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Eddie doesn’t even bother knocking; Buck told him to just let himself in. He hesitates for half a second anyway, because lately, being around Buck has felt a little like standing too close to the sun, but then he pushes the door open.
He steps into the apartment, juggling a coffee tray and a small bag of takeout (“for motivation,” he’d told himself, as if Buck ever needed an excuse to eat).
“Buck?” he calls, toeing off his shoes near the door. The place still smells like new paint and cardboard and Buck’s ridiculous citrus-and-soap scent that somehow gets everywhere he goes. “I’m here! And I brought some fuel.”
There’s a thump from somewhere deeper in the apartment, followed by a muffled curse, and then Buck appears from behind an archway, hair sticking up in a way that suggests a long morning of wrestling boxes.
“Hey, Eds!” Buck grins, already talking before Eddie can answer. “Thanks for coming, man, I didn’t realize how much stuff I still had. I thought Maddie and I got through most of it but apparently not—there’s still, like, four boxes of random kitchen things alone? And I found a box that’s just… socks? I don’t even remember owning that many socks—”
Eddie hears maybe half of it. The rest gets lost somewhere around the moment he registers Buck is in a tank top. A rare sight. And he’s all flushed from exertion, curls damp at the edges, skin gleaming.
Eddie blinks once, twice. He’s supposed to say something… probably a normal friend thing, like “you sure did have a lot of stuff, Buck” but his brain’s decided to buffer instead.
“Uh,” he manages, eloquently. “Yeah. Socks.”
Buck laughs, oblivious, and Eddie thinks, not for the first time, that it’s ridiculous how easily he can come undone by that sound.
He hadn’t meant to fall in love with Buck. That’s the thing. He’d spent a long time thinking he was just a little slow when it came to dating, that the spark other people talked about just didn’t happen for him. Eventually, he figured out he was gay and, more terrifyingly, that he was in love with Buck.
Karen basically squealed when he finally admitted it, clapping her hands like she’d been waiting for him to catch up for years (which, knowing Karen, she probably had). Hen just smiled that soft, knowing yet teasing smile and said something about how “the heart knows what it knows,” which only made Eddie bury his face in his hands.
And Chris? Chris was not surprised in the slightest, which… figures. He’d just shrugged, grinning like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and said, “Well, yeah, Dad. You look at him like in the movies.”
And that was that.
Now he’s here, about to help Buck unpack, pretending he’s totally fine and normal and not hopelessly in love with his best friend who’s currently standing there looking like summer incarnate.
Eddie’s brain, predictably, has already checked out. Buck’s arms catch the sunlight streaming through the windows, and Eddie can’t stop staring. The light pools over the slight curve of his biceps, the way the veins trace lazy patterns under golden, pale skin, the little line of a scar on his forearm that somehow makes him look even more… him. He blinks, shakes his head, tries to focus on the boxes stacked in the corner… but it’s hopeless.
And then, his eyes, traitors, start wandering lower.
Shorts. Buck is wearing shorts.
Eddie’s brain shorts out entirely.
Buck barely wears shorts. He runs cold; he’s always wrapped up in hoodies and sweats, even in the middle of summer. And yet here he is, pale legs catching the light, skin almost creamy in tone, thighs thick in that way that makes Eddie’s stomach flip, calves strong, and… oh god… and there are tattoos.
Eddie freezes, mid-step, mid-breath, mid-life. Tattoos curling around Buck’s knees and running along the lower thighs. What? When did Buck get tattoos there? He hadn’t said a word.
“You got new leg tattoos?” The words left Eddie’s mouth before he could filter them, his tone more stunned than questioning. “When?”
Buck looked down at his own legs as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Oh… a couple months ago?” He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Just… felt like it.”
Eddie took a few steps closer, his eyes tracing the intricate lines. His words tangle on their own. “They’re… they’re really ho—cool. Yeah. Really cool. And… and p-pretty,” he stammers, cheeks heating up. “I… I like the—uh—the butterfly one.”
Buck looks down at the tattoo around his knee, then back up at Eddie, a soft, surprised smile spreading across his face. “Yeah? Thanks, Eds.” His voice is a little higher than usual, a faint blush brushing his cheeks and ears.
“Yeah. No problem.” Eddie clears his throat, suddenly aware of just how close they are, how warm the air feels. His brain scrambles for neutral ground before he blurts out something stupid like you’re beautiful or I think about you way too much.
