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Eddie has never flipped his phone over so fast. Chris looks up, eyebrows raised.
“Did Buck send you another snake picture?” he asks.
He can't say no, because Buck… Buck did. But not of a rattlesnake mid-strike this time. He sent an entirely different sort of snake. He nods, his throat too dry to speak.
They're nearly done with dinner, Chris pushing a few peas around on his plate like they'll disappear if he just believes hard enough. “Can I see?”
Eddie should've said it wasn't a snake. Of course his kid would want to take a look at whatever freaked him out.
His phone buzzes again.
Buck: I'M SO SORRY
Eddie: Send an actual snake
Eddie: Hurry
His phone vibrates. Buck's sent a picture.
Eddie blanches. It's awful. But he clicks it so Chris won't see any of the surrounding messages or accidentally scroll and flips his phone.
Chris takes it to study it. He zooms in. Tilts his head. Brings the phone up close to his face.
“Do you need new glasses?”
Chris ignores this. He consults his own phone.
Eddie stares desperately at his, because for the first time in his life, it's potentially a bomb. He's never gotten one of… one of those before. Once, in high school, Shannon joked about it, but then she'd peed on a stick, and that was the end of any fun of that sort.
The sound of Chris's phone ringing snaps Eddie out of his reverie. He flinches, which makes Chris laugh. Chris is holding his phone between them on speaker, waiting for Buck to pick up.
He does. Buck never disappoints. “H-hey, Chris.”
“You sent Dad the third result for scary rattlesnake on Google images,” Chris says, his tone deeply accusatory. Eddie is so fond of his kid.
He also takes the opportunity to steal his phone back and shove it in his pocket. Far, far away from a teenager who occasionally decides Eddie's privacy is worth less than nothing. The only reason he doesn't snoop more, Eddie is almost certain, is because he doesn't really care about what his boring old dad has going on.
“Y-yeah,” Buck agrees.
“You and I both know you can be more creative than that.”
“Oh, he's plenty creative.” Eddie stabs one of his own peas.
It's a mistake, because he's chewing when Buck says, “He’s only afraid of big snakes.”
The pea goes down wrong. Eddie coughs violently.
Chris laughs. “Even the word is freaking you out, Dad!”
He can't say this aloud. So he texts Buck as he wipes away a few tears from his coughing fit.
Eddie: Flattering yourself there
“Maybe we should…” Buck trails off.
“You got him again,” Chris says.
Eddie is loath to put a damper on anything that makes his son happy. He lost the better part of a year with him, and that weight is still heavy in his chest. So he says, “Yeah, mijo, he did.”
Chris grins. “It's so weird you're afraid of snakes. They're cute.”
They're not.
“Did Buck ever tell you about the time he chopped a snake's head off?”
It was before Eddie's time with the 118, thank god, so he leaves Buck to stumble through the story and gathers up both his and Chris's plates. His peas are going to have to go uneaten. Eddie will happily blame Buck for that too.
Although, maybe making him tell this story is bad enough, because he can hear Buck trying his best to censor it. He'd hooked up with that woman and gotten fired for it, Eddie knows. Hen and Chimney have both told the story plenty. Bobby even did once. Buck doesn't bring it up if he isn't prompted to.
Eddie asked Buck to tell a story about hooking up. Alone in the kitchen, he looks at his lock screen. He shoves his phone back into his pocket, as deep as it will go.
There's a picture of Buck's dick on his phone now. An artistic one, from the glimpse Eddie got of it, good lighting and well-framed, Buck's face and tattoos not visible but still recognizably him. For Eddie, at least, who knows the contours of Buck's stomach and could recognize his thighs anywhere. Who's spent more hours in the gym with Buck than either of them could calculate, and not just because they're both bad at math, watching Buck's form and how his body moves.
Buck is hard in the picture. Of course he is. What's even the point of sending a dick pic if you aren't?
Not that Eddie has ever sent one. But he's seen his own dick flaccid and unappealing plenty, and he can't imagine wanting to immortalize that.
“Dad, Buck is being ridiculous,” Chris calls from the dining room.
Eddie takes a deep breath. So is he. It was just a mistake. Buck didn't mean to send his dick to Eddie. He calls back, “He usually is.”
This was an accident. Something they'll laugh about on Wednesday when they're back at work.
When he rejoins Chris, he's still talking to Buck.
“So Sadie said it was gross and you shouldn't do that, but Lacey said it's reclaiming her body—”
“What is?” Eddie asks. He trusts Buck to handle almost any conversation about human sexuality and dating with Chris, because he's got plenty of examples of what not to do if nothing else, but Eddie should at least be informed.
“Lacey is posting provocative pictures on Instagram,” Buck says, his voice strained. Eddie isn't sure he's ever heard Buck say the word provocative. He would've assumed Buck didn't even know it, but Buck does tend to know sex related words.
Eddie is feeling a bit strained himself. “She's fifteen.”
“I know they hadn't invented cameras yet when you were fifteen,” Chris says, “but everyone takes them.”
“Everyone takes nudes,” Eddie repeats. “Christopher, are you…”
Christopher wrinkles his nose. “She isn't naked in them.”
“Once you send a photo, you can't control what someone does with it,” Eddie says, and he knows there's a second meaning there for Buck, because they're having this parenting moment at the worst time. Although, maybe Buck needs to hear it too. “If you trust someone with that intimate access to your body, you can't take it back. Once a picture is out there, bud, it's out.”
Buck makes a strangled noise.
“Anyone could see it. You don't ever know what someone else will do with a photo like that.”
“They could delete it,” Buck suggests.
Eddie ignores him. “You can't trust someone to do the right thing. What if you have a fight and they get mad?”
Chris rolls his eyes. “I'm not sending nudes, Dad. No one wants to see that.”
Oh, so now Eddie has to contend with a self-esteem crisis on top of his kid thinking technology can be trusted.
“You could get charged with making and possessing child pornography,” Buck says. “I think.”
Buck's YouTube law degree strikes once again.
“Did you learn that from true crime videos?” Chris asks.
There's a long enough pause that Eddie and Chris both know the answer.
“Buck,” Chris says. “Those aren't good sources. I couldn't cite them in a paper.”
“I'm not writing papers,” Buck argues.
“Have you ever written a paper in your life?”
“I went to college!”
“Barely.” Eddie snorts. “Look, Chris, you're a handsome kid—”
“Stop,” Chris moans.
“But you're still a kid. So no nudes. Got it?”
“Yes.” Chris covers his ears. “Stop talking.”
Eddie's phone vibrates.
Buck: Are you going to tell me no nudes too?
Buck is an adult. He isn't Eddie's kid or his responsibility. But he pictures it, ordering Buck to stop, and he likes the thrum of power, heat deep in his stomach.
Eddie: No more nudes, Buck
Eddie: Until I say otherwise
“Who are you texting?” Chris asks. “Everyone you text is in this conversation.”
“Do I ask you who you're texting?” Eddie asks.
“Uh, only constantly.”
“Do you tell me?”
“No.”
“There you go.” Eddie closes his message thread with Buck. Better to not risk inviting Chris to peek.
“I bet it's Tia Pepa,” Chris says. He waits for Eddie to confirm, the picture of impatience. Eddie does not.
“Did you finish all your homework?”
“Yeah.”
“Even your vocab assignment?”
Chris nods. “Merriam-Webster hates to see me coming.”
“You can have an hour of video game time then. Keep the volume down.”
Chris salutes him. “Hey, Buck, can you actually suck snake venom out of someone's leg? I did it in the game.”
“It's a bad idea,” Buck says.
Eddie considers it, kneeling over Buck, pressing his lips to his skin, and sucking. Then he decides it's more prudent not to think about it.
“Clock’s ticking, bud. Say good night to Buck.”
“Night, Buck!”
“Night, Chris.”
Eddie does notice Buck doesn't bother saying good night to him. He's a smart man. Chris hangs up and heads down the hallway without another word, focused on the blissful hour he's about to have alone with his computer.
If there's anything Eddie has perfected in the long years since he was a teenager, it's self-restraint. He does the dishes methodically before he slinks away to his room, furtive like this isn't his house.
He changes, throwing on sweats instead of his tight jeans. He reclines in bed. And then, finally, he unlocks his phone.
Buck has texted three more times.
Buck: I am so sorry, Eddie
Buck: Are you going to delete it?
Buck: Eddie?
Eddie doesn't scroll up to look at it again. It's tempting, though. He FaceTimes Buck instead.
