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Buck might not be very well versed in popular cinema—much to Chim and Eddie’s constant disapproval when a classic reference goes over his head—but he did grow up with a sister who loves singing and was born in the 80s. He’s sat through many a musical.
Which is why today, at this call at a florist’s, he takes in the décor and says, “Jeez, could it look more Little Shop of Horrors in here?”
The florist glares at him. “It’s a classic greenhouse. Have you never been inside a garden store?”
Eddie and Hen snicker behind him. Uncalled for, because Buck is right. He can see a shelf of tiny venus flytraps to the back, and hanging low from the ceiling are countless pitcher plants, not to mention the leafy green tendrils curled over every surface like tentacles.
“It does!” he says defensively, waving an arm at the room in general.
The florist ignores him. “She’s stuck in the bug netting I have in the bee room. I can’t reach her even with the ladder. I don’t want her to choke herself.”
She being the cat they’re here about. Buck takes a step toward the door the florist had gestured to.
“Bee room?” Eddie asks, note of nervousness in his voice.
“Yes, it’s where I keep my beehives.”
Buck perks up. He just finished listening to an audiobook on bees, keeping him company on early morning runs. “Did you know,” he pipes up, “that queen bees can predetermine the sex of their offspring? If she fertilizes them, they hatch as females, and if she doesn’t, they’re male. Cool, huh?”
No one really reacts to his fun fact. He’s used to this, even if Eddie usually asks a follow up question, or at least makes a comment. Right now, he doesn’t.
“Indoor beehives?” Hen asks the florist in confusion.
“Their room isn’t temperature regulated, so we can keep the windows open for them to come and go,” the florist explains, heading through the door.
Buck glances back when Eddie doesn’t immediately follow. Eddie’s stood stock-still, resolute expression on his face.
“You coming?” Buck asks.
“No bees,” Eddie says darkly. “Ever again.”
This time Hen and Buck snicker at him.
“You don’t know how traumatising it was,” Eddie scowls. “Sometimes in my dreams I’m still running from them…”
Hen rolls her eyes. “Okay. It’s a cat. Buck, just go get her.”
Buck grins at Eddie, shaking his head in mock disappointment, before following the florist through the door. She seems annoyed that it’s him she has to deal with, but beckons him forward.
The bee room is huge, high ceilings making it light and airy. There are big wooden hives in a neat grid in the middle of the space, wide windows propped open letting in LA summer sunshine, and an assortment of plants around the periphery of the room. A gentle hum fills the air, a chorus of buzzing.
“Woah,” Buck says. “You look after all this by yourself?”
“It’s not hard,” the florist says shortly. “It’s a family business.”
In the far corner, tangled in the fine bug netting that sections off a cluster of small bushes from the bees, is a very unhappy looking cat. Buck doesn’t waste time, skirting around the edge of the room to avoid the bees before hopping up the short step ladder that’s propped up against the wall. He’s tall enough that he can reach her, but she’s scared and worked up, making detangling her a longer process than expected, her claws snagging in the net over and over.
“Okay,” Buck says finally, going to pick her up. “Let’s get you outta here.”
As he starts descending the ladder, she twists in his arms, yowling. Her claws drag down his forearm, drawing blood, and he instinctively loosens his grip a fraction. It’s enough that she struggles free, springing for the floor and shooting out the door into the main store.
Buck isn’t so lucky. Mid-step, he flails, swearing, and falls off the ladder, face-planting into the bush behind the netting.
“Ugh,” he groans. Not quite the sort of face-planting in bush he usually enjoys. There are thorns poking him unpleasantly and foliage in his hair. The small blue flowers adorning the bush flutter their petals at him.
Huh.
It’s the breeze, through the open windows. Has to be.
They flutter at him again and he sneezes.
“Do you mind,” the florist says in annoyance. “You’re crushing my plants.”
“Sorry,” he apologises, pushing himself to his feet. “Uh. Need anything else?”
Turns out she needs a lightbulb replaced, so Buck follows her back into the shop. Hen and Eddie are lounging against the billing counter.
“What happened to you?” Hen asks, eyebrows raised.
“He fell off the ladder,” the florist says. Buck thinks this is the first time she’s sounded cheerful since they entered her store.
Eddie reaches over to pluck an errant leaf out of Buck’s curls. “We did see a tabby streak through into your office like she was being hunted for sport.”
“She’s not used to being manhandled,” the florist sniffs.
Buck gapes at her indignantly. “I was so gentle!”
She sniffs again and then tells Hen which lightbulb she needs help with. Buck slumps back against the counter beside Eddie as they wait.
Eddie reaches over again, fishing yet another leaf out of Buck’s hair. “You okay?” he asks.
Buck frowns. “Yeah, ’course. Just fell in a bush.”
Eddie snorts at that. “Okay, but I meant that.” He nods at the scratches on Buck’s forearm. “C’mon, I’ll disinfect it in the rig. Did you ask if the cat’s had her shots?”
Buck didn’t, so Eddie goes to find out, gesturing for Buck to go sit in the engine with Ravi and Chim. He goes obediently, eager to sit down and have some water—ten years of living in this city and the LA summer heat still always catches him with his guard down. Ravi offers him a cold, perspiring plastic bottle from the cooler they keep on hand for days like this. Buck holds it against the back of his neck before sipping from it. It’s icy cold, but he doesn’t feel any relief. He rolls the window up and tells Chim to turn on the A/C.
***
Eddie’s never been a napper before. Or—maybe he has, teaching himself to grab sleep in twenty-minute increments as a soldier, as a firefighter. He doesn’t count that as napping, though. Napping implies an indulgence, doing something nice for yourself. Eddie’s intermittent sleeping ability has everything to do with necessity. Something he has to do, not just something he wants.
Today, he gets home after their last call—an easy cat rescue—has a sandwich, then puts on his softest sleep tee and climbs into bed. It feels like a treat, and when Eddie stretches awake three hours later, he doesn’t let himself feel guilty about it.
He’s got a slew of notifications on his phone: spam messages and bill payment reminders and an Instagram like on a recent post. Then he gets to the texts from Buck. He sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Buck:
Hey I think I’m falling sick lol
It happened really fast? I was fine a few hours ago and I’m pretty sure I have a fever now
Eddie frowns. Buck doesn’t get sick very often. He’s even worse at telling anyone, Eddie included, when he is sick enough to need something.
Eddie:
Do you need anything from the drugstore?
Buck:
No
Uh
I can’t drive, I think
My vision keeps. Uh. Kinda blacking out
Eddie calls him.
“Buck?”
“H-Hey, Eddie,” Buck replies, sounding… out of breath. Buck is the fittest man Eddie knows. He doesn’t just get out of breath.
“Buck, that sounds pretty serious.”