“Uh—so,” he says, straightening up a little too fast, “I, uh, brought food.”
Buck’s head snaps up, eyes lighting instantly, his whole face brightening like someone flipped a switch. “Thai?” he asks, tone already hopeful, practically vibrating with excitement like a puppy.
Eddie can’t help the little huff of laughter that escapes him. “You know it,” he says, slapping Buck lightly on the shoulder as he walks past him toward the kitchen.
Later. Much later, after they’d eaten their takeout and settled into the slow rhythm of unpacking, the living room is a mess of scattered boxes, like tiny cardboard islands across the floor.
Buck is kneeling in front of one of them, carefully sorting contents, and Eddie… well, Eddie is technically “helping.” Except his focus keeps slipping. Every time Buck bends to grab something or shifts across the floor, Eddie’s eyes betray him, sliding over the curve of his thighs, the pale skin catching the light, and yes… the tattoos around his knees.
Before his brain can even catch up, the words tumble out of Eddie’s mouth. “C-can I… look at them properly? I mean—the tattoos.”
Buck tilts his head, blinking at him like he’s not sure he heard that right, but then a slow, easy smile spreads across his face. “Sure,” he says, shifting a little. He slides down onto the floor, legs stretching out in front of him, sprawled comfortably across the living room.
Eddie moves. Confidence he doesn’t know where it came from floods through him, and before he can second-guess himself, he’s kneeling between Buck’s legs. His hand hovers for a heartbeat, then lands just beneath the butterfly tattoo on Buck’s knee.
He leans in, lowering his head to really look at it properly, tracing the delicate lines with his eyes and fingertips.
Buck’s legs tense slightly under his palm, then relax, and Eddie swears he hears the faintest, almost-whispered gasp. Probably just his imagination. Or maybe not. Eddie chooses to think hopeful thoughts.
Buck clears his throat, shifting a little under Eddie’s hands. “S-so… um,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck, “I saw this in, uh… one of those, like, artist books? You know, the ones with all the designs and stuff?” He gestures vaguely with one hand, as if that explains everything. “And this one just… really stuck with me. The woman being, like… part of the butterfly wings? I dunno, it was just… really cool.”
He takes a deep breath, running a hand down his leg. “The artist said it’s supposed to, uh… symbolize transformation, freedom, duality… stuff like that. And I guess… I— it kinda spoke to me. Especially lately. I mean… I, uh… recently figured out I was… y’know, bisexual. And it just… made me feel more free. Or something. Um. Yeah.”
Eddie swallows, eyes glued to the delicate curves of the tattoo. “Yeah.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and without thinking, his fingers trace the lines of the design. “It’s… it’s beautiful, Buck.”
Buck’s shoulders relax, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs, looking down at Eddie like he’s just given him the whole world.
Eddie’s hand moves slowly, almost reverently, higher along Buck’s leg, to the tattoo circling the top of his knee. It was a swirl of flowers and delicate vines. He traces one of the flowers lightly with his fingertip, and Buck lets out a small, unintentional hitch of breath.
Buck shifts, drawing his knees up so Eddie doesn’t have to lean down as far. “I, uh… I thought the flowers and swirls were pretty,” he starts, voice a little breathy, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shorts. “Kinda… went well with the butterfly, y’know? I didn’t… I didn’t like that the butterfly was just… all alone.” He pauses, cheeks burning. “Felt bad, like… it deserved some company or something. So I thought, uh… some flowers would go well with it. Cute, right? I mean… kinda silly, I guess, but… yeah.”
Eddie’s lips twitch into a soft, fond smile. “You’re—uh, I mean… that—that is really cute.”
He doesn’t know why, doesn’t think about it, doesn’t give himself a second to stop. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he leans forward, pressing a quick, almost careful kiss to the edge of one of the flowers he’d been tracing, then to another flower, and another.
And then—bam—reality hits him like a punch to the chest. Oh no. Oh no no no. Eddie snaps his head up, eyes wide. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I—I don’t know why I just—”
He starts to push back, to get up, but Buck’s hand lands gently on his arm, stopping him. “It’s… it’s fine, Eds,” Buck says, voice soft, a little breathless. “I… I uh, I liked it.”