It connects instantly, like Buck was just waiting for Eddie to call. Staring at his phone, probably fidgeting, potentially looking up ways to delete a text from someone else's phone.
Eddie doesn't say anything. He raises an eyebrow.
“It was for Zane, that guy who bought us the drinks. You remember him? We were texting, you know, texting, and—and he asked, and it's not like it's the first time I've ever… but I guess I wasn't paying attention, and I just…”
“Eddie and Zane aren't anywhere near each other in your contacts.”
Buck’s gaze darts down guiltily.
“Buck?” Eddie prompts.
“He's in my contacts as ‘Eddie’s mental chastity belt,’” Buck admits.
Eddie digests this. “You can change contact names.” It's not impossible Buck doesn't know that.
“Yeah,” Buck agrees miserably. So he did know that, and left the contact name for a guy he's been… seeing as a reference to Eddie's sex life.
“And what do you mean, my mental chastity belt? I thought we were past that, Buck.”
“It's not like you,” Buck gestures wildly, “unlocked it.”
“There's nothing to unlock.” Eddie grits his teeth.
Buck scoffs. “The last person you slept with was a nun—and you weren't even sleeping with her at the end.”
“She wasn't a nun,” Eddie snaps. “And we did…” He trails off because he's never known how to talk about sex. Odd, for a man with a best friend like Buck, but it's true.
With Shannon, when they talked about what they were doing, it was a joke half the time and an argument the other half. There was always a frisson of danger, first in stolen moments in high school in her truck, and later when they were hiding from their son. He liked it, wanted more, was obsessed with the way she felt under him, but they didn't ever sit down and talk about what they were doing.
Ana liked to spring kinks on him. No discussion, just trying it out. Eddie liked that, the element of surprise. But she never wanted to talk about what they were doing outside of the walls of her bedroom, too embarrassed or ashamed. She didn't want to dissect her pleasure. Eddie doesn't know if he would want to or not. He knows Buck likes to, because while Eddie and Ana weren't talking, Buck and Taylor very much were. Once, Eddie got a calendar invite for “kinks negotiation - Buck stuff” on their shared calendar. He'd declined. Buck texted him a thirteen hundred word apology.
Eddie had accepted it and moved on then. He doesn't know why he can't do it now.
That's a lie. Eddie is lying.
And Marisol avoided the topic too, for reasons Eddie understood way better post-nunnery reveal. She was happy to say things she liked, to wake him up and demand they start their day with an orgasm. But there were never real conversations.
Eddie can't remember telling any of the three of them what he liked. What he wanted.
“Do you remember that calendar invite?” he asks instead.
Buck frowns. “What?”
“It was a few years back. You and Taylor were talking about… stuff you like.”
Buck blushes lightly. It's hard to tell with his shitty phone camera, but Eddie can spot the change in his complexion. He knows Buck that well.
“Yeah, sorry. I keep doing this to you.”
Eddie shakes his head. “You talk about this stuff with—with people you're with.”
“Sex?” Buck asks.
He should respond, but his mouth is so dry. All he can do is nod.
“Yeah,” Buck says. “I do.”
Eddie never had proper sex education. That's probably obvious, since he had a kid right out of high school. They didn't cover it in school, or not anything past lectures that sex was a sin. His mom demurred the moment it came up, to the extent that she wouldn't even tell Adriana where babies came from when Shannon was pregnant. His dad was never around to ask about anything, and even if he had been, Eddie probably wouldn't have tried.
He's an adult now. A paramedic. He has sex—although putting that in the present tense is flattering himself. Yet, somehow, he still can't talk about it. He's a pretty pathetic excuse for a man in many ways.
“Don't you?” Buck asks kindly, more kindly than Eddie deserves.
He's not sure if his voice truly trembles or if he's just imagining it when he responds, “Nah.”
Buck is quiet for a long moment. “It can be hot. Talk to me about it. Depends on how you do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure.” He tilts his head. “Like, if you got that picture from someone—or, no, you wouldn't be into dick pics from anyone.”
“I might be,” Eddie blurts out. He's not sure who's more surprised by the admission, him or Buck.
But he's thinking about it. Buck's picture. He's thinking about it a lot.
“Um,” Buck says.
“Not from you, obviously.” Eddie scrambles. “But a woman could have—a woman could have a penis. So, maybe.”
Buck's expression smooths. Eddie isn't sure if it's a good thing or not. Buck is good at hiding, tucking himself away like expressing anything he's feeling would be an imposition. Eddie doesn't think he was always so good at that. Sometimes, on the nights he's laying awake lost in self-recriminations, he blames himself for Buck needing to close himself off.
Other times, he blames Bobby, but that feels worse. Hurts more than hating himself.
“Yeah,” Buck says. “Okay, then, imagine you got that picture from someone you were attracted to. What would you do?”
Eddie considers the question. There can't be that many right answers to it. Get off? That's why people send nudes, right? It's like a gift for the person they're sending it to. A little piece of themselves.
“You're really thinking there.”
“Shut up.”
Buck mimes zipping his lips. He's always so ridiculous. Eddie laughs, and it only takes a moment before Buck forgets his lips are meant to be shut and laughs too.
“Does it bother you?” Eddie asks. “Sending that picture to someone you barely know?”
“I like him,” Buck says. “I think it could—be something. Maybe.”
“You like both of them,” Eddie says, and he doesn't mean it judgmentally. He hopes Buck knows that.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Jade is great too. But it's casual. Between all of us.”
“Did you send her the picture too?” Eddie isn't feeling possessive over it. That would be insane.
“I only sent it to you.”
Eddie almost replies good. And then he remembers himself. “What's her name in your contacts?”
Buck mumbles his answer low enough that Eddie has to ask him to repeat himself. He admits, “'Buck not fuck.'”
It surprises a bark of laughter out of him. “Your contact for him is named after me, and hers is named after you?”
“It's easy to remember.”
Eddie shouldn't be surprised. Back when Buck was calling women to ask if they orgasmed with him, he was desperately trying to remember what names went with contacts like "snake victim DO NOT CALL" and "ranch hand nut allergy."
Buck's life back then has always sounded exhausting to Eddie. Still, though, he craves his stories, seeks them out, tries to know every nook and cranny of Buck.
Not like that. Although, Eddie has to admit, he now knows the general shape of some parts of Buck he didn't before.
“But you know their names.”
Buck shrugs, loose and full-bodied. He nearly disappears from frame for a moment, the motion overtakes him so fully. “But the contact names help me remember the night.”
Eddie had fun that night. He always likes time with Buck, and Ravi is okay too. Some of the fun was retroactively spoiled by Buck coming out of it all with two numbers and going on two dates he liked. But that's not fair. Eddie can't hold Buck back with him just because he doesn't feel like dating. Buck can move on. He should move on. He deserves to be loved. And it's not like Eddie has to date if Buck is, even if he's found that his evenings and days off are too open the moment Buck starts dating someone new.
“I don't think I could forget it,” Eddie admits.
He doesn't know what Buck's face does in that moment, an odd little twitch, but he'll think about it later. He'll keep wondering.
Maybe he would ask, but the door to his room bangs open. “Dad, can I go over to Denny's house to watch a documentary on Saturday? Ms. Karen is in it.”
Eddie flips through his mental calendar, and then the one on his phone for good measure. “Sure. I'm working, so you may have to Uber.”
“I think I can manage that.” Chris rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, Eddie, he can manage that.”
“Are you talking to Buck again?” Chris asks, mustering up every inch of the sass he possesses in his body. It's far too much for the overall size of him.
“Hi, Chris,” Buck calls.
“Hi, Buck!” Chris shouts. Eddie winces at the volume.
“I'll text Ms. Karen to figure out a time,” he promises. “Time’s almost up for your game.”
“Talking to Buck should count against your screen time allotment,” Chris says. “You'd use it all up before breakfast.”
“He's healthy screen time,” Eddie says. He tries not to think about the picture. That isn't unhealthy. Isn't sexual health an essential part of overall wellness? Buck is just doing his part for both of their health.
Eddie clears his throat. “Go, mijo. Don't think that timer isn't counting down.”
It's a lie. He doesn't know how to set timers when he's on FaceTime. Buck has tried to explain it more than once, but Eddie still struggles to believe the call won't disconnect if he navigates away from it in the middle. He ignores how Buck's method did work for checking his calendar. Eddie is good at ignoring things he doesn't want to think about.
“I'm going!” Chris scuttles out. But he can't resist a parting shot. “If I talked to anyone this much, you'd be panicking and asking Buck if I was in love with them.”