Buck seems to backpedal. “No, no, I’m fine! I don’t need anything. Should I, um, just take Advil?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I’ll swing by with some other stuff. What are your other symptoms?”
“Uh,” Buck says. His breathing is still heavy. “Just feel hot. But also clammy. I can’t—I can’t think.” There’s a pause. Then he hesitantly says, “And—” before cutting himself off.
“And?” Eddie prods when he doesn’t continue.
“Never mind,” Buck says quickly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’m okay. Don’t come over.”
“Buck,” Eddie says as gently as he can. Of course he’s going over. He’ll verify if Buck’s okay for himself.
There’s a hitch of breath over the phoneline, Buck making what sounds like an involuntary whimper. Eddie hears a thunk, like he’s dropped his head against something.
“I’m coming over,” Eddie says firmly, already grabbing his wallet and keys. “Take the Advil.”
He expects Buck to protest a little more but there’s just the crackle of his breath.
“I’ll be there in 20,” he says, mapping out the drive to the nearest drugstore to Buck.
Another breath, and then Buck, very quietly, says, “Okay.”
Eddie doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Last time Buck was sick was when he was in opioid withdrawal. He’d looked like death warmed up then. He uses his key to unlock the front door, in case Buck has managed to catch a nap, and bustles into his house with his plastic bag of various medicinal aids.
Buck’s curled up on his couch, but he stands when Eddie enters the room.
This—other than the fever, Buck doesn’t look sick. He looks flushed and pliable and desperate, the way he’s shifting his weight from leg to leg. He looks horny. And… he is?
Eddie’s gaze drops to the unmistakeable bulge in Buck’s sweatpants, hard outline of his dick visible even though it looks like he’s tried to tuck it into his waistband to downplay his arousal. This is presumably the symptom Buck refused to elaborate on. Eddie can’t stop looking at it, actually, realising that Buck is so big he’d need a circus tent to try and conceal his boner.
“Sorry,” Buck says miserably, making Eddie’s gaze snap up to meet his. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Did you take anything?” Eddie asks quietly. He doesn’t think Buck’s fallen off the wagon, knows he’s been in therapy about his drug abuse, knows the therapy is helping. And Buck doesn’t look high, but there are plenty of other non-narcotic drugs he could’ve taken.
“No,” Buck says vehemently. “I haven’t ta—I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Okay,” Eddie says. He can usually tell when Buck’s lying, and he’s not right now. “How long have you been, um. Hard?”
Buck sighs. “The last, like, two hours? I took a cold shower, it’s just not going.”
“Oh. Did you try, um,” Eddie doesn’t know why his cheeks feel hot. They’re both guys, Buck is his best friend. It’s not weird to ask. “Did you try, you know.”
“Jerking off?” Buck exhales on what might have been a laugh. “Yeah. I can’t, um. I can’t come.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows. “You can’t come?” He’s being clinical about this, Paramedic Diaz, and not lingering on the mental image of Buck touching himself, over and over, still unable to orgasm.
Buck shakes his head miserably.
Eddie steps into his space, putting the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead. He’s burning up. And this close, his eyes are glassy and unfocused. Something has made him sick, and apparently a symptom of it is… a boner that won’t go down.
Buck leans heavily into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. He sighs, like Eddie’s hand against his skin is all he’s needed to feel better.
“Maybe it’s an allergic reaction,” Eddie murmurs. “From the plant shop?”
Buck frowns, brow furrowing like he’s trying to pin down a thought. “I—uh, maybe.”
“Or even the cat scratch, right? They can carry all kinds of things. Lemme take a look.”
Buck offers up his forearm slow and unsteady, limb moving as if through molasses. Eddie turns it over to inspect the scratch marks. Except—they’re not there.
“What?” he mumbles to himself, twisting Buck’s arm to make sure he’s just misremembering where Buck got hurt. Nothing. Buck’s left arm is equally unmarred, just creamy skin dusted with golden hair. “What the fuck?”
“What?” Buck says.
“It’s… gone? I can’t find the scratch marks.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Buck says, then lists closer to Eddie, huge body swaying worryingly.
Eddie grips his arm to steady him. “How ’bout we get you into bed. I’ll call the plant store lady.”
He gets Buck to lie down, pulls a blanket over him. Satisfied for now, he steps into the hall to look up the plant store they were at this morning. Google gives him a number, so he calls. And calls. And calls. No one picks up. After leaving a voicemail—hopefully conveying his urgency—he goes back into Buck’s bedroom.
Buck’s kicked the blanket off himself, lying back with his eyes shut and breathing laboriously. One hand rests at the waistband of his sweats, fingertips tucked underneath. He’s still hard.
Eddie notices he’s trembling slightly, which sends a spike of worry through him. If this isn’t an allergic reaction… maybe he should take Buck to the ER.
“You’re shivering,” he says softly, trying to swaddle Buck with the blanket again.
Buck shakes his head, twisting away from the blanket. “No,” he pants, “it’s so fucking hot.”
“You’re sick, Buck,” Eddie says patiently, sitting on the edge of the bed. He checks Buck’s forehead again—still concerningly hot.
Buck stretches, leaning into his touch, before he shakes his head again, vigorous enough that Eddie smiles at the wet dog resemblance. “Feel—” he starts. “Feel like I’m gonna float away.”
“You’re not gonna float away,” Eddie promises. “Can I—do you want your weighted blanket?” He remembers Buck buying one years ago, after they had that meteorite call, but he hasn’t seen it since.
“N-No,” Buck says. His cheeks are so flushed, splotchy and red.
“Okay,” Eddie allows. “Hey, I’m gonna try and call the plant store again.”
“No,” Buck says, struggling to sit up. Eddie pushes him back down gently, palm firmly against the centre of his chest. Buck grabs his wrist, fingers encircling it. He uses his grip to press Eddie’s hand harder against himself. “You be my weighted blanket,” he says, voice pleading.
Eddie huffs a laugh. “You want me to be your weighted blanket?”
“Yeah,” Buck nods, eyes closing again.
“What does that mean?”
Buck cracks open one eye. “C-Can you, um. Lie on top of me.”
Eddie blinks. That’s an entirely new thing to think about—a vivid mental image. He’s never—but it’s fine. It’s normal, even. Lying on top of someone can be a sex thing, but hey, when he’s doing MMA, there are lots of times he’s got some guy pinned under him. And this—it’s Buck. It’s just his best friend asking for some innocuous grounding to help him feel a little better. Eddie can give him that.
“Are you sure?” he asks anyway. “I’m pretty heavy, bud.”
Buck closes his eyes again. “Good.”
“Well, you asked for it,” Eddie says playfully. He’s still in his soft sleep t-shirt, and he’d put on some khaki shorts before leaving his place. He stretches his leg out, putting one knee on Buck’s far side and climbing onto the bed. This way, he’s—straddling Buck. That’s the position he’s in. He doesn’t know why that makes the tips of his ears feel hot, when lying on top of him feels safe.