Eddie freezes, heart hammering, and manages a small, stunned, “Oh.”
Buck gives a tiny shrug, still smiling shyly, and Eddie can feel the warmth radiating from him. For a moment, neither of them moves. Eddie swallows hard, still kneeling between Buck’s knees, and starts searching Buck’s face, trying to read him.
“Um… you can totally punch me in the face if I’m reading this wrong,” he says slowly, leaning in a little, testing the waters.
Buck snorts - immediately, without thinking and Eddie can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sound too, feeling a little insane and utterly alive. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this.
Buck starts giggling, a soft, nervous little sound, and says, “Now… why would I punch you? The same guy who was street-fighting a couple years ago—yeah, I’m good, thanks.”
Eddie grins, leaning just slightly closer. “It’s not like I’d fight back! And hey… weren’t you the same person who said you thought you could take me and win the ‘title’ or whatever?”
Buck rolls his eyes, still chuckling. “Well… I am bigger than you. I was onto something.”
Eddie lifts an eyebrow, teasing. “Yeah? But look at my muscles… definitely stronger.”
“Oh, please,” Buck scoffs, “Mine are way bigger.”
Eddie narrows his eyes playfully, reaching up to squeeze Buck’s bicep. “Size isn’t everything, Buckley. Just because they’re bigger doesn’t mean they’re stronger.”
Buck flexes slightly, grinning through a laugh. “Oh yeah? Try me, tough guy.”
Eddie grins, leaning in a little, and Buck does too, just enough that their foreheads end up touching. They both break into giggles, the kind that make their shoulders shake and echo around the living room. Buck ends up dropping his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder instead from laughing too hard, and Eddie feels like his heart is doing somersaults.
Eventually, the laughter dies down, leaving them panting softly, faces still close. Buck lets out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “I… I can’t believe we’re sitting here, having some kind of… ridiculous pissing contest about who’s stronger… right before our—our, uh… first kiss.”
Eddie pauses for a moment, chest pounding, and then smirks. He decides to lean into the teasing, feeling bold now that he knows they both want this. “Oh? And who said I was gonna kiss you?”
Buck’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Uh… y-you—did?”
Eddie shakes his head slowly, grinning, voice low and teasing. “Hm… no. I don’t believe I said those words, Buckley.”
Buck narrows his eyes, catching on. “Well… you implied it! These lips aren’t gonna kiss themselves, Diaz!”
Eddie makes an exaggerated motion as if to pull back. “Well… that’s a damn shame, isn’t it?”
“Oh my god, you’re such a little shit,” Buck groans, but there’s no real anger in it, just amusement. And then, before Eddie can even respond, Buck grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him forward.
They collide in a messy, laughter-filled, slightly clumsy kiss that leaves Eddie’s knees weak and his heart hammering. Buck’s hands are warm on his arms, and Eddie can feel every tiny shiver as their laughter blurs into kisses
The kiss doesn’t stay light for long. Their laughter fades, replaced by something sharper, hotter. An urgency that makes Eddie’s heart hammer even faster. He shifts, carefully but deliberately manhandling Buck so he’s lying across the floor instead of half-sitting against the couch.
Eddie moves on top, just barely, pressing in close, kissing him with all the messy, flustered intensity he’s been holding back. Every soft whine and hitch of breath that Buck lets out drives Eddie to press closer, fingers tangling lightly in Buck’s hair and arms, holding him there as if he might float away otherwise.
Buck arches a little, moaning into the kiss, and Eddie can feel the shiver that runs through him. Their mouths move together with frantic, desperate energy, teeth nips and breathy sighs mixing with soft, almost surprised moans. It’s chaotic, it’s clumsy, and it’s exactly the kind of uncontrolled, ridiculous, utterly them moment that makes Eddie’s chest ache with how alive it feels.
Eddie’s mouth eventually leaves Buck’s, trailing a hot, wet path along his jaw, stubble scraping softly against his lips. He found the pulse point on Buck’s neck, and Buck’s head fell back with a soft, yielding thud against the floorboards. A ragged gasp escaped him as Eddie’s tongue laved over the frantic beat there, tasting salt and the unique, addictive flavor of Buck.
“Eds…” Buck breathed out, the word barely more than a vibration against Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie murmured against his skin, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” His lips traveled down, finding the familiar tattoo on Buck’s inner arm—the one Eddie had seen a thousand times but had never been allowed to worship. He kissed the black lines, tracing the pattern with the very tip of his tongue, and Buck’s muscles jumped under the attention.