Eddie doesn't look at his phone. He doesn't need to see Buck's reaction to that.
It's not weird, their friendship. It's intense, a bond built on life or death situations, but it's also light and easy. Outside of Christopher, Buck has always been the easiest relationship in Eddie's life. Even when it's been hard or they've struggled, Eddie has never worried something spelled the end. Buck has always come back to him, and Eddie has faith he always will. He's better at having faith in Buck than in anything else he's ever tried.
“Tick, tock,” Eddie says. “Hour’s almost up.”
“We can get off the phone,” Buck offers. “If it's too much.”
“I called you.” Eddie settles back against his headboard, trying to get comfortable again. “Hey, did Harry ask you if his protein intake is normal too? How am I supposed to know the answer to that?”
Maybe it's his imagination, because it's not like his tiny phone screen offers a great view of Buck, but Eddie thinks Buck relaxes at the change in topic.
Eddie doesn't relax. But protein is serious business, so why should he?
They don't talk about the photo more before they hang up. Eddie takes Buck in to threaten Christopher off his computer again. He props his phone up on the sink while he brushes his teeth. Buck critiques how he flosses.
When they eventually hang up, Eddie doesn't delete the photo. He tosses his phone onto his nightstand and falls asleep, Buck's quiet goodnight still ringing in his ears.
It's rare Eddie doesn't wake up hard. He's a man in his thirties. Healthy, and with a libido to match. But he usually doesn't think much about it. He usually presses a palm to his dick, trying to convince it to go down—more important in the bunk room at work, but he doesn't need his teenager to have any proof Eddie gets erections. Chris’ existence is proof enough of that.
Sometimes, on the mornings he's home alone, he indulges himself, slow pleasure that sets his body alight.
But he's always focused on how he feels, not how he looks. He's not insecure. Eddie knows he's attractive. But his dick has always been a tool, a means of delivering pleasure to himself or the woman he's with. Not something with its own… aesthetic pleasure, or whatever.
This morning, though, he needs to know. He kicks his covers to the foot of the bed and lowers his sweats and underwear down, just enough to free his cock and balls.
They're a cock and balls.
Eddie could look at the picture again, study what Buck did to make himself look appealing. How he tried to reel in another man. But he doesn't. That picture wasn't for him. He hasn't deleted it, but he won't look either.
Buck probably sent it to Zane as well. He said he didn't, but he may have said anything to appease Eddie. To make the discomfort go away. He can imagine the sequence of events. Buck sending it, proud of himself. Looking at it, waiting for the check mark that indicates it's been delivered to show up, and then the horror at realizing. Maybe he scrolled up a little and found Eddie's last text, a reminder that he can't hang out because he has to drive Chris to a doctor's appointment after school. The subtext in it, yearning Eddie knew Buck would never get on his own, Eddie begging Buck to invite himself along the way he would once have. Buck's life is more full now, though. He has his sister and her family, Ravi, Harry, potential in Zane and Jade. He doesn't need Eddie the way he once did. It should be a good thing. Eddie should be happy for him.
Buck wouldn't have seen that text and realized Eddie wanted him to come sit in an uncomfortable waiting room chair with him. He would've panicked. He did panic. Texted Eddie an apology. Switched right to Google images when ordered to find a snake picture for Chris.
But then, while Chris was deliberating over how lazy Buck had been about his choice of snakes, maybe Buck had furtively switched text threads, guilty over what he'd done but still a little turned on, and sent the picture to its intended recipient as well.
Eddie doesn't like the idea. He wants the picture to be just his. Which is insane. It's not like he has any ownership over Buck's—
And that's when he remembers that he told Buck he isn't allowed to take nudes anymore. It was a joke. It was probably a joke.
It doesn't feel like a joke.
He looks at his own dick again, nestled in a thatch of dark hair he trims when he remembers to. Eddie thinks he may be big, but he's always studiously adhered to not looking in locker rooms, even though Chimney and Buck both told him everyone looks. Ravi doesn't look, and Eddie doesn't, and that's two people, which means it's impossible that everyone looks.
Eddie wishes he were the sort of man who looked now, as he studies himself and wonders if his dick is good enough. It's an entirely new insecurity. He got proof young that his dick worked the way it was supposed to, and he's been content with that ever since.
If he sent a picture to Buck, would he be content with it? Would he like it? Buck likes dicks in practice, but would he like Eddie's?
Does Eddie like Eddie's?
It's thick, longer when it's hard but not embarrassing soft. He wouldn't be upset if Buck snuck a peek in the locker room, is what he means. Buck wouldn't—maybe he did, years ago, when he was a porcupine threatened by Eddie's presence in his firehouse, but not now. Buck has probably seen plenty of dicks, had the opportunity to hook up while Eddie was fighting to stay afloat in El Paso. He acted like Eddie’s so abnormal for taking a few years away from sex, which means Buck must have been—even after Tommy, and before Jade and Zane, he must have been finding people.
Not that Eddie cares. He's happy if Buck is happy.
Eddie forces his mind back to his own body. He's got no right to think about what Buck does with his.
His balls are nothing special. An annoyance more than anything else. He's sat on them a few times. Gotten kicked in them a couple times, one of the perils of growing up with sisters. And joining an underground fighting ring. But his sisters were worse.
Were Buck's balls in the photo? Eddie can't remember. He was distracted by—well, it was front and center. Any reasonable person would've focused in on it, and he barely looked at the photo for longer than the moment it took to register just what part of Buck's anatomy he was seeing.
Eddie doesn't know how to find out if he has normal balls or not. Porn, maybe?
Or he could look at the photo again.
He can't, though. It isn't ethical. That's not something Buck wants him to see. Yeah, Buck sent it to him through his own carelessness in naming his contacts, but that doesn't give Eddie permission to just… do whatever with the picture. He should delete it. But to delete it, he'd have to look at it again, which would be wrong. It's a conundrum.
If Eddie tries hard enough, he can make it into one. And he's trying.
Back when Eddie was dating Ana and Buck was with Taylor, Chris had complained once after Ana left for the night, saying Buck was never around anymore. It was true. Eddie was off work, but exhausted, and Buck was working extra to compensate for both Eddie and Bobby being out, and somehow plans with each other kept falling through the cracks. But then Ana was gone, and a few months later Buck kicked Taylor to the curb right around when Eddie quit being in crisis, and they'd picked back up right where they left off, so there was nothing to worry about anymore.
Until it started happening again with Natalia, worsened with Marisol, and Eddie couldn't blame getting shot for his portion of the problem.
If Jade sticks, or Zane, and Buck is happy, Eddie will be happy for him. Of course he will be. But there may be a small jealous part of him upset to lose the place he's occupied in Buck's life.
A partner and a best friend are different. Eddie knows that.
He's still hard. All this musing about Buck cut the time Eddie had to do anything about it down to practically zero. And Chris is home anyway, and while he whines all day if his dad intrudes on his privacy, he doesn't think a closed door should be a barrier to accessing Eddie.
Eddie sighs. A cold shower it is.
It's almost noon, and Eddie is cleaning his sink when he gets the text. He nearly drops his phone into the basin.
It's a screenshot. A conversation with “Eddie's mental chastity belt.” The first text reads, “Buck, I didn't get the picture.”
The second: “Buck send again pls.”
The third, sent at 3:02 am, is simply, “Buck?”
Eddie is briefly possessed. He doesn't believe in spirits, and certainly not in horny ones, but possession by a unique ghost is the only thing that explains why he instantly replies, “Good boy, Buck.”
He doesn't fling his phone across the room after he hits send, but he isn't a dramatic teenager. It's closer than he would like to admit. He puts it in the fridge and promises himself he won't check it for at least twenty minutes instead.
In a true miracle of willpower, he lasts six and a half.
Buck replied in a voice note. Eddie plays it. It's a seven second long groan. He plays it again. Then he puts his phone back in the fridge and resolves not to think about it any more.
That vow lasts at least ten minutes. Eddie retrieves his phone, snaps a picture of the sink, and texts Buck to inform him he's cleaning. Buck replies instantly, asking how Eddie got his kitchen dirty.
It's not particularly different from their usual conversations, but there's something in it all, some undercurrent that makes Eddie's blood buzz. He's second guessing every message he sends. It's not like him. None of this is like him.
Warmth pools in his stomach. He can't stop smiling as he types.
Then Buck asks a question that sends Eddie into a tailspin.
Buck: Have you ever sent one?
Buck: A nude, I mean
Eddie didn't need the clarification, but he appreciates Buck's dedication to not being misunderstood about this, of all topics.