That thought catches him by surprise—he never feels unsafe around Buck. Never. If anything, the things Buck does, with so much love and such intention, go out of the way to make Eddie feel safe. Because he does feel safest with Buck! He doesn’t like that he entertained any other feeling for even a second.
Beneath him, Buck exhales heavily. His body is still trembling, tiny tremors every few seconds.
“Okay,” Eddie says softly, stretching his body out, slowly lowering it, feet to chest, until he’s pressing down on Buck. “This okay?”
Buck’s breath rattles out. “Fully. Please.”
“I don’t wanna crush you,” Eddie says. He’s holding himself up in a sort of push-up position, Buck’s flushed face inches below his.
“Please,” Buck mumbles.
Eddie sighs, relenting. He has to put his face somewhere, and lying like this, it makes most sense to tuck it into Buck’s neck. “Okay?”
Buck’s shaking arms wrap around Eddie’s body, holding him close. “Y-Yeah.”
In this position, Eddie is privy to Buck’s most Buck scent—clean, woodsy, warm. He inhales, nose pressed to Buck’s neck, inadvertently nuzzling into him. He’s also privy to Buck’s hard cock digging into Eddie’s hip. Totally fine, it’s just a symptom of whatever is wrong with Buck right now. It would be weird and maybe creepy to fixate on it, so he puts it out of his mind and adjusts himself a little bit, nosing into Buck’s neck to get comfy.
Under him, Buck whimpers, raising his hips like he’s seeking friction. His cock grinds against the crotch of Eddie’s shorts and Eddie’s ears get hot again.
“M’sorry,” Buck says, miserable. “I’m—ah—so sorry, Eds.”
“It’s okay, bud,” Eddie whispers. His own cock is stirring to life and he desperately wills it away. Buck’s sick. Eddie’s body reacting like this—maybe it’s just biology, but it doesn’t stop Eddie from feeling wretched, like he’s taking advantage.
Buck keeps lifting his hips, trying to grind against Eddie. He keeps apologising, too. But every grind is followed by a soft sound of relief, a few seconds respite from whatever sickness is boiling inside him.
“Is it—” Eddie starts, and then clamps his mouth shut. What is he doing?
“What?” Buck pants below him, eyes shut tight.
He’s so pink his birthmark nearly blends into the rest of his skin. Something in Eddie clenches—one of those rare times when he just barely lets himself think about what he wants, and immediately locks it away in the attic of his brain. Buck is vulnerable beneath him right now. All Eddie ever really wants is for him to be okay.
“Do you feel better when you…” he says. “I mean. Do you think you’d feel better if you… come?”
Buck eyes snap open, even though they’re still glassy. “C-Can’t,” he says. “Touching myself—it doesn’t feel right.”
“What about like this?” Eddie asks, swallowing around something. “Does it feel better when you—?”
A shuddering breath makes it out of Buck. He hasn’t broken eye contact with Eddie. “C-Can’t ask you to—no.” He looks ashamed, and there’s no place for shame in their friendship. Not after all this time.
“You’re not asking,” Eddie says, slipping his arms under Buck’s back. He flips them over in one smooth movement, Buck exhaling an oof when he blinks down at Eddie from the new vantage point.
Eddie places his hands gently on Buck’s hips, pulling them towards himself.
Buck looks reluctant, but the second he presses his cock down against Eddie’s thigh he whimpers again, dropping all his weight down on Eddie.
Eddie can take it. If it’s gonna help Buck—there’s not much Eddie wouldn’t do. He hums encouragingly, one hand slipping to the small of Buck’s back, pressing him against Eddie as he humps forward, eyes closed and making little noises of pleasure.
The friction of Buck’s sweatpants on the bare skin of Eddie’s thigh isn’t bad, the fabric soft enough not to chafe. Maybe he should’ve worn longer shorts. Buck’s movements get sloppier and more erratic, Eddie stroking a hand down his back in reassurance. And then Eddie feels something hot and wet against his thigh, Buck’s come seeping through his pants.
Buck collapses against him, and it’s a little hard to breathe, because the man is 6’2” and over two hundred pounds. But it’s also nice, this heaviness grounding Eddie where he lies. He could get used to it.
Before he can tuck away that thought, Buck sighs into his neck. It makes his hair ruffle. His body feels loose and relaxed, no tremors. Eddie keeps stroking his hand down Buck’s back, hoping it’s soothing. Buck’s breathing evens out, slowly, and then he stiffens, body rigid on Eddie’s.
“Buck?” Eddie asks quietly. “Is it better?”
“Uh,” he says, rolling off Eddie with some difficulty. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Eddie.”
Eddie ignores that. “Are you feeling better?”
“Y-Yeah,” Buck says. Eddie can’t see his face. He can see when Buck starts shivering again in his peripheral vision, blood rushing to his cheeks. “W-Well. I did, for a minute.”
Eddie sees him look down, taking in the large wet spot on the crotch of his sweats, and, more pertinently, his cock, still hard. Buck makes a small, hurt noise, expression of total humiliation on his face. Something traitorous in Eddie lifts its head in interest, but—context. There’s a time and place for that. He doesn’t want to see Buck like this right now.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Buck whispers again. “M’so fucking hot. Feel like I’m o-on fire.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, sitting up. “Hospital.”
“No,” Buck says emphatically. “I can’t—jeez, Eddie, we’re there all the time. I can’t go like—like this.” He gestures to his crotch, and the movement seems to drain the energy out of him, because he shuts his eyes and starts breathing hard.
Eddie’s not sure what to do. He could fight with Buck, call Hen or Chim and get them to help him take Buck to the hospital. Or to go to the plant shop and get to the bottom of this. He has to get Buck what he needs.
Buck, who has rolled over towards Eddie, eyes still closed as he pants and rubs himself against Eddie’s hip absently.
Buck, who is his best friend. Eddie can lend a hand, look after his sick friend. If this is what he needs—Eddie’s just being a good friend, the way Buck is to him. He knows if the situation was reversed Buck would do the same for him. Eddie can give him what he needs.
Eddie texts Hen and Chim: the symptoms and a request to stop by the plant store. He leaves out the method by which he and Buck are treating this. That doesn’t seem like something they need to know.
“Okay, bud,” he says, lying back down. “No hospital. For now. The others are going to the florist. What can I do?”
Buck’s pretty blue eyes are back to being unfocused. “D-Dunno,” he slurs, looking at Eddie. His cock is still pressed against Eddie’s hip.
Okay. Eddie’s happy to take charge. “Let’s get you out of this,” he murmurs, gently tugging at the waistband of Buck’s ruined sweats.