Eddie’s hands went to the hem of Buck’s tank top, fisting in the soft cotton. “This needs to go.” It wasn’t a question. Buck just lifted his arms, his eyes dark and fixed on Eddie, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Eddie pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it blindly into the sea of cardboard.
And there it was. More skin. More art. More of Buck to learn.
Eddie’s gaze was dark, hungry. He leaned down, his lips finding the small, intricate tattoo just beneath Buck’s pec. He kissed it, then let his tongue swirl over the design, and Buck arched off the floor with a sharp, punched-out moan.
“Oh, fuck,” Buck whimpered, his hands coming up to tangle in Eddie’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.
Eddie moved higher, to the larger tattoo on the swell of Buck’s pectoral muscle. He took his time, kissing every line, every shadow, his teeth grazing lightly over the sensitive nub of a nipple in the process. Buck cried out, his whole body tensing, his fingers tightening in Eddie’s hair. ”Please…”
The raw need in that single word sent a jolt of pure heat straight to Eddie’s core. He kissed his way back down, a slow, deliberate descent across the plains of Buck’s stomach, his hips, until he was once again kneeling between those unfairly perfect legs.
His eyes locked with Buck’s. He held the gaze as he slowly, gently, pressed a kiss to the butterfly on Buck’s knee. Then the flowers. Then the other knee. Buck was trembling, his breath catching in little hitches with every press of Eddie’s lips.
“You are so beautiful,” Eddie whispered against the soft skin of Buck’s thigh, his voice thick with emotion and desire. “Every part of you.”
Buck’s answer was a broken sound, part sob, part plea. His hands scrambled for Eddie’s shirt, pulling at it desperately. “You too… off. Please. I need to feel you.”
They helped each other, a frantic, clumsy dance of fumbling fingers and hitched breaths. Denim was shoved down, boxers followed, until they were both naked, bathed in the golden afternoon light streaming through the windows. The air was cool on Eddie’s feverish skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Buck beneath him.
Eddie let his eyes drink him in. All of him. The long, lean lines, the powerful muscles, the proud, leaking length of him lying hard against his stomach. And the ink, a roadmap of a life lived fully, a story Eddie was desperate to read with his hands and his mouth.
He lowered himself, covering Buck’s body with his own, and the feeling of skin on skin was electrifying. Buck’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, and they kissed again, deep and filthy and full of tongue, their hips grinding together in a slow, primal rhythm.
“Eddie… fuck, Eds…”
The pleas were a broken mantra, a soundtrack to Eddie’s descent. He kissed his way down the tight muscles of Buck’s abdomen again, his lips following the trail of light hair that led south. But then he stopped, his attention captured once more by the art that had started it all. He shifted, lowering his head between Buck’s legs, nuzzling the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
His eyes found the butterfly again, the delicate wings forever in flight around Buck’s knee. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to it, and Buck’s leg jerked. Eddie held it steady, his hands firm on Buck’s calf. He kissed the flowers and swirls next, each bloom receiving its own devoted attention; a flick of his tongue, a gentle suckle that drew a high, thin whine from Buck’s throat.
Buck’s hands were in his hair again, just holding on, his fingers trembling against Eddie’s scalp. The sensation was electric, a direct line to the heat coiling in Eddie’s gut.
Eddie knew what he needed. He gave Buck’s knee one last, lingering kiss before locking eyes with him. “Don’t move.”
He scrambled toward the pile of their discarded clothes, his own arousal a painful, urgent throb. He fumbled with his wallet, the leather familiar under his frantic fingers. He found the small, foil packet tucked away. He tore it open with his teeth, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
He slicked his fingers, the cool gel a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his own skin. He knelt back between Buck’s legs, holding his gaze. He raised a glistening hand, a silent question in his eyes.
Buck’s answer was immediate. He nodded, his breath catching. “Yes.” And then, as if to leave no doubt, he hooked his hands behind his knees and pulled them up and apart, offering himself completely.
The sight was breathtaking. Buck, laid bare and open for him, trusting him, wanting him. Eddie’s heart hammered against his ribs. He leaned forward again, his free hand stroking up the inside of Buck’s thigh, soothing and exciting all at once. He lowered his head and pressed a wet, promising kiss to the delicate butterfly tattoo.