Eddie: No.
Buck: Do you want to?
Eddie gives this all the due consideration it deserves.
Eddie: No
Buck: If you change your mind, you could send it to me
Buck: To evaluate
Buck: I could tell you if you did a good job
Eddie gives up on texting and FaceTimes him. Buck answers instantly.
“Hi,” he says, a little sheepish.
“I’m not sticking my phone down my pants,” Eddie says. “Chris looks through my photos sometimes.”
Buck pales. “And your texts?”
“He thinks you're boring,” Eddie reports. It's not exactly true—Chris still loves Buck, but he's become routine. As much a part of the furniture as Eddie is. A constant. Buck is safe. There's no need to go through his texts, Eddie imagines, because Chris knows they'll be boring and logistical. They mostly were, because they're more likely to call each other for any exchange longer than a minute or two. Their texts aren't dull anymore. Now, there's the picture.
“I've never been so grateful to be boring.” Buck shakes his head. “So no nudes, then? Not even in a locked folder?”
“A what?” Eddie asks.
Buck's eyes crinkle in the corner when he laughs. He's starting to get lines there, the faintest hint. He's going grey too, subtly, in a way Eddie has assured him is handsome. They've been friends for long enough that Eddie has seen Buck change. Growing old with him is a privilege, one Eddie knows better than to take for granted. It's pure luck they're both still breathing.
Not luck alone. Stubbornness too. Eddie pulled himself out of a well. Buck woke up after a lightning strike. Neither of them is the sort to back down from a challenge.
“Okay,” Eddie says. “What do I do?”
This is not, it turns out, a simple activity. First, Buck insists on making Eddie a locked folder. Eddie tries to point out he could just delete the picture once he's sent it to Buck, but Buck has no time for that argument. Eddie refuses to give up his deep cleaning time, and Buck has a dentist appointment, so they'll have to wait.
Eddie tries not to think about what he's agreed to do. He knows Buck will let him back out, if that's what he wants.
But it isn't. He wants to take a nude. And he wants to show it to Buck.
That's not so odd. Buck is his best friend. He trusts him with all of the most important parts of his life. His foray into dick pics is nothing next to Buck keeping his son's head above water.
So when he shows up for his shift and Buck's first act when Eddie enters the locker room is to steal his phone, Eddie surrenders to the process.
He has his own goals anyway. Eddie needs to see a dick for comparison before he can show his to Buck. Ravi is right there, a potential victim, shoving his jeans down over his ass.
Ravi is dick shy. He always changes in a corner, his back to the rest of them, but Eddie thinks he has a shot at getting him to turn around.
Next to him, Buck unlocks Eddie's phone and starts playing with it while trying to get changed. He should know better than to try to multitask when one or more of his activities requires coordination, but he doesn't, and so Eddie mentally mourns his phone. Buck shoves his pants and boxer briefs to the floor, bites his tongue, curses, and keeps tapping away at Eddie's phone.
“I'm thinking about putting Chris’ college fund in crypto,” Eddie announces.
Ravi twists to face him. But only the upper half of his body. Damn it. “I can help,” he offers. “My friend has this new scheme. I can get you in on the ground floor.”
Eddie is lucky Buck is distracted by his phone. Buck isn't even paying attention to how his pants and underwear are pooled at his feet, his shirt barely long enough to cover him. Not that Eddie is looking. He's pointedly focused on Ravi, who is now doing up his pants and ruining Eddie's chance to peek. If Buck weren't distracted, he might jump on the opportunity without even thinking about how he could be getting in on the ground floor if other people are already in. Buck needs Eddie's cynicism. Eddie worries about how much trouble Buck would get himself into, if Eddie weren't here to protect him from himself.
“No, thanks,” Eddie demurs. Ravi doesn't need his thought process. Chris’s fund, meager as it is, is staying in the account designed for educational funds.
A fist slams on the glass wall three times. Like meerkats, Buck, Eddie, and Ravi all turn to look. Chimney is standing there, his arms crossed, shaking his head.
“Put your balls away, Buckley! This is a workplace.”
Buck pulls his boxer briefs back up. Eddie spares him a glance.
“Forget how putting your uniform on works?”
“He's never once forgotten when you aren't in the locker room,” Ravi bitches.
Eddie ignores him. He has no idea what Ravi means by that, and Buck is handing his phone back anyway.
“We'll talk later,” Buck hisses. Eddie imagines he's trying to be covert, like Ravi isn't two feet away with hearing that functions better than average. Buck would have to whisper in Eddie's ear to keep what he's saying away from Ravi. Not that Eddie wants him to.
Their shift passes uneventfully. Buck catches up to Eddie in the parking lot. “You busy?”
“I have to pick up Chris.” Eddie considers inviting Buck over, but he's spent the last twenty-four hours in arm’s reach of Buck, and he can't stop thinking about that picture. There's something wrong with him. “Tomorrow?”
Buck lights up. He loves being included in anything, always shines brighter under Eddie's gaze. “It's a date.” He blanches. “Not that—uh, I know it isn't. It's not a date.”
Eddie pats his shoulder. “I know.”
He does think about it, though, as he drives to Hen and Karen's. What a date with Buck would be like. He knows Buck is creative, although he's toned things down a bit from his hot air balloon rental days. If Eddie planned it, he'd take Buck out for dinner. But if Buck plans it… Eddie's brain shuts down there. Buck is never going to plan a date for them. Eddie is straight, and even if he—if things were maybe different than he thought, Buck wouldn't want to date him. He would want to date someone fun, like Zane, who would meet a guy at a bar and buy his friends drinks and ask for nudes. Someone so unlike Eddie with all his baggage.
It's easier to blame LA traffic and the time it gives him to think than question why his mind is fixated on Buck's slip of the tongue. So Eddie mentally curses other LA drivers as he parks. And the text he sends before he hops out of his truck is really incidental, no more important than the one he sent to Karen letting her know he was on his way.
Eddie: If it were a date, what would we do?
Buck calls as Eddie is leaving Hen and Karen's house, kid in tow. He helps Chris into the truck and tosses his phone on his lap. “Answer this, please.”
“Hi, Buck!” Chris says. He doesn't pause for a response, just launches right into a play-by-play of the documentary they watched and all of the extra facts Karen supplied. Eddie shuts the door on him mid-sentence.
Sure, he wants to know Buck's answer. But he wants a little bit of distance more. And Buck taking the brunt of Chris's science excitement doesn't hurt. Eddie loves his kid more than anything, but there's only so many times he can hear Uranus and plumbing its depths when he can't stop thinking about the picture of his best friend's… plunger. He needs to stay sane.
Chris keeps chattering their whole way home. Eddie isn't sure Buck gets a word in edgewise. It's calming, though, listening to how excited Chris is. Even teenagerhood hasn't managed to dull his kid's curiosity.
It's only once they get home that Chris relinquishes Eddie's phone.
“Bye, Buck!” he chirps as he heads in the direction of his room.
His heart in his stomach, Eddie puts the phone to his own ear. He shouldn't be scared to talk to his own best friend. “So,” he asks, “how are you?”
Buck's reply is in a wry tone, as if this whole circus has amused him rather than put him off Diazes forever. “Late to meet Maddie.”
“Say hi for me.”
“Will do.” Buck pauses, then adds, “It would be the best date you'd ever been on.”
He hangs up before Eddie has even started to process that. He stares at his phone until the screen times out and it goes black.
He shifts. It's only then he realizes he's half-hard, his dick—
Neglected, that's all. With some time alone in the shower and a taste of his mental slideshow of tits, he'll be okay. He'll forget all of this. Maybe Buck was onto something with that mental chastity belt thing. It could be Eddie is just so pent up he's started looking at Buck and seeing an option. He'll get himself off, and if that doesn't fix him, he'll get Ravi and Buck back out to that club. This time, he'll chain Buck to the table. Or possibly to Eddie himself.
It's a foolproof plan. Settled, Eddie abandons his phone on the kitchen counter, then remembers why he can't leave it unguarded anymore and has to double back for it. He knocks on Chris's door, but his son is already sacked out. He probably stayed up half the night with Denny. He won't miss Eddie for the five minutes it takes him to shower. Ten, tops.
It ends up being forty-five.
Eddie steps under the hot spray with good intentions. He usually times his showers with military precision, in and out, clean, in less time than it takes to make a sandwich. A good sandwich, anyway, the sort Buck makes on homemade bread. Not the kind Eddie makes.
He's thinking about Buck when he gets into the shower. That's his first mistake.
