock as he swivels his hips.
“Buck,” Eddie gasps shakily, cringing and clenching as Buck snaps his hips fluidly. The water froths up around them in waves, spilling onto the floor and making a mess. “Buck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasps, screwing his face up in ecstasy and agony, and Buck groans pathetically when one fat tear escapes his waterline.
Why are you sorry? Buck thinks, punching his hips down harder and whining at the sloppy mess he fucks into. Feels so good, feels so fucking good. Why is Eddie crying? Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Eddie babbles, more tears escaping. Buck doesn’t know what’s wrong, can’t parse Eddie’s words through the thick fog, so he keeps fucking his hips down to chase that heat, that warmth, the obscene squelch audible even under the water.
“Fuck, ‘s so hot, Eddie,” Buck coos, heat building beneath his gut. He sucks in a breath when Eddie’s claws pierce the skin of his waist, clenching down around him and milking his cock with a ragged exhale. He’s possessed, then, by the mental image of Eddie coming first, mewling and arching, wet cunt fluttering helplessly around him, and he wants it so bad, so bad, so bad—
Buck chokes mid-gasp as Eddie wraps one hand around his neck with a wild look in his eyes, the veins around his throat and face pulsating. It makes the haze worse, eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open while his abdomen clenches pathetically, cock smothered in wet, gooey warmth. His brows push together when the heat boiling in his gut spikes violently, mouth dropping open around the shape of Eddie’s name, black spots swimming in his vision. His hips stutter, losing their rhythm, fucking into that divine wetness. Something unnaturally cold sinks into his veins, something bitter and nauseating that he can taste on the back of his tongue, but the goosebumps that break out over his flesh do nothing to quell the heat washing over him in neverending waves.
He coughs and splutters as his orgasm rips through him, burying his cock in jerky little stutters as he floods Eddie’s cunt with warmth, sticky and messy and coating his length as he fucks it in as deep as it can go. Each pulse sends an electric jolt through his body, muscles spasming as he clenches up tighter and tighter, lungs screaming for air. It feels endless, bordering on overstimulation, thick strings of come dirtying up the bath water and making a mess.
Buck fucks himself through it, incoherently babbling in a thin, oxygen-deprived voice, fuck, Eddie, so tight on my cock, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Eddie releases his grip on Buck’s throat then, the haze clearing from his eyes a bit, and the heaving breath that rattles through Buck’s lungs makes him lightheaded.
He collapses on top of Eddie, ass twitching where his cock is still buried in that warmth. He wants to burrow inside of Eddie’s skin, shivering now where the cold is seeping in, sluggishly moving through his veins.
“Buck,” Eddie gasps in a reedy voice, body undulating where his needy cunt still flutters erratically. Buck grunts at the sharp bite of sensation around his oversensitive cock. “Feel like ‘m on fire,” he mutters, hissing and spasming, tail loudly thumping against the edge of the tub. “Need something, please,” he pleads.
Buck’s limbs feel like they’re wading through wet concrete, but he manages to brace himself against the lip of the tub, cock pulling free with a bracing hiss. More come floods out after it, thick and milky and staining the bath water, and Buck’s mouth floods with saliva. He could just use his fingers, could pump at Eddie’s wet cunt until the muscles of his forearms seize up, but—
He scooches down gracelessly, water messily pouring onto the floor. He straddles Eddie’s tail, sticky cock pressing against smooth scales where it’s still hanging out of his zipper. Buck sucks in a deep breath and ducks his head down, tongue lolling out to press flat against the rim of his hole.
“Shit,” Eddie gasps, stomach tightening against the sensation. Buck laps at him needily, his usual technique abandoned for mindless fervor, licking and suckling and gently pillowing him with swollen lips. His nose and mouth are just under the surface of the water, and Buck’s lungs scream for air as he lathers the red muscle of his tongue over sticky pink flesh.
Buck laves his tongue over the slick-soaked opening until his vision starts to go blurry, and he picks his head up to breathe, body trembling like an earthquake is rocking through him. His mouth tastes foul, like salt and copper and his own sticky come. He only manages a few heaving breaths before Eddie’s claws tangle into the mess of curls on his head, pushing him back down to his cunt with a mangled, “please.”
Buck groans against him, tongue pointing to slip inside, smooth and wet and effortless. He feels a bit like a dog lapping at a spill on the floor, hunched over and tactless, slurping at the mess as he lathers Eddie in spit. His cock valiantly kicks where it’s resting against Eddie’s tail, worn out and still eager for more, half-plump despite the glacial chill crawling down his spine.
“Gonna come,” Eddie says in a tight voice, writhing and pushing his tail up towards Buck’s mouth. “Fuck, I’ve never— no one’s ever— ungh,” he grunts, face crumpling and mouth dropping open. Buck fucks his tongue in and out, one hand easing from the tub’s edge to slide up to Eddie’s navel, resting his hand where it’s sure to burn the hottest.
His vision swims, dark spots crowding the edge of his eyes. Buck whimpers, desperate to keep the image before him: Eddie, one hand holding down Buck’s head, the other tangling in his own hair and pulling, the strain of his biceps flexing tight. His hazy opaque eyes, lashes fluttering, the bitten-red swell of his lips. The bob of his Adam’s apple, quivering with every swallow, hips frantically working up to get Buck’s tongue deeper.
Buck’s chest is on fire— his head spasms by instinct, desperate for oxygen, but Eddie keeps his head in place with unnatural strength. He licks at Eddie’s cunt sloppily, his face flushing red and then pale, mashing his tongue down and fighting to stay conscious.