As his lips met Buck’s skin, his slicked fingers found their target.
He circled first, a gentle, teasing pressure that made Buck gasp and buck his hips. Eddie held him firm, his mouth moving to the flowers on his knee, kissing and nipping softly as he slowly, so slowly, pushed the tip of one finger inside.
Buck’s entire body went taut. A strangled sound, half-gasp, half-sob, escaped his lips. His fingers tightened in Eddie’s hair, not in pain, but in a desperate anchor to the sensation. “Oh, god…”
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Eddie murmured against his skin, his voice rough with desire. He kept his mouth on Buck’s leg, kissing and licking a path around his knee as he worked his finger deeper, achingly slow, feeling the incredible, tight heat clench around him. He mapped the intricate lines of ink with his tongue while he mapped Buck’s body with his hand, learning him, worshiping him.
He curled his finger, searching, and Buck cried out, his back arching clear off the floor. “There! Fuck, Eddie, right there!”
A triumphant, primal thrill shot through Eddie. He found that spot again, pressing against it insistently as he sank his teeth gently into the soft skin of Buck’s knee. Buck thrashed beneath him, a litany of pleas and curses falling from his lips.
Eddie added a second finger, the stretch drawing a sharp hiss from Buck that quickly melted into a deep, guttural moan. Eddie scissored his fingers carefully, stretching him open, his movements a steady, relentless rhythm. All the while, his mouth never left Buck’s legs. He kissed every inch of tattooed skin he could reach, his lips and tongue a constant, maddening counterpoint to the deeper penetration.
He could feel Buck unraveling, his muscles fluttering around Eddie’s fingers, his breaths coming in ragged pants. The pull on his hair was becoming frantic, needful.
“Eddie… please… I’m ready… I need you.” The words were barely coherent, slurred with pleasure.
Eddie finally lifted his head, his own breathing harsh. He looked down at his work, at Buck, beautifully wrecked, his hole slick and glistening and stretched around his fingers. He slowly, carefully withdrew them, earning a broken whimper.
He shifted forward, lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against that tantalizing heat. He leaned down, bracing himself on one arm, and captured Buck’s mouth in a searing kiss, tasting his own passion on Buck’s lips.
“You’re sure?” he breathed against Buck’s mouth, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back.
Buck’s eyes, dark and blown wide with desire, locked onto his. His hands came up to frame Eddie’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Yes. God, yes, Eddie. Now. Please.”
The air between them is thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation, a charged silence broken only by their ragged breaths. Eddie’s entire world has narrowed to the point where his body meets Buck’s, the head of his cock pressed against that impossible heat.
Buck’s whispered “Please, E-Eddie,” is all the permission he needs, and more. It’s a prayer and a command all at once.
With a groan that seems to be torn from the very core of him, Eddie pushes forward.
The first inch is a revelation. A tight, blistering friction that makes his vision whiten at the edges. Buck’s eyes slam shut, his mouth falling open in a soundless cry as his body stretches to accommodate him. Eddie holds himself perfectly still, every muscle in his arms and back corded with the strain of moving so slowly, so carefully. He watches the play of emotions on Buck’s face, the shock, the brief flash of pain, and then the dawning, overwhelming pleasure.
“Breathe, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, his voice a raw, gentle rasp. “Just breathe for me.”
Buck lets out a shuddering exhale, his body relaxing incrementally around the intrusion. Eddie takes the invitation, sinking deeper, another slow, exquisite inch. The feeling is unbelievable, a slick, clutching tightness that threatens to unravel him instantly. He lowers his forehead to Buck’s, their breath mingling, and pushes again, burying himself to the hilt.
They both cry out then, a synchronous gasp of completion and overwhelm. Eddie is sheathed fully inside him, their bodies fused together. He feels Buck’s internal muscles flutter around him, a series of frantic, involuntary pulses that drag a guttural moan from his throat.
“Oh, fuck, Buck… you feel…” He can’t finish the sentence. There are no words.
Buck’s legs, which had fallen to the sides, now rise, his calves hooking around the small of Eddie’s back, locking him in place, pulling him impossibly deeper. “Move,” Buck pleads, his voice cracking. “Eds, please, move.”