Buck lies back unhelpfully as Eddie pulls down his sweatpants, along with his underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach, and Eddie looks at it out of the corner of his eye, mouth going dry at how big and pink and pretty it is.
“Y-You too?” Buck asks, breathless.
“What?” Eddie asks, another quick glance to Buck’s cock.
“Can I touch—” Buck starts. “Don’t want to—if it’s just me. Please.”
Eddie’s hard. He doesn’t know if Buck’s noticed, but his request sends a shiver down Eddie’s spine anyway. That—he can’t do that. That is pretty definite in his mind as taking advantage. Even if it’s just—biology. Buck’s sick; he can’t help himself. Eddie can.
“I can’t,” he says, soft.
Buck looks devastated. He’s sweating, beading at his temples, but his expression is cracked open. “E-Eddie. I don’t mean—I just—I can’t just take.”
“Yes, you can,” Eddie says, just as soft. The devastation doesn’t leave Buck’s face. His eyes are shiny, lashes gummy with unshed tears.
“I can’t make you—” Buck says, trying to sit up now, panic in his voice at the idea that he’s forcing Eddie into something.
Eddie interrupts. He’s gotta shut down that train of thought immediately. “You’re not making me do anything.” And then, because Buck is the most important person to him bar his son, and Eddie would rather die than have him think, especially while sick, that he’s doing anything to hurt or distance Eddie, Eddie kisses him.
He kisses Buck, and it’s wet and feverish, Buck scrabbling to kiss back with fervour. He kisses Buck, and simultaneously wriggles out of his shorts, leaving him in his briefs.
“Are you sure,” Buck mumbles while pawing at Eddie’s underwear.
Eddie strips them off. “Yeah,” he says, pulling Buck in. He lines up their cocks—a move he only knows from that one time he accidentally clicked on gay porn—wrapping his fingers around both of them.
The feeling of Buck’s wet, velvety skin against his own cock—Eddie is going to come embarrassingly quickly. He hadn’t planned on coming at all, preferring to just help Buck out without his own pleasure clouding what he’s allowed to do—what he’s allowed to want—but frotting against Buck, both of them held in his fist, is possibly the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. He feels guilty for thinking that, given the situation, but hopes it’s as good for Buck, hopes it makes him feel better.
“Oh, God,” someone moans, and Eddie realises it’s him. He blushes, but Buck is looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, all pupil, panting in time with Eddie’s fist stroking their cocks.
Eddie’s thumb catches the head of Buck’s cock, smearing precome over the slit and Buck convulses, grabbing Eddie by the back of his neck to crush their mouths together. He starts thrusting into Eddie’s grip, and the purposeful slide of his cock against Eddie’s nearly sends Eddie over the edge.
He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes so they don’t roll back into his skull with how good this feels. If he has to come, he at least has to wait until after Buck does. This is about him, after all, not Eddie.
“M’close,” Buck slurs, humping up into Eddie’s fist. “Fuck, Eddie, I’m gonna—”
Eddie kisses him again. Buck melts into his touch, hips slowing. Eddie probably doesn’t need to kiss him to get him off, which is the goal here, but Eddie’s never been one to skimp on foreplay. Anyway, he loves kissing, always has. And kissing Buck might be a revelation Eddie’s not ready to have, but not ready to give up either.
He does the thing with his thumb again, pressing into Buck’s slit.
Buck comes, hot pulses of it spurting over Eddie’s cock. He keeps moving his hand, smearing Buck’s come into his own slit. As someone who, post-teenage pregnancy, never has sex without a condom, Eddie finds he likes that. He likes it a lot, and he comes with a grunt, covering his own fingers and Buck’s cock.
He releases them when his own cock starts softening. Buck is still hard.
There seems to be a moment of respite, though, Buck’s face smooth and lax when he flops back against his pillow. He’s still flushed, and after a couple minutes of lying beside each other in silence, his breathing starts to get heavy again.
Eddie glances over to his forehead shiny with perspiration, his breaths coming laboured.
“Still?” he asks softly.
“Mm,” Buck says, eyes shut. “Yeah. But—not as bad. I think it’s getting better.”
Only Buck, Eddie thinks, would catch an illness that could only be cured through orgasms. If that’s what this is. Cosmic bad luck with a sense of humour.
“Okay,” he says, sitting up. He uses his discarded briefs to wipe at the mess of his cock, and then leans over to do the same for Buck, hesitating when his brain catches up. This is not post-coital tenderness, because Eddie and Buck are not having sex with each other because they want to, but because they have to. If what they’re doing right now can even be counted as sex. It’s also Buck, and taking care of him is second nature to Eddie, so he stuffs that first thought away and wipes at Buck’s groin, cleaning away come. “I’m gonna get us something to eat, okay? You good here for a minute?”
Buck hums an affirmative. “Not really hungry,” he admits, palm absently running over his still-hard cock. It wets the hem of his t-shirt. Eddie looks away, starts for the door.
“I’ll get you a Gatorade,” he tells Buck, pulling on his shorts. “Get some electrolytes in you.”
When he comes back from the kitchen, blue energy drink and a banana in hand, Buck is shivering against the headboard, this time with the blanket pulled tightly around him. He gives Eddie the most pitiful look Eddie’s ever seen on him, even after his leg got crushed, even after any and all difficult recoveries in the last decade or so.
His phone screen lights up on the bedside table. A missed call from Hen, and then the texts in the groupchat he has with her and Chim.
Hen: Florist says the bush he fell into can have aphrodisiac properties
Chim: Lol. Only Buck
Hen: and possibly medicinal ones
Hen: it’ll wear off once he. You know. Takes care of it
Chim: ew
Chim: glad he’s okay but. ew
Hen: The fever is probably an allergic reaction
Hen: If it doesn’t break soon take him to the ER
Chim: texted Athena in case they’re violating USDA regulations
Chim: Guess our boy was right about the Little Shop of Horrors
Chim: he’s going to be insufferable
Eddie: thanks guys
Eddie: I’ll keep an eye on him
Eddie: update you later
He gets Buck to take a few sips of the Gatorade. Some of it dribbles out of his mouth with how much he’s trembling, and Eddie wipes it off his chin with the pad of his thumb.
“What do you need?” he asks Buck, running a hand up and down his arm. He looks at Eddie, eyes glazed over, answer too mumbled for Eddie to catch. When he sits back, however, Buck seems to come to panicked life, reaching for Eddie.
“Please,” he pleads.
Eddie’s heart aches. “What? Anything, Buck. Just tell me what.”
“Just don’t stop touching me,” Buck says, begs. “I-It doesn’t feel like—please.”
Another heart-clench. Eddie nods, lying down next to Buck and wrapping him in his arms. He runs a hand down Buck’s back again, intending to try and soothe him, but his fingertips catch on the hem of Buck’s t-shirt, tripping down and grazing his bare ass.