His second mistake is looking down at his dick.
And the third? The third is a classic: touching himself. Eddie somehow makes the leap from rinsing soap off his thigh to curling a hand around his cock. He strokes it slowly, not quite committed. It's still possible to stop, and that's a comforting thought. He doesn't, though.
Buck made a password protected folder on Eddie's phone. He did it knowing what Eddie would hide in there. Encouraging him to try.
That isn't so odd, not from Buck. A cornerstone of their friendship has been Buck convincing Eddie to get out of his comfort zone. That's how they got into this mess in the first place, with that ill-fated club trip that resulted in Buck leaving with Zane’s number and eventually trying to send him a nude. But this still feels different, charged in a way Eddie can't ignore. And he's certainly trying.
He pumps his shaft again. The water is sluicing down his body, highlighting his abs and biceps, both popping after months of hard work in the gym and the kitchen. Eddie has needed a hobby to keep himself busy since coming back to LA, and he figured it may as well be his body.
While he knows people find him attractive, he's never internalized what that means about his body or his face. They're just his, part of the whole. But now, as his dick hardens in his hand, he wonders. Does Buck find him hot? Could he? Or is Eddie firmly a nonsexual being in Buck's mind, tucked away in a safe, straight category?
He hopes he isn't. If he'd been the one to mess up and send a nude to Buck, maybe Buck wouldn't have asked for an apology. Maybe he would've looked, truly taken it in. Brought the image with him to his bedroom.
That's what tips Eddie over the edge, the idea of Buck looking at a static image of Eddie and wanting him so badly he couldn't hold it in.
His come swirls down the drain, disappearing like nothing ever happened. Eddie doesn't know how to shake it off so easily, though. As he scrubs his bicep, he's a changed man.
If it ended there, that would be one thing. But as Eddie is washing his ass, it occurs to him that Buck probably likes anal. Eddie imagines Buck likes everything.
Eddie has never tried anal. Marisol mentioned it once, but then the nun thing came out and Eddie blew up both of their lives, so they'd never gotten around to trying it. He knows the basics, though.
He touches his own rim. The ring of muscle is smooth. It doesn't feel like an intrusion. Really, it doesn't feel like much of anything. Is Eddie really doing this?
He's turned on, heat pooling in his stomach and his breathing shallow. It's not like Eddie will hurt either of them with this. It's only his body demanding he meet its needs, parched after years of drought. He's latched onto the nearest person, which is natural. Normal. This is fine.
Buck's no stranger to wires crossing. Once, when they were drunk and sharing Buck's bed during quarantine, Buck admitted he had a sex dream about Bobby, of all people, back when he started at the 118. And that was before either of them knew Buck was bi. Buck will understand Eddie doing this.
Eddie slips a finger inside himself. He can't contain a gasp. It's an utterly foreign feeling, unlike any sort of pleasure he's ever given himself, and he needs more.
He doesn't last, though. A second finger, a brush against his prostate, and he's coming again. His dick twitches valiantly, but it's over. Eddie washes his stomach and chest again.
In the cold air of his bathroom, getting off to the thought of his best friend feels less reasonable.
The regret is even worse in the kitchen. He has one missed call. He doesn't call Buck back.
When Eddie comes home from dropping Chris off at school, his house smells amazing. A telltale sign Buck is there, if the six-foot tall man snoring on his couch wasn't enough for Eddie to figure it out.
Eddie ignores him. Buck probably needs the sleep. Maybe he was up late with his hand on his cock. Or, possibly, this isn't bothering Buck at all, and Eddie was the only one plagued by his own desire.
He chooses to clean his shower, for no particular reason. That's where Buck finds him twenty or so minutes later.
“You didn't wake me up,” Buck says, the accusation thick in his voice. He yawns. “And you didn't eat any of the cookies.”
“It's barely nine.” Eddie scrubs a little harder. “It's too early for cookies.”
“They have protein.”
Eddie, staring at the place where he came, thinks other things have protein. And then he has to stop thinking, because that's dangerous territory with Buck only a foot or so away. Eddie is straight, and Buck isn't the person to experiment with. Nothing with Buck could be casual, because Eddie loves him.
“I don't need any protein right now.”
“You'll need your strength,” Buck argues.
“For what, getting it up?” It trips out of Eddie's mouth before he has a chance to second guess himself. He's too used to this back and forth with Buck, trusting Buck with his every thought.
Buck laughs. “If you haven't used it in years…”
The guilt rushes over him like a wave. Buck doesn't know that Eddie thought about him. He's engaging in this all under false pretenses.
Eddie knows it's stupid, because he's certain Buck wouldn't care if he knew. A few weeks back, a frequent flyer told Buck she thinks about him when her boyfriend is going down on her, and all he said in reply was a bashful thanks.
If Eddie told Buck what he did, he might leave. But he might not.
“You're so sure I don't.” Eddie stands. Cleaning can wait. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.
“You'd tell me if you did.” But there's a note of hesitancy in Buck's voice, his bravado gone.
“Not if I thought about you.”
Buck is stunned enough it's easy to slip past him. Eddie heads for the kitchen to wash his hands.
He's halfway down the hallway before Buck's petulant call reaches him. “Wait, what do you mean?”
Buck skids into the kitchen only a few seconds after Eddie.
Eddie lets himself be distracted by the sink, washing his hands as slowly and carefully as he does at work. It doesn't work as well as he hoped to get his mind off of Buck, because the water hitting his skin makes him remember just what he'd been doing with these fingers yesterday.
“Were you looking at my picture?” Buck asks.
Eddie shakes his head. “Not since you sent it.”
He turns off the water and dries his hands. Still not looking at Buck, not yet ready to have to see his expression. Pity or disgust or—Eddie is even more afraid he'll see desire reflected back at him.
If Buck wants this, and Eddie wants him, and Eddie is straight… something is going to have to give.
But when he finally chances a glance, Buck just looks puzzled. “Why not?”
“You didn't mean to send it to me.”
“No,” Buck agrees. “I didn't. But you have it now.”
Eddie does. He even knows he could've looked at the picture, that maybe Buck liked the idea of Eddie seeing it and wanting him. But Eddie is straight, and Buck is his best friend.
“Send it to me again.”
“Did you delete it?” Buck asks.
“Send it again.”
Buck quits arguing and gets his phone out. It isn't long before Eddie's phone chimes in his hand.
Eddie really did not get the chance to appreciate this last time. He doesn't regret clicking away from the photo quickly. It may be the only reason he retained his sanity. But now that he's allowed to look, he wants to.
It does, of course, occur to Eddie that his reaction to Buck's dick is not particularly heterosexual. But that's a problem for later. All that matters right now is Buck, the way he's fidgeting as he takes in Eddie's reaction, and how his pants aren't hiding the growing bulge in them.
“Nice composition,” Eddie says. He swallows, even though it ruins the impression of being collected he was going for. “Good lighting.”
“You think so?” Buck takes a step closer. Grabs his belt. “Anything else you appreciate about it?”
“You should have taken it with your tattoo visible,” Eddie muses.
“Which one?”
Right, Eddie remembers, Buck has thigh tattoos too. “The bands,” he says. He reaches for Buck.
Buck lets Eddie take his arm and rub the lowest band with his thumb.
“Next time, get this in the picture.”
“Anything you want,” Buck murmurs. His voice is thick. Eddie hopes it's his fault.
This is, in some ways, stalling. But Eddie is having fun. It's been a long time since he let himself do this, since he leaned in close to someone and flirted. Too long, maybe, but if the wait led him to this moment, he can't complain.
“Anything?” Eddie asks.
Buck nods. His eyes flick down to Eddie's lips. It's impossible to hold back his smile at that, at Buck wanting him so blatantly. It's a powerful, heady feeling, being desired by this man.
“Weren't you going to help me take a picture?”
Eddie would be remiss if he didn't dwell on Buck's photo, and so he studies it further as they walk down his hallway. Buck looks over his shoulder. There's not a lot going on in it. It's a cock and balls. A hint of Buck's forearm, and his hand wrapped around the base of his shaft. It's the best nude Eddie has ever seen.
Buck has a big dick. Really not a surprise. Eddie can't imagine what it would feel like in the place of the two fingers he'd gotten inside himself.
His pubic hair is a few shades lighter than Eddie's, and trimmed back more than Eddie ever bothers with. Eddie is possessed by the odd urge to bury his face there, maybe nuzzling against one of Buck's balls, and smell him.
