Work Text:
It slams into him like a warm embrace. A suffocating, but warm embrace nonetheless.
Swallowing pills had run its course - Buck had learnt that the hard way.
One pill isn’t enough, not unless he crushes it up and snorts it.
It’s methodical, he swallows pills whilst he’s on duty and before he sleeps, dry; a cheap attempt at punishment.
But when he’s alone, he gets to experience a high that makes every speck of irritation melt from his muscles.
It hits harder, faster; better.
Truth be told, Buck doesn’t want help - he wants an unlimited supply of his drug of choice, so he can stop heckling the doctors for refills.
He knows he has a problem, one which leaves his nose dry and bleeding - but he just doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care that he’s losing weight, doesn’t care that his eyes are sinking in, doesn’t care that he’s always somewhat shaky, doesn’t care that he can’t get it up.
He doesn’t need pleasure - it sits in a bottle on his nightstand, and that is all he needs.