Buck shudders in his arms, a whole-body thing. Eddie’s own t-shirt has been rucked up, and Buck’s leaking cock blurts wetly through the hair below Eddie’s navel.
“Eddie, Eddie,” he begs.
Eddie thinks it’s a good thing he can read Buck. Even in a totally unfamiliar situation like this, he knows what Buck wants. What he’s asking for.
He drags a dry finger down Buck’s crack, wiry hair under his touch. He reaches puckered skin, ghosting over the hole, and Buck spasms in his arms.
“This what you want?” he breathes into Buck’s ear, finger making tiny circles over Buck’s hole.
“Please,” Buck sobs, burying his face in Eddie’s neck and pushing back against the tease of his finger.
Eddie’s never done this before. Never done anal, with anyone. Shannon, Ana, Marisol. He is a paramedic and has seen more than his fair share of rectal tearing, so he knows what not to do.
“Do you have lube?” he asks.
Buck nods into his neck, panting hot against Eddie’s skin. “Side table,” he says, and then starts mouthing damply at Eddie’s neck. Eddie is thirty-five and not sick with horny fever, or his cock would take great interest in that. He stifles the painfully natural urge to twist his head and catch Buck’s mouth with his own.
“Buck,” he says after a minute of this. He can feel the bruise starting to form on his neck. That’s not what he’s concerned about right now. “Hold on a second. Let me get the lube. Let me help, okay?”
With great difficulty he extracts himself from Buck’s hold. The lube is right at hand, bottle well-used. Eddie wonders what Buck’s usual preferred position is, if he likes to open someone else up, or if he likes it being done to himself. Well, Eddie’s gonna find out in a second.
“How do you want to do this?” he asks. “On your stomach?”
Buck shakes his head, looking dizzy after. “W-Wanna see you.”
Eddie is anchored to this moment he can’t quite believe is real, but he spares a thought for future Eddie, trying to see Buck in his usual platonic light after experiencing him like this, begging and pliable and so, so needy for Eddie. It wouldn’t be fair to Buck, though. He didn’t ask for any of this. Well—he did, technically, but only because he’s sick. Eddie refocuses.
“Pillow,” he instructs, getting Buck to lift his hips so he can place a pillow under for support.
Buck bends his legs at the knee. Eddie gently pushes back on the underside of one thigh, spreading Buck open a little. Saliva pools in his mouth when he sees it for the first time: a tight furl of pink. He spreads Buck’s cheeks wider, blonde hair running through his crack catching the light all golden.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
Buck makes a noise of question, lifting his head to peer at Eddie through his spread legs. “Wha’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Eddie says, following what is entirely instinct and dropping a kiss to the back of Buck’s thigh. Wholly unnecessary for what they’re doing, but he can’t help himself. Buck looks surprised at the act, so Eddie hurries up with squirting lube onto his fingers and pressing them to Buck’s hole before he can say anything.
Buck inhales sharply.
“Okay?” Eddie asks nervously.
“Cold,” Buck tells him, voice beginning to slur again.
Eddie rubs his fingers together, trying to warm it up. This time when he presses against Buck’s hole, it flutters under his touch, Buck slumping back with a sigh of bliss. Slowly, Eddie rubs the pad of his finger against it in firm, deliberate circles. The next time the furl of muscle clenches before opening, he slips the tip of his finger in, sliding all the way to the knuckle.
Buck gasps, pushing back into Eddie. He’s red hot inside, clenching around Eddie’s finger like he’s trying to suck him in.
“More,” he begs after a minute.
Eddie works a second finger in, fucking them in and out while Buck moans. He’s getting hard again; he can feel his cock chubbing up. It’s not a thing—anyone would be a little bit aroused by the sight laid out before him: Buck’s sweat-stained shirt straining against his chest, heaving with every breath, his cock glistening against his stomach, his hole hot and tight.
Even if he’s never had his fingers in somebody else’s ass before, Eddie is educated in male anatomy. He curls his fingers up, rubbing firmly against the soft muscle, searching until Buck’s back arches off the bed almost alarmingly, a moan shuddering out of him.
“Please, please, Eddie,” he says, head thrown back in pleasure.
Eddie can’t take his eyes off him: his pink, blissed-out face; his pink, desperate hole. He speeds up, fucking his fingers in and out of Buck to an almost-embarrassing soundtrack of lube squelching.
Buck’s breathing comes faster; Eddie asks him, “Can you come like this? Or do you need something on your cock?”
Buck shakes his head, panting. “C-Can’t. I-I mean, sometimes, yeah. But I don’t think—Eddie, I don’t think I can—oh, God—I, Eddie, please—”
“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises, his free hand relinquishing its grasp on Buck’s thigh and working his cock. Buck squirms below him, like he’s torn between trying to fuck up into Eddie’s fist and fuck himself down on Eddie’s fingers.
His hips rock up and down, chasing pleasure on both sides. His cock, weeping at the tip, smears against his abdomen with every stroke of Eddie’s hand, stomach muscles clenching under Eddie’s gaze.
In my mouth, Eddie thinks, and follows the impulse before rational thought can catch up.
Buck arches off the bed again the second Eddie’s lips wrap around the head of his cock. It’s musky, and sweaty, and the bitterness of precome coats Eddie’s mouth. There’s a heft to it, a weight on Eddie’s tongue that does make his eyes roll back in his skull. He quickly gets used to the taste, too, experimentally licking at Buck’s cock before swallowing him once again.
Not to the root, even though Eddie knows from experience how good it feels to be on the receiving end of that. He just sucks on the head, lets the tip of his tongue poke at Buck’s slit.
Buck comes again with a cry, somehow spurting just as much as he had the first two orgasms. Some of it gets in Eddie’s mouth and he swallows instinctively, unexpectedly relishing the way it slides down his throat. He strokes Buck through, pumping his fingers slower and slower, finally coming to a stop, still buried in Buck up to his knuckles.
Buck clenches around his fingers, and Eddie is fully hard right now. If anyone should be ashamed in this situation, he thinks, it should be him.
He’s pulled from the guilt spiral awaiting him post-all of this, Buck making a small sound of askance.
Buck is still red-cheeked and out of breath, but his face is less pinched in discomfort the way it had been when Eddie first arrived. That’s a win Eddie’ll take.
“Okay?” he asks Buck softly.
Buck nods, a little weakly. Eddie makes him finish the Gatorade and half the banana. By the time he locates a clean washcloth and returns to the bedroom, Buck’s wrapped in the blanket again.
Okay, this is still progress—Eddie doesn’t let himself panic. The time between shivering episodes is getting longer, so hopefully this thing is wearing off. He doesn’t know how Buck’s still hard—his own dick aches in sympathy and also overwhelming arousal.