It's probably time to give up his thin veneer of heterosexuality. But they reach his bedroom, and Eddie has better things to do.
He looks at Buck's dick on his screen, the head the same color as his birthmark and a prominent vein, then at Buck's crotch. Yeah, Eddie can think later. This moment calls for action.
So he strips his shirt off.
Buck trips over his own feet. “U-um, right into it, then?”
Eddie fumbles with his belt buckle. “Do you want lunch first?”
“No!” Buck clears his throat and tries again at a more reasonable volume. “No. I'm not hungry.”
“That's the first time I've ever heard you say that.” Eddie can't blame him. It takes a lot to keep someone of Buck's mass going. Not that he's looked at the broadness of Buck's shoulders or the thickness of his chest and thighs. Buck is built like a house, and he's frequently in Eddie's way, so Eddie was bound to notice. It doesn't mean anything.
Buck's bulge is even larger now. Maybe Eddie noticing that means something.
He shoves his pants down and steps out of them. He's hard too, and his underwear does little to hide it. Buck's made fun of the tighty-whities for years, but he's not teasing Eddie now. He's staring, his lips parted.
Eddie really likes the rush of power Buck's attraction gives him. “So?” he asks. “How do I start?”
“Take them off.” Buck gestures at his underwear.
Eddie obeys. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband and slides them down, inch by inch, until his cock springs free. It's hard to tell just from comparing himself to the picture, but he thinks he's smaller than Buck. Buck doesn't seem to care, based on how intent he is. Eddie's underwear pools on the floor.
“Lean against the headboard,” Buck commands. His voice is hoarse. “It's easier to take a good photo like that. A selfie.”
“I don't want my face in it.”
“It won't be.” Buck reaches for his stomach, but pauses before he makes contact with Eddie's skin. Eddie can feel the heat of his palm, electricity between them. He wants Buck to touch. “But your abs… your abs should be in it. Right?”
Eddie doesn't give a shit. “Sure.” He'll give Buck anything he wants as long as Buck keeps looking at him like that.
He sits against his headboard, as directed. Buck messes with the light, moving his lamp around until he's content with how well he can see Eddie's dick, or whatever it is he has in his head as ideal.
With anyone else, Eddie would be softening up by now, self-conscious and unhappy to be the center of attention. With Buck, though, his dick is hard and straining, even as Buck peers at it like he's evaluating a medical problem.
“Hold it.”
Eddie rushes to obey. He fists his cock the way he normally would to get himself off.
“Not with that hand.” Buck falters visibly, uncertainty Eddie has seen a thousand times before in very different circumstances in his eyes. Then he blinks, and regains his confidence. “I want to see your tattoo.”
“Now you're stealing my ideas,” Eddie grouses as he obeys. “I thought I was coming to the expert.”
“I am an expert!” Affronted is a good look on Buck. He puffs up his chest and scowls. “Normally, you don't want identifying marks. Just in case. But you're only sending it to me”—they haven't discussed that, but what is Eddie going to do, argue?—“and you trust me.”
Eddie does. He wouldn't be here right now if he didn't. So he'll let Buck get his tattoo in the picture, brand this as definitely his dick with no plausible deniability if the photo ever gets out.
Not that he imagines anyone would care. But still. Eddie should care, should be cautious the way he's been since he learned what nudes are. Buck doesn't make him want to be careful, though. He makes Eddie want to try a million and one new things, whether it's his first taste of some health food monstrosity Buck has baked or a picture of his cock locked away on Buck's phone. Maybe Buck will make a new locked album with only Eddie's photos in it.
Buck kneels at the side of the bed, Eddie's phone in hand.
“Shouldn't I take it?” Eddie asks. Buck said something about this angle for a selfie, he thinks, but he's having trouble thinking straight.
“My angle is better.” Buck leans in close. His face is only an inch away from Eddie's thigh at most. His breath stirs the hairs there. Eddie can feel goosebumps rise. His body is so responsive to Buck. It shouldn't be a surprise, but it is. This doesn't feel like a friendship thing. It’s headier, the sort of weight he associates with bringing a new woman into his bedroom.
Eddie isn't stupid. He hopes he isn't, anyway. He knows why he feels like this, why this carries the air of something that matters.
“A little to the left.”
Eddie moves instantly. He's heard that command a thousand times from Buck, call after call, because they’ve spent countless hours in the field before. It's never made his dick twitch before.
Surely Buck has to notice Eddie's reaction, but he doesn't comment. Unusual, from a man who has trouble holding back his thoughts on everything Eddie does on a normal day. But these are exceptional circumstances.
Instead, he holds Eddie’s phone up, as steady as he is in the field, and taps. There’s the telltale shutter sound. Eddie isn’t breathing, can’t remember how it works. He wants Buck to take a million more, craves the rush of being the sole focus of his attention, distorted through the phone screen and thus somehow less real but more potent than Buck looking himself.
“Let me see,” he says, and he means it to be a demand, but it comes out breathy instead.
Buck flips the phone. Eddie’s met with his own cock, his hand holding it at an angle that gets his imagination going. It’s not hard to picture someone there, a woman—or Buck—ready to settle on him.
“Good?” Buck asks.
Eddie doesn’t have the words to describe what this picture is. Instead, he takes his phone from Buck. His hands are shaking, but he doesn’t need to be precise. It’s only three clicks to send it to Buck.
Buck’s phone vibrates. He opens the picture and, right there in front of Eddie, saves it.
It takes Eddie two tries to speak. “You going to look at it later?”
“Y-yeah.” Buck hasn’t locked his phone yet, and neither has Eddie, so they’re looking at Eddie’s cock in triplicate: on his phone, on Buck’s, and the real thing. “If that’s okay.”
If Eddie were a braver man, he’d ask Buck to stay. He doesn’t need a picture when Eddie’s here and hard for him. But he isn’t ready for that step yet, or at least he tells himself he isn’t.
“All yours.”
Buck slips his phone into his pocket, and so Eddie flips his over and hides the picture as well.
“Do you want—” Buck breaks off the question, shakes his head, and then tries again. “Do you need help with that?”
Eddie squeezes the base of his dick again. Reminded of it, of his need, he knows he won’t be able to ignore it. “I think I know what to do.”
Buck’s eyes are half-lidded, his focus lower than it normally is when he’s talking to Eddie. Usually, Buck’s attention is on his face. “Do you?”
Assuming Buck wants a practical demonstration is bold, but Eddie has been out of control since he first got the picture that started this all. What’s a little more, when he’s already tipped so far out of his normal bounds? So he strokes himself, barely bothered at all by the roughness of his hand on his sensitive cockhead he’s so turned on. Nothing matters but the look on Buck’s face, the moment his mouth drops slightly open, and the way he has to shove his hand down his pants to grip his own dick.
He speeds up the closer he gets, his balls tightening and the heat in his stomach nearly unbearable. When he comes, it’s a true release. He slumps down, his muscles too weak to support his weight. He can’t think. There’s nothing in his head but pure satisfaction.
And then Buck whines.
It’s not a sound he’s ever heard Buck make before. Eddie wouldn’t have guessed he’d hear anything like it from Buck in a million years. Buck is needy, sure, but this is on a new level.
Eddie forces himself up enough to look at him. Buck’s hand is still down his pants, but he isn’t moving. Isn’t getting himself off.
“What are you waiting for?” Eddie asks. “Permission?”
“You’re the boss,” Buck says. His mouth twists. “It’s your bedroom.”
Eddie doesn’t think he’s at the top of this hierarchy, whatever it is, even if they are in his house. There’s no way he’ll order Buck to come, or whatever it is Buck wants him to do. Instead, he gestures to his stomach, to his softened cock and the mess he made of himself. “Take a picture.”
Buck doesn’t waste time. He lunges for Eddie’s phone and unlocks it. Eddie leaves the work to Buck this time. Buck doesn’t touch him, but he does lean over him. The shutter clicks once, and Buck hums.
“You come a lot,” he remarks. “Women like that.”
“Until you get them pregnant,” Eddie mumbles.
Buck laughs. “Some of them like that too.”
Not in Eddie’s experience. But he doesn’t want to dwell on the past. He reaches for the tissues on the nightstand and starts to clean himself up. Buck sits on the end of Eddie’s bed and watches. Maybe Eddie should be able to guess what he’s thinking from his expression, but he can’t. It doesn’t matter. Neither of them will let this get in the way of their friendship. Eddie will make sure of it.
“You hungry?” he asks.
Buck shifts. His dick is still tenting his pants. “I could eat.”