“Buck,” he thinks he hears Eddie warble, muffled and distant to his ears. “Buck, Jesus, your tongue feels so— you’re so— oh, god,” and then Eddie is seizing up, crying out in that beautiful, ethereal one-person harmony. His cunt squeezes down on Buck’s tongue, convulsing and gushing around the wet pressure, and Buck’s lungs contract painfully. Eddie’s still going, still flooding the water with his own sticky pleasure, trilling and scratching red lines into Buck’s neck, and the last thing Buck thinks before he involuntarily gasps in a lungful of water is—
Eddie looks so beautiful right now.
Buck comes to with a rattling gasp, water spilling out past cracked lips and onto the floor beneath him. It feels slimy and acidic where it clings to the crevasses of his mouth, bile and saliva thick on his teeth, and his body starts to shiver uncontrollably.
“Oh, thank god,” Eddie breathes, running a warm hand through his hair. Warm and decidedly more human, Buck notices distantly, body huddling for warmth while he trembles on the bathroom floor.
He cracks open his eyes, squinting into the dim overhead lighting. He’s flat on his back, lying in the puddle that soaks most of the floor, Eddie kneeling beside him. Eddie’s face is sickly pale, one hand nervously running over his mouth and stubble, the other tangled tightly in Buck’s shirt where it clings to his chest. He’s— he’s normal again.
“Eddie,” he rasps, coughing when his chest tightens up again.
“Hey, easy,” Eddie says, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. He leans into it instinctually. “I thought— thought I lost you for a second there, bud.”
“‘M okay,” Buck mutters, wet lungs rattling with every wheezing inhale. “Are… you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Am I—” Eddie starts, before shaking his head and laughing once, hysteria bubbling up out of his throat. “Buck,” is all he says, voice downtrodden and pathetic and almost endeared.
Buck has another coughing fit then, rolling onto his side while he hacks up his lungs, curling into himself. He feels Eddie’s hand on his side, running big, warm strokes up and down his back and waist.
“Buck, I am so fucking sorry,” Eddie chokes out quietly, burying his head against Buck’s arm. “I should’ve controlled it better, I should’ve—”
“Hey,” Buck interrupts, voice still weak. “I wanted it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Eddie says bitterly, and his voice is small and scared and trembling. Like a child. “I— I made you want it, Buck, don’t you get it? Everything about me is made to— to lure you in,” he spits, the disgust evident in his words.
“This is the skin of a killer, Bella,” Buck rasps, chuckling to himself before wheezing again.
“Dude, I’m serious,” Eddie chastises, slapping him weakly on the arm. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this, I literally just performed CPR on you. After drowning you.”
Buck turns onto his back again, hazily squinting up at Eddie. Eddie, whose head is now blocking the light, and he’s looking down at Buck with a pinched expression— big brown eyes, like sweet chocolate melting on your fingers. Teeth worrying at his cheek, mouth screwed down in displeasure. A haloed silhouette behind him, making him glow like an angel.
Buck’s newly revived heart pounds and pounds and pounds.
“Trust me, I wanted it,” he says, and he thinks about the kiss Tommy smeared onto his lips, and he thinks about clawing at wet mud with his bare hands, and he thinks about crawling under a firetruck during gunfire towards Eddie’s lifeless body. He thinks about his grandfather, and the way he’d look at his grandmother and say, she’s been my best friend for fifty years.
Buck thinks maybe there’s a lot about himself still to discover.
“I wanted it, Eddie,” he repeats, breathy and awestruck, and Eddie’s eyes widen in response. His heart beats steadily, the ice still stinging in his veins, itchy where Eddie scratched his skin open. “Wanted you. Still— still want you.”
Eddie’s expression cracks and melts a bit, brows still pushed together in misery. “Buck,” he says quietly, and he ducks his head down to gently press their foreheads together. Buck’s heart sings at the proximity— when he tilts his head to press his lips to Eddie’s, Eddie indulges him for a few glorious moments, their mouths warm and dry and sour.
He shivers again, and Eddie breaks the kiss with a quiet smacking sound, sighing softly. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes, bud,” he mutters, helping Buck sit upright, peeling the waterlogged jacket from his shoulders with tender care.
Buck lifts his arms, still staring at Eddie, the distant rumbling of the ocean still dull in his ears.
Buck wakes up dry and alone in Eddie’s bed, sleep still clinging to his eyes with a painful burn. The blackout curtains are drawn, blocking out all the sunlight, and when he fumbles for the alarm he is startled to see that it’s already well into the afternoon. He’s been sleeping for almost sixteen hours.
His body aches, a dull throb that permeates from his core. He reaches up to scratch at his sides and meets the soft padding of gauze instead, gently wrapped around the cuts at his waist.
“Eddie?” Buck calls out when he cracks open the bedroom door, throat rumbling when he clears away the buildup of saliva. He gets no response, but he holds his breath for a moment and strains his ears for any noise. He’s met with silence; the house is cold and lifeless, Eddie nowhere to be found.
Buck stumbles towards the meticulously scrubbed bathroom, bladder aching where it’s begging to be relieved. Buck sighs and lets his mind go numb, still struggling to shake away the grogginess, clinging to him as if it’s infected every cell in his body.
He smacks the handle to flush and turns towards the sink, hand reaching out for the soap, when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Buck startles, heart rate jackknifing and nostrils flaring, hands gripping the edges of the sink as he stares at his reflection with abject horror.
His own eyes stare back at him, wide and unblinking, opaqueness creeping in around the edges of his sclera and making them dull. Just underneath the border of the gauze, Buck can see them— the creeping spread of his veins, unnaturally dark and blooming against the pale skin of his chest.
Buck presses two fingers against them, shaking all the while.