He sits beside Buck on the bed. Buck gives him a miserable look, palm pressed to his cock like it’s aching.
“I could go down on you,” Eddie offers. “I, uh, don’t really know what I’m doing, with a, y’know,” he gestures at Buck’s crotch, “penis?” But he’s game to try.
Buck’s face falls even more. “I don’t want you to—Eddie, that’s, that’s different from just, y’know. Helping me out.”
Eddie blinks at him. Is it? What makes it more or less different than a little anal fingering between friends?
He says this, and Buck laughs unhappily. “It just feels—I don’t know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to—degrade yourself.”
Degrade himself? Eddie gives Buck a confused look, opening his mouth to say—he’s not sure what, because Buck backtracks.
“Not degrade, sorry, b-bad choice of words. It’s just… intimate, right?”
“So is everything else we’ve done today?” Eddie says, not seeing the problem. Is Buck just worried Eddie’s going to bad at sucking dick his first time? Is he scared Eddie’ll use teeth? He does comment often on how pointy Eddie’s canines are.
Buck closes his eyes, breathing roughly. “There’s nothing for you if you do—that,” he says. “I-I want you to feel good, too.”
“This isn’t about me,” Eddie tells him gently. He decides not to point out that fingering Buck, while technically a non-reciprocal act, did plenty for Eddie, pleasure-wise.
Buck shakes his head petulantly.
Eddie sighs. “What can I do, then?” he asks. “What do you need?”
Buck is silent for a long minute. Just when Eddie thinks he might have fallen asleep, he blinks his eyes open, staring a hole into the ceiling with a despondency Eddie isn’t used to from him.
“Buck,” he says, and feels his heart crumple when a tear slides down Buck’s cheek. It’s followed by several more, until he’s crying silently, staring at the ceiling. “Buck?”
Buck doesn’t respond, so Eddie crawls up the bed to straddle him again. This feels scarier than the shaking, than the fever. It hits him, suddenly, that before? It wasn’t a fleeting moment of feeling unsafe. Nothing about Buck makes him feel unsafe. It was just—he was just scared.
He knows what he’s scared of and knows that once this little bubble of, uh, recuperation pops, he’s going to have to deal with it. He’s not sure he can stuff it back in the box this time. What’s scarier is Buck being sick. What’s scarier is Buck sobbing quietly under Eddie, looking up at him now instead of the ceiling. What’s scarier is for once in his life, he’s not sure what Buck needs.
“Buck,” he says again, cradling his face and wiping the wetness of tears away with twin sweeps of his thumbs. “Anything. You have to know that. Anything, okay?”
Buck shakes silently below him.
“Please let me,” Eddie whispers, stroking Buck’s cheek. He lets his fingers trace the fine bones of Buck’s face, pressing a thumb to his birthmark like a kiss.
Buck closes his eyes again, leaning into Eddie’s touch like an affection-starved animal. “Just want to be close to you,” he admits. “N-Need to be close to you.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, trying to settle himself along Buck’s body like a weighted blanket again. “Just tell me how.”
“Can you fuck me?” Buck says, shame in every crease of his face.
Eddie gets so hard so fast he loses his balance, falling off Buck and off the bed. What the fuck. He woke up this morning like it was any other day, and now he’s found himself engaging in seemingly every kind of gay sex. With his best friend. And coworker. Jesus Christ.
“S-Sorry,” Buck says, eyes wide now. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Yes,” Eddie says, sitting up. He thinks about Buck clenching around his fingers. “I can, uh. I can fuck you.”
Buck’s face gets even pinker. “Are you, um. Are you sure? I know you haven’t—”
“I mean, I haven’t anything we’ve done today,” Eddie laughs. It doesn’t feel forced. It’s kind of like a release. Obviously, this is about what Buck needs. But Eddie—he can feel a change, a charge, like static in the air. “What’s one more?”
“Are you sure?” Buck asks again, uncertainty in his expression.
“Buck,” Eddie says, climbing back onto the bed. “If it’ll help—let me, okay?”
Buck nods, this tiny jerk of his head. Eddie’s hand slips down his crack again, teasing his wet, sticky hole. He could slide right in. He has to press the heel of his palm against his cock at that thought.
“Like this?” he asks, pushing Buck’s thighs back against his torso gently. “Want to look at me while I fuck you?”
Buck makes a choking sound, nodding his head frantically.
“Okay,” Eddie says, tugging Buck’s t-shirt over his head before shucking his own clothes, “I got you.”
Buck’s nipples are hard, pink and begging for Eddie’s mouth. If he was a gentleman, he’d kiss Buck before sucking on his tits, but at this point in the day they’re having, Eddie thinks he can be excused for immediately zeroing in on Buck’s nipples, laving across them with his tongue.
Buck jolts below him, legs slipping open wantonly. “Eddie,” he breathes. “Closer. Please.”
“Inside you?” Eddie murmurs, sitting back on his haunches.
Another shuddering breath leaves Buck. “Yes, yeah.”
Eddie lines himself up, blunt, wet head of his cock smearing through the lube on Buck’s hole. Buck makes a choking sound again, pushing his ass against Eddie’s cock. The pressure of it pops, flushed head of Eddie’s cock breaching Buck and sliding in too quickly, all the way to the hilt.
Buck sucks in a shaky breath, head thrown back and eyes shut tight. He’s a vice grip around Eddie, hot, wet, tight. Eddie doesn’t want to hurt him but the urge to thrust is killing him. He may have miscalculated this: he’s not going to last. He’s going to revert to seventeen year old Edmundo Diaz, a three-pump chump. Shannon hadn’t laughed, and he knows Buck wouldn’t beyond some playful ribbing, but that’s not the point. He’s fucking Buck so Buck comes. He needs to last long enough, make this orgasm good enough to heal Buck.
“Y’can move,” Buck slurs, pleasure relaxing his face. “Please, Eddie.”
“Okay,” Eddie breathes, pumping his hips. Buck moans faster and Eddie speeds up, fucking Buck like he means it. “Fuck, Buck, you’re so—you’re so tight, you feel so good, oh my God.”
Buck clenches around him and Eddie sees stars, hips stuttering for a beat before picking back up the rhythm.
“S’posed to be for you,” he admonishes, panting above Buck. “Supposed to make you feel good.”
“You are makin’ me feel good,” Buck slurs. “And making you feel good makes me feel good.”
The admission hits Eddie like a freight train. He’s on a precipice: he could follow it, see where it takes him, a leap of faith. Or he could take it for what it is: the ramblings of a sick man.
Right now, he reaches for Buck’s cock, the only sounds in the room their harsh breathing and the slap of skin against skin. Buck swats him away, cheeks flushed as he peers up at Eddie.