Eddie made guacamole to impress Chris, which he should’ve known was a losing battle. It’s been years since Chris was impressed by anything Eddie did, and Eddie imagines he’ll have to be well into his twenties before Eddie has any chance of being cool or interesting again. Buck, on the other hand, might be impressed, so Eddie grabs it and some chips.
Buck, without asking, grabs one of Eddie’s bananas off the counter. Not that Eddie cares. He only bought them because he bonked at the gym a few days ago, which may or may not be related to his sudden urge to cut since they started this. And, more importantly, Eddie isn’t possessive of anything when he’s around Buck. Buck is welcome to his whole life.
Eddie considers that as they flop onto the couch together. It’s true, but he’d never put it like that before.
While Eddie grabs a chip and a healthy dollop of guac, Buck gently wraps his lips around the top of the banana and sucks. Eddie crunches down. Buck tilts his head back and slips more of the banana into his mouth. Eddie chews. Buck sucks. Eddie swallows. Buck—
Buck sucks more?
Eddie looks at him. “You good, bud?”
Buck nods. The bit of banana in Buck’s mouth breaks off, and he nearly chokes on it. Eddie would normally slap him on the back, but Buck seems to have the situation well in hand, coughing the mangled banana up into his hand.
“Maybe have some chips,” Eddie suggests. “Instead of… your banana.”
“I don’t usually choke,” Buck manages to force out.
“Good,” Eddie says. He takes the deeply disgusting piece of banana away from Buck. Sure, it’s slimy and partially chewed, but Eddie deals with grosser things every day. He heads to the kitchen to toss it, grab Buck some water, and wash his hands. “Don’t kill yourself before I get back.”
Buck, miraculously, manages not to. When Eddie comes back, he’s in the process of shoving an enormous chip into his mouth. He may have unhinged his jaw to manage it, but Eddie doesn’t want to know the details.
He sits back down, maybe closer than he usually would, but if he starts obsessing over how many inches away his thigh is from Buck’s, he’ll never manage to do anything else with his day. He does sneak a look at Buck’s crotch. Still hard, even after the coughing. Good.
Eddie hands Buck the glass of water. “So,” he says, “there’s a game on.”
Eddie doesn’t ask until their next shift. He has the willpower and patience of a saint. Buck is doing inventory when Eddie comes up behind him and asks, “Did you get off to it?”
He catches the clipboard when Buck flings it towards his face.
“The pictures,” Eddie repeats. “Did you use them?”
Buck’s hand twitches. “I didn’t send the second one to myself.”
Eddie didn’t think to send it himself. He assumed Buck was on it. He should’ve known better. “Hosepack?”
Buck stands on his tiptoes to look. “Check.”
“Why not?”
“It’s your picture,” Buck hisses.
“It was your idea,” Eddie says. He speaks at a normal volume, because there’s nothing about this conversation that’s private. He’s not superstitious, and he doesn’t believe in the universe exerting its will on him, but he does wholeheartedly believe they have nosy coworkers who will do their best to overhear if they think there’s something interesting going on.
Case in point: Ravi ambles over.
“Hey, Buck, you need any help?”
“Yes,” Buck says.
“I’m helping,” Eddie points out.
“Ravi is better at…” Buck trails off.
“Yeah.” Ravi crosses his arms. “I’m better at… something.”
Eddie scowls. He hands the clipboard over, though, because it isn’t worth trying to whisper about secrets in front of Ravi. And Ravi’s an odd guy. Eddie’s not sure if he’d be bothered by the dick pic or ask to see it, and while Eddie would still like to sneak a peek and see what Ravi is working with, he doesn’t want to give Ravi a chance to examine his own dick in detail.
His is probably normal. Buck didn’t have any complaints. But Eddie still wants a point of comparison, just in case.
As he walks away, he pulls out his phone. He has a picture to send.
He can hear Buck’s yelp from across the engine bay.
Good. Buck deserved a little payback.
Eddie isn't only torturing Buck. It's hard for him too. He has Buck's photo on his phone, permission to look, and no time to be alone until they get off shift. He keeps unlocking his phone and staring at his home screen for a moment before he remembers he can't pull up a picture of Buck's dick in their shared workplace.
It's worse than just the picture. He keeps looking at Buck. His broad shoulders, the thick thighs that strain his uniform pants, and most damningly of all, his crotch. He isn't hard, his dick safely tucked away, but Eddie can imagine what it would look like tenting the fabric, maybe even leaking and leaving a wet spot.
Buck was hard at Eddie's house. Because of Eddie. At least, Eddie assumes it was because of him. If he were younger, maybe he would chalk it up to the situation, or be self-conscious about it. But Eddie got his dick out, and Buck got hard. Those two things seem related.
He has the idea when he's on his back in his bunk, trying to ignore the part of his brain that desperately wants to reach for his cock. He can't do anything about it, not here, but it won't be a hard plan to execute. All he has to do is leave the station without making plans with Buck and send one text.
The first is easier said than done, so Eddie secures a human shield in the form of their captain.
“Leave paperwork changed while I was gone,” he says, “and I want to make sure I'm filling this out correctly.”
“One line changed,” Chimney says. “One line, Diaz. Don't you make me look at more paperwork for one line.”
“It's an important line,” Eddie says. “Also, have you checked out that new karaoke bar in WeHo yet?”
Chimney is an adequate layer of protection against Buck's imploring looks. Sure, Eddie has to agree to go out with him and Maddie, but that's fine. Eddie can sing. Better than Buck can, anyway, and that's the metric he cares most about.
Once he escapes both work and Chimney, he drives straight home. He composes the text in his head the whole way there, and sends it from the driveway, too impatient to even walk inside.
Eddie: Take another picture for me
He falls asleep thinking of Buck. When he wakes up, he has a flurry of texts from him.
Buck: did your phone get hacked
Buck: Eddie are you serious
Buck: is this your way of saying you want a snake picture because I saw a cottonmouth on reddit
Buck: but you want to see my snake not a snake right
Buck: Eddie?
Buck: I'm coming over
It's as if Buck has perfect timing. Eddie rolls out of bed, pads to his living room, and is just in time to meet Buck in the process of wrenching open Eddie's front door.
“Morning,” Eddie says.
Buck thrusts his phone in Eddie's general direction. It's the cottonmouth, not his penis. Eddie flinches.
“Eddie, I don't know what you want from me,” Buck says. He shoves his phone in his pocket. “If you want a-a sex guru, or a guide, I can't be that. Not for you.”
“Did you get off to the picture of me?” Eddie asks.
Buck shakes his head.
“That's what I want.”
“You want me to get off to you,” Buck repeats.
“It's only fair.” Eddie shrugs. “I used yours.”
He knows Buck needs more than this, that he's crying out for reassurance Eddie thinks he might even be able to provide. But Eddie doesn't need to make it easy on him, not when this is more fun.
Buck starts to turn for the door, so Eddie catches his arm. “Where are you going?”
“To get off.”
“I have a bedroom,” Eddie says. Buck's arm is so warm. He wants to squeeze it, wants to yank Buck closer, but he doesn't. “You should know that. Pretty sure you got off there a few times yourself.”
When Buck blushes, he turns pink all the way down his neck. The flush probably goes lower, but Eddie has never seen it. Maybe he will today.
He tugs at the bottom of Buck's shirt. Not hard. A suggestion, that's all. “Go take a picture for me, Buck.”
That sparks something in Buck. He takes a step closer to Eddie. Their chests are almost, but not quite, touching. “What kind of picture do you want?” he asks.
Eddie swallows. Somehow, he wasn't prepared for Buck stepping up and taking charge. “Naked?” he suggests.
Buck laughs. Eddie loves the sound of it, the way it spills out of Buck all in a rush. “You could… tell me what to do.”
He tries to imagine it, ordering Buck to move this way or that the way Buck did for him. He could do it, he thinks. But he wants to see the picture Buck wants to take for him. He shakes his head.
“You pick.” He squeezes Buck's shoulder. “Take it thinking of me.”
Buck's gaze is heated, catching Eddie's eye in a way that makes him shiver. “Wait here.”
Eddie doesn't remember sitting on the couch, or Buck leaving the room, but both must happen, because he's alone in his living room with his head in his hands.
Whatever Buck is doing in his bedroom, he isn't in a hurry. Eddie waits forever for his phone to chime.
It's a picture of Buck's face, not his cock. His eyes are closed. His lips are parted, bitten pink so they're the same shade as his birthmark. They're inviting. Eddie wants to kiss him. He wants to hold Buck tenderly, kissing him until neither of them have breath left in their lungs and they have to break apart.