Eddie withdraws almost completely, the drag agonizingly sweet, before driving back in with a firm, rolling thrust that punches another moan from Buck’s lungs. He sets a rhythm, slow and deep, each stroke a deliberate claiming of the space between them. The slap of skin on skin, the wet slide of their bodies, the ragged symphony of their breathing; it’s the only music in the world.
His hands roam over Buck’s body, as desperate to touch as his cock is to thrust. His fingers trace the familiar lines of the tattoo on Buck’s pec, the one he’d worshiped with his mouth just minutes before. He feels Buck’s heart hammering beneath his palm. He slides his hand down the quivering plane of Buck’s stomach, over the trail of hair, before his fingers find the intricate butterfly on his knee.
He leans down, changing his angle, and kisses the tattoo as he thrusts up, deep and sure.
Buck’s back arches off the floor, a sharp, broken cry escaping him. “Again! Do that again!”
Eddie obeys, driving into him with renewed purpose, his lips never leaving Buck’s skin. He kisses the butterfly, then the delicate flower vines, each press of his lips punctuated by a deep, rolling thrust of his hips. He is mapping Buck’s pleasure with his entire body, learning what makes him shudder, what makes him beg.
Buck’s hands are everywhere, gripping Eddie’s biceps, clawing at his back, before finally tangling in his hair again, holding him close. Their mouths find each other in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and shared breath. It’s less a kiss and more a sharing of souls, a silent conversation of yes and more and don’t stop.
The slow, deep rhythm begins to fracture, corrupted by a building, frantic need. Eddie’s thrusts become harder, faster, losing their measured control. He’s chasing it now, chasing that peak for both of them. The room fills with the sound of their union, raw and unrestrained.
“Look at me,” Eddie gasps, his voice strained. “Buck, look at me.”
Buck’s eyes, glazed with pleasure, flutter open. The trust and desire Eddie sees there is a more potent drug than any physical sensation. He slides a hand down, finding Buck’s leaking length between them, and strokes him in time with his thrusts.
Buck cries out, his head thrashing side to side. “I’m close… Eddie, I’m so close…”
“Me too,” Eddie grunts, pistoning into him, each drive hitting that perfect spot deep inside Buck that makes him see stars. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”
The pet name, spoken in the heat of passion, seems to shatter the last of Buck’s control. His body locks up, his mouth opens in a silent scream, and then he’s coming, hot stripes painting both their stomachs. The convulsions that wrack his body translate into a series of exquisite, milking pressures around Eddie’s cock, pulling his own orgasm from him with the force of a tidal wave.
With a final, broken shout of Buck’s name, Eddie plunges deep and spills himself, his vision going black as pleasure, white-hot and absolute, erupts through every nerve ending. He collapses forward, catching most of his weight on his arms, his forehead resting against Buck’s sweat-slicked chest, their hearts hammering against each other.
For long moments, there is only the sound of their slowing breaths. The world slowly filters back in. The feel of the cool air on his overheated skin, the scent of sex, the solid, wonderful man beneath him.
He feels Buck’s hand come up, his fingers gently carding through his damp hair. Eddie tilts his head up, meeting Buck’s gaze. Buck’s smile is soft, sated, a little dazed.
Eddie smiles back, lazy and a little dazed himself, until Buck suddenly lets out this small, helpless giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Eddie asks, laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Buck just shakes his head, shoulders trembling as he tries, and fails, to stop laughing. “We just had sex. On the floor,” he manages, voice cracking with disbelief.
That sets Eddie off too, a low laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Yeah, we did,” he says, still smiling so wide it hurts a little.
Buck covers his face with both hands, muffling another laugh, before peeking out at Eddie with wide, sparkling eyes. “Eddie Diaz was just inside me,” he says, like he can’t quite wrap his head around it. “What the hell. That’s so weird.”
Eddie snorts. “Good weird?”
“Dude,” Buck huffs, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Obviously good weird.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Eddie says, mock-offended. “I was just inside you.” He pauses, smirking. “Actually, I’m still inside you.”
Buck chokes on a laugh and wraps his legs tighter around Eddie’s waist. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. Guess you’ll have to stay there forever, then.”
Eddie leans down, brushing their noses together, voice low and amused. “Could be worse fates.”
Buck grins, bright and a little shy, fingers tracing the back of Eddie’s neck. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Could be way worse.”