“I-I think I can come like this,” he says.
Eddie feels his cock blurt inside Buck at that. “Fuck,” he groans. “Okay.” He changes the angle, pleasure taking over Buck’s face as Eddie fucks him.
He can feel his thrusts getting sloppier and warns Buck that he’s close. In lieu of a response, Buck wraps his legs around Eddie’s hips, pulling him in, pulling him down. Like this, Buck’s cock is trapped between their stomachs, leaking enough to smooth the glide.
Buck’s head is thrown back, face pink and serene. He cracks open an eye and sees Eddie looking, gives him a lopsided smile. Eddie can’t help it, this day of following urges, and leans down to kiss Buck. It’s a sweet, tender thing, tempered by the pornographic noises their bodies are making.
Buck comes, legs wrapped around Eddie even tighter as he arches off the bed, spilling hot between them, come matting the hair on both their stomachs. Eddie follows pretty much immediately, the sight of Buck too much to resist.
He collapses down on Buck, both their breathing slowly evening out. When his brain is back online, he rolls off Buck, flopping to the side, despite Buck’s noise of protest. His cock slips out of Buck with a wet sound, and Buck whimpers, just for a second.
They lie beside each other in companionable silence—though Eddie can see Buck glancing at him every now and then with an uncertain expression. The afterglow lasts a while, this time, Buck feeling well enough to finish the banana.
They sit side by side on the bed, backs against the headboard. Buck frowns, suddenly, and Eddie sees him snake a hand down to his ass, retrieving it with a look that might be awe—though Eddie doesn’t know why, seeing as all he’s doing is examining the come on his fingers, Eddie’s come that’s leaking out of his asshole.
Buck sees Eddie noticing and sheepishly wipes his hand on the sheets. “Uh. I’ve never, uh. Been fucked without a condom.”
If Eddie could get hard again, he knows he would. His dick even twitches, a feeble but valiant attempt. At any rate, he feels an ember of possessive satisfaction spark to life inside him.
“Not, uh. Not even Tommy?” he asks.
Buck laughs. “Not even Tommy.”
Eddie settles back against the headboard, pleased. The second Tommy had dumped Buck, he’d been dead to Eddie. Imagine being into men and having someone like Buck want you and still fucking it up? As Chris would say: skill issue.
“Are you—are you smug about that?” Buck asks him, something like delight colouring his voice. It’s been hours since Buck has sounded anything other than sick, desperate, and needy. Relief floods Eddie; he hadn’t realised how much worry his body was housing.
Eddie grins, shrugging. “He didn’t love you the right way.”
Buck’s eyes go wide and Eddie’s words catch up to him. He tries to explain. “I, uh, I just mean. He didn’t deserve to have you in his life at all. Much less getting to, um. Fuck you raw.”
“Raw,” Buck says, almost like a question.
“Without protection. Condoms. Uh.”
They both sit back against the headboard, this time the silence less companionable and more embarrassed. Something awkward is settling over the room, and now that Buck is looking a little better, Eddie might have to reckon with the fact that they have to go back to normal, now knowing what each other looks like in the throes of pleasure. Eddie doesn’t think he can stop thinking about it, to be honest.
“Gotta piss,” he mutters, nearly sprinting to the bathroom. After, he splashes water on his face and looks at himself in the mirror. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” he tells himself sternly. “Don’t make it weird.”
But back in the bedroom, Buck is sweating and shivering and flushed for the nth time today. Dismay fills Eddie.
“Fuck,” he says, striding into the room. “Thought we were over this.”
This time, he gets the thermometer out. A slight fever, nothing to go to the ER about. If they could just figure out what would cure this—the orgasms have helped, sure, but they just seem to delay the symptoms rather than fix anything.
“Is there—has there been something that helps more than others?” he asks Buck. “Like, if we do a certain, y’know. What’s helping?”
Buck once again looks ashamed. It’s bizarre to Eddie to have seen this on him multiple times today, when Buck is usually the most shameless person he knows. It’s one of the things he loves most about Buck.
“Buck?” he prods.
Buck takes a fortifying breath. “Just, uh. Being close to you. It’s, uh. All I want to do right now. I-I’m sorry. It’s like—like every cell in my body wants to be touching you.”
Eddie’s ears feel warm again. This is an arousal-inducing sickness, and Eddie just happens to be Buck’s emergency contact, and that’s the only reason it’s him Buck wants to be close to right now. If this had happened when Buck and Tommy were still together—Eddie does not want to think about that but he knows it wouldn’t be him Buck wanted to be close to.
That doesn’t matter, though. Tommy’s not here. Eddie is. And unlike Tommy, Eddie can give Buck what he needs.
“What if you fucked me?” he floats.
Buck looks so shocked he actually stops trembling. “W-What? E-Eddie, that’s—what? No. I can’t ask you to—no.”
His last no is full of feeling, said with his whole chest.
“Once again,” Eddie reminds him gently, “you’re not asking.”
Buck looks distraught, but one of his hands in absently rubbing the head of his cock. “No,” he insists anyway. “I’m feeling better.”
“You’re shaking,” Eddie points out. “Again. And you said you wanted to be close to me. I can’t think of anything closer than you being literally, uh, inside me.”
“Eddie, that’s—” Buck closes his eyes. “What if that changes everything?”
Eddie shrugs. “More than any of the other things?”
“Eddie.” Buck’s looking at him now. “That’s too much.”
“It’s just me, Buck,” Eddie says. “It’s just me and you.”
Buck knocks his head back against the headboard. “I know. It’s because it’s you I can’t—”
“You can,” Eddie says firmly, reaching for the discarded bottle of lube. “Because it’s me, you can.”
He slicks up his fingers and hesitantly approaches his own ass, fingertips leaving smears on his cheeks. He’s a little nervous, tremor in his own hand as he runs a finger over his hole. It clenches, unwelcoming.
“D’you want me to—?” Buck asks, leaning forward and then sitting back, as if correcting himself for being too eager. Eddie likes him eager. “Have you ever—?”
“No,” Eddie grunts, sliding the tip of his finger inside and willing his muscles to relax. “Well—once. Just to, uh. Try.”
“It’s easier if you’re on your hands and knees,” Buck says softly. “I could—”
“Okay,” Eddie relents, his body rejecting his own finger right now. He assumes the position, ears flaming when he realises how vulnerable it is. He can’t see Buck like this, and he’s—presenting himself, ass-first.
When Buck slides a hand down one cheek, grabbing an indulgent handful to spread Eddie open, Eddie realises he probably can’t come a third time. Buck seems to be thinking the same thing, because when his slippery, lube-covered fingers stroke over Eddie’s hole, he says, “Are you sure you’re not gonna be too sensitive? Don’t want—don’t want it to hurt.”