This isn't what Eddie meant when he asked Buck to take a picture, but he can't look away. It's perfect. He never wants to look away from Buck again.
He could sit out here all day, staring at this image of Buck, or he could go find the real thing in his bed. He doesn't need to weigh his options.
Buck is on his phone, lying naked on top of Eddie’s comforter.
“I thought you'd text back.”
Eddie climbs onto Buck's lap. “I didn't have the words.”
Buck is big. His thighs force Eddie’s legs apart to accommodate him. Behind Eddie, his legs go on for miles. His chest and shoulders are broad, all the work he's been doing in the gym showing, so he's taking up what would be more than his fair share of the bed. Not that Eddie cares. He could just sleep on Buck, if either of them had napping on their minds.
“No?” Buck asks.
Eddie shakes his head. He strips off his shirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. He doesn't want to look away from Buck long enough to locate his hamper.
No description of Buck would be complete without his dick. Eddie can't look right at it, but he can't stop sneaking glances in his peripheral vision. Eddie has never, not once in his entire life, found a cock attractive before Buck's. He's never wanted to, has always looked away in locker rooms and in porn. He's looking away now too.
He leans forward, pressing their torsos together until he can kiss Buck. His lips are still bitten pink, too alluring to ignore for a moment longer. Absently, Eddie wonders how Buck will look when they're done. Debauched, he hopes.
Buck knows how to kiss. He takes charge, catching Eddie's jaw and tilting his head to change the angle. His touch lights sparks in Eddie. If he did nothing but this for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man.
He'll never be sure which of them takes it further, whose body starts the desperate rutting. Eddie is always needy, forever wanting, but so is Buck. His cock is an insistent pressure against Eddie's abdomen. Buck's thrusts are aborted, barely more than rocking, but still impossible to ignore.
“Please, Eddie.” Buck speaks right into his mouth. “I need to feel you, c'mon, move.”
It takes effort for Eddie to pull away from Buck's mouth and sit up, but he'd do anything for Buck. He makes a pretty picture, wrecked now and so different from the composed one he took for Eddie.
Eddie tries to swing his leg up and over Buck so he can shimmy out of his sweatpants, but he can't focus on anything other than the breadth of Buck's chest, his tattoos so dark against his pale skin, the slight rasp of his chest hair under Eddie's hands, and so Buck has to catch him when he starts to tip over sideways.
“Careful,” Buck murmurs.
“I need,” Eddie says, and he doesn't know how to end that sentence. My pants off. To come. You.
Buck knows how to read Eddie's mind, just like he always has in the field. His methods are questionable, but he knows Eddie's goal. Buck grabs the seam of Eddie's pants and rips, tearing the fabric down to his knee.
These cost nearly fifty dollars. Eddie should be pissed. Instead, he digs his nails into Buck's chest and keens. Buck does the other side too, and lifts Eddie just enough to shove the fabric away. Eddie's legs are still trapped in the ruins of his pants, but his cock is free. Almost free. Buck takes care of his underwear too in one smooth move, unwrapping Eddie like his clothes are as thin as tissue paper.
“Fuck,” Eddie murmurs. He can’t be mad at Buck. Buck’s the one who talked him into buying these in the first place. Buck can buy him a new pair.
Buck ignores him, or maybe he's following instructions, because his hips are twitching, desperately trying to move under Eddie's weight.
There's lube in the nightstand, but it's so far away, and Buck is wet enough to ease the slide as Eddie starts thrusting too. Their cocks move against each other, a delicious friction that sends a shiver up Eddie's back. He's panting, not from the exertion but from raw need.
“Should film you,” Buck says. “Would—would you let me?”
Eddie nods, because he can't force words out, not with his throat suddenly so tight. Buck wants more of him, wants to keep him. It wasn't in doubt, Eddie knows Buck too well to think Buck would be willing to do this if he didn't want it to be more than just one-time sex, but the confirmation Buck wants to do this again, and keep reminders of it, still matters. Eddie speeds his pace, his rhythm jerky and uneven now, but Eddie doesn't care, and Buck doesn't seem to either. He needs release.
When Eddie comes, it's the culmination of years of holding himself back. Not literally, but emotionally. He never let himself think about Buck, wouldn't let himself look, but that picture opened the floodgates. He can't imagine locking this away; the warmth and joy and love for Buck thrumming through his veins is too powerful to be ignored again.
Buck comes too, only a moment behind Eddie, and paints his own stomach with even more spend, adding to the mess Eddie left on him.
It would make a good picture, Buck blushing pink, contrasted with the white of their combined come, a few of his tattoos bisected, his skin shiny from sweat.
It only takes a moment for Eddie to realize Buck would welcome a picture. He gets off Buck with more grace this time, despite being tangled in the mess Buck left of his pants, and finds his phone.
“What are you doing?”
Eddie doesn't answer. He positions the camera and takes the shot as Buck is sitting up on his elbow.
“Really?” Buck asks.
Eddie sends Buck the photo.
“You should see yourself,” he says. He climbs back on the bed, settling next to Buck this time.
“I can see you.” Buck scrapes his nails down Eddie's chest. They're blunt, but Eddie still shivers at the sensation. “That's enough.”
Eddie is flipping idly back and forth between the five photos in his locked folder the next morning when the thought hits him.
“You still have the numbers of everyone you've slept with.”
“Not everyone.” Buck nuzzles into his neck. “Some women wouldn't give me theirs.”
“A lot of them aren't under actual names.”
“Some women would give me their number, but not their name.”
Eddie knows that's not the whole truth. Buck likes saving people under descriptors. He gets the sense it's a reminder of a time and place for him. Like a postcard, but for sex.
“How many are there with contact names close to mine?”
Buck freezes. “Um,” he says.
“Buck.”
“With your name in the contact? Not many.”
“How many?”
“I'll change them.”
“Good.” Eddie runs his hand down Buck's chest. “We don't want another mix-up when you're texting.”
Something in Buck's breathing changes. Eddie knows him way too well, and having up close access means he's even more able to cut through Buck's bullshit.
“What is it now?”
“It's not the first time.”
“I would've noticed if you'd sent me nudes before, Buck.”
“I sent Ali a picture of your dirty socks once.”
“Ali was your girlfriend.” Eddie tries to sit up, but Buck holds him in place, seemingly without having to strain. They can come back to Buck's strength later. “What was I in your phone as?”
“It was before we started dating.” Buck rubs Eddie's chest. “I put her in as 'Eddie’s Earthquake Girl.'”
“Why?” Eddie is morbidly curious.
“You left your socks balled up on the floor instead of putting them in the hamper.”
Eddie didn't need that part explained, thanks. He remembers Buck's quarantine threats, which were bad enough he'd cured Eddie of the habit forever in less than a month of living together.
He doesn't push Buck further. He'll explain eventually. But there's another name he's always been curious about. “Why was the nut allergy relevant for the ranch hand?”
“Oh,” Buck says. “She wasn't allergic to almonds or anything. She just didn't want me to come inside her.”
“And you needed a reminder note for that?” Eddie asks. They truly were living in different worlds. It's a miracle they found each other and clicked. One he's grateful for every day, even when Buck spent the night snoring a few inches from his head.
“A lot of women liked to hit it raw back then.”
“How are you not diseased?” Eddie's stomach lurches at the words hit it raw, which should be disgusting but are instead conjuring up images of Buck sliding into Eddie without a condom.
“Good genes.” Buck bites at Eddie's earlobe. “Do we have to keep talking about my past?”
“What, you want to focus on how I'm your future or something?”
“Your lines are terrible.”
They may be, but that isn't stopping Buck from kissing his way down Eddie's neck.
“We're lucky you have game,” Eddie muses.
Buck snorts. “No one but you would call it that.”
“No one else is going to get the opportunity.” And to prove it, Eddie tosses his phone to the side and pulls Buck's mouth to his. Maybe they can add another photo to the collection.
Or, more likely, he'll be so distracted that the idea of taking out a camera won't even occur to him. That's okay. He'll have the rest of their lives to take pictures of Buck.
Buck breaks away. "I need to blow you."
Eddie's not complaining, but, "What?"
"I won't choke," Buck promises. "The banana was a one-off."
"So that's what you were doing." Eddie doesn't have any problem with Buck's mouth on his cock. Then he remembers his own fantasy. "Would you let me suck snake venom out of your thigh?"
"Yeah, whatever you want." Buck kisses Eddie again, and any thoughts of bananas and snakes are forgotten.