Eddie’s own overstimulation seems unimportant in the grand scheme of things. He turns his head to give Buck the green light. Buck is staring at Eddie’s ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world, much to Eddie’s satisfaction.
“You good, bud?” Eddie asks, kind of amused.
Buck’s head snaps up, cheeks flaming. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.”
Being opened up by Buck’s thick, calloused fingers makes Eddie’s vision blur. It’s a weird feeling, having anything inside him. It’s not uncomfortable, it just makes him feel full and fuzzy. Then Buck finds his prostate and Eddie collapses like his strings have been cut, face-down ass-up in Buck’s bed.
Buck exhales shudderingly behind him, fingering Eddie with determination. Eddie can’t think about that, can’t think about anything but the blinding pleasure that wracks him every time Buck’s fingers rub over just the right spot.
He’s not making much noise, and Buck eventually stops the movement of his fingers, checking in. He’s breathing hard, body heat seeping out of him so hotly Eddie can feel it even without skin-to-skin contact.
“Eddie?” he asks.
“Mm,” Eddie slurs into the sheets. “Ready. C’mon.”
Buck inhales sharply. The sheets rustle behind Eddie, assumingly as he gets into position. “You sure?” Buck asks again, voice shaky and so, so uncertain.
“Buck,” Eddie says, and it’s mumbled into the bed, so he turns his face, hot cheek against the cool sheets. “C’mon.”
“Okay,” Buck says, still shaky.
The sensation of Buck’s hot, weeping cock nudging bluntly against his hole has Eddie unclenching, open and eager. He arches his back some more, ass pressing back against Buck. The pressure before Buck slides in is enormous, Eddie taking a gasping breath when he finally enters him.
Buck makes a broken sound above him. And then, like he can’t help himself, he starts to move, quick, shallow thrusts. Eddie feels boneless. He feels like he’s melting into the bed. He’s definitely drooling into the bed, the cotton sheets damp under his face.
Eddie’s cock is out for the count, but this pleasure is something wholly new, something he feels in a wholly different part of his body. Or maybe all of his body. He can’t localise the feeling, his entire corporeal form sparkling with every one of Buck’s thrusts.
Buck comes quickly, buried deep in Eddie, and again, the sensation is wholly new. Eddie can feel him spill inside him, and clenches to milk Buck for all he’s worth.
Buck collapses, right on top of Eddie. Which is nice, even if Eddie can’t quite breathe, face mushed into the bed. After a minute or two, he needs air.
“Gerroff,” he mumbles into bed. “Buck.”
Buck exhales happily—Eddie knows it’s happy because he can feel Buck’s smile pressed into the back of his neck.
“Buck,” he sighs, half-laughing. “Get off.”
Buck rolls off him immediately, and when Eddie rolls onto his side to face him, Buck’s looking at him uncertainly.
“What?” Eddie asks. “Y’good?”
He looks good, flushed in a way that looks healthy and natural. He’s sweating only the appropriate amount one would sweat after marathon sex. His eyes are bright and focused, even if a little guarded. Eddie gets that; he’s coming out of whatever this sickness was, having irrevocably changed his most important relationship—Eddie can be presumptuous and also secure in the knowledge that their friendship is of the utmost importance to Buck—so it makes sense that he’s feeling a little reserved after all that.
“Y-Yeah,” Buck replies.
They both flop onto their backs. The stink of sex fills the room, the sheets beneath them damp and filthy. Eddie feels debauched. He’s never had so much sex for so long a time.
He feels Buck’s come start to leak out his hole, and he clenches, not ready to part with it yet. This part of Buck that’s all Eddie’s, entirely his to keep.
In his peripheral vision, a shiny tear track glistens down Buck’s cheek. He’s crying again. Shit.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, rolling over again. He hovers over Buck, propped up on one elbow. “Did it—did it not help?”
Buck shakes his head, refusing to make eye contact, which frustrates Eddie. “N-No, it did. I-I’m feeling, um. A lot better.”
“Okay?” Eddie says. “And that’s a good thing, right?”
Buck closes his eyes, silent tears escaping down his face. “Y-Yeah.”
Eddie is not seeing the problem. They figured it out, they fixed it, Buck is better. “What’s wrong, then?”
Eyes still shut, Buck says, “I-I hate that it happened like this. Like—my one chance. And I was delirious for most of it.”
Eddie blinks in surprise. “One chance?”
Buck sighs. He should look exhausted, especially after that many orgasms, but he looks good. Really good. He’s glowing.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t mean to say that.”
What did he mean by it anyway? One chance? To do what? With who? As much as the obvious answers seem to be sex, with Eddie, that doesn’t make sense.
“Is this something you wanted to do?” he asks Buck hesitantly. “With—me? Even when you aren’t… affected?”
Buck buries his face in a pillow.
Eddie feels it again, less unsafe and more scary. Scarier now that Buck’s not sick, not crying. He actually means this. Scarier because he thinks he knows what Buck wants. Scarier because it’s the same thing Eddie wants.
Leap of faith. Buck will always catch him.
“Buck?”
Buck turns his face, cheek to the pillow. His eyes are red-rimmed. He looks at Eddie’s chest when he says, “All I wanted was you. The whole time.”
“Yeah, but you were sick,” Eddie says, trying to make his voice light.
“Doesn’t change the fact that all I wanted was you,” Buck sighs. “I mean. I could’ve called anyone. Maddie. T-Tommy. But I-I didn’t need them. I only wanted you.”
Eddie still needs to know. “That didn’t answer the question.”
The despondency is back in Buck’s expression. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I wanted it even when I wasn’t—even when I’m not sick.”
It’s a brave admission. Eddie doesn’t think he has what it takes to just—lay it all out there. But Buck is doing that, despite thinking Eddie doesn’t reciprocate.
Turns out the scariest thing is the look in Buck’s eyes right now, something resigned and vacant. Does he think he tricked Eddie into this?
Eddie rolls back on top of him, his full body weight pressing Buck into the mattress. He blinks up at Eddie in surprise.
“I thought I was taking advantage of you,” Eddie confesses, tip of his nose brushing Buck’s. “I hated myself for wanting it when you were just—sick.”
“What are you saying?” Buck whispers, hushed.
Eddie kisses his birthmark for real now, mouth soft and lingering when he does it. “I’m saying I want, too.”
He kisses Buck, also for real, and Buck sighs into his mouth, this contented thing. It doesn’t feel so scary anymore, which makes sense. Nothing ever has since Buck became his partner, way back when. Why would this time be different?
The minutes tick by, and Buck’s symptoms don’t raise their heads. He lies under Eddie, broad and firm and beautiful, and lets himself be kissed.
“Feeling okay?” Eddie checks in a little later.
Buck grins, mouth quirking up on one side. “Guess I was just lovesick.”