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Eddie is no stranger to how kinky his boyfriend can be.
They found out pretty early on in their relationship how well-matched they were in that department. For every freaky thing Eddie might want to try, Buck comes up with something that blows it out of the water. He's often almost shy about it, blushing as he asks Eddie if he'd consider it.
Other times Buck is less subtle, like that time he simply grabbed Eddie's hand while they were fucking, put it around his throat, and used his own hand to squeeze Eddie's fingers closed. The way he moaned and his eyelids fluttered closed at the feeling had made it pretty clear that he was enjoying it. It wasn't one of the times they didn’t talk before doing, which Eddie knows isn’t the correct way to do things.
This time, Eddie has Buck pressed into the sheets on his back. Buck's eyes are closed, and he already looks fucked out, even though all Eddie has done is work him open with his fingers.
He knows Buck likes the burn, so he doesn't add more lube to what he used to make Buck slick and loose. Eddie curls his hands around Buck's wrists, holding them above his head as he sheaths himself inside that velvet heat with one smooth thrust.
Buck trashes underneath him, a loud cry falling from his lips, leg jerking out so his knee hits Eddie in the side.
"No, no," he whimpers, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and Eddie instantly freezes, already pulling out. Buck gasps, says: "No, wait."
He wraps his legs around Eddie's hips, keeping him inside, and when he finally opens his eyes, there is a hint of fear.
"Are you okay?" Eddie asks, frowning down at his boyfriend. "Did I hurt you? You said no, so I assumed…"
Buck shakes his head, and the flush of his cheeks seems to be caused by embarrassment rather than arousal.
"That's not-"
He squirms, and it makes Eddie shift inside of him, both of them letting out a gasped breath. Buck's hesitation makes Eddie think this isn't the kind of conversation they should have while he is still inside of him, but it doesn't seem like Buck is letting him go any time soon.
"I wanted you to keep going," Buck confesses, eyes falling shut again, and he's trembling. "Even though I was saying no, I wanted you to keep going."
A wave of emotion rolls through Eddie, with feelings he manages to distinguish as shock, fear, and shameful arousal.
It's not even that he doesn’t know there are people with those kinds of fantasies. He's done his reading, he knows a lot more about kink than he did before his relationship with Buck.
Eddie just didn't expect Buck to want this, or for it to come up when he's already inside him. This seems like the kind of thing you bring up before the sex, not during. Though he suspects that Buck didn't intend to bring it up at all.
"I'm sorry," Buck says, voice small. "Can we just… talk about this later? Just fuck me now, please."
Eddie has conflicted feelings about the request, hesitant to keep going now that Buck has expressed this desire of wanting Eddie to keep going while he is telling him to stop.
But it's hard to deny that he's still hard and while Buck's erection has flagged a little between their abdomen, probably out of embarrassment, he's squirming down against Eddie's cock the way he does when he's trying to get him to get a move on.
Eddie sighs. "Alright."
He does let go of Buck's wrists, putting his hands on the mattress as he starts to fuck him, setting up a solid pace. Buck, seemingly over his embarrassment, claws at Eddie's shoulders as he urges him on, his legs still wrapped around his waist.
It's good sex — Eddie honestly thinks it's impossible to have bad sex with Buck — despite their interruption and the slight awkwardness because of it, and they fall right back into normalcy.
Eddie can't help the way his thoughts drift, though. Can't help that as he stares down into Buck's eyes, filled with overwhelming pleasure, he can hear the pleading 'no' echo in his ears.
Somehow, exactly that has him falling over the edge, spilling inside that tight heat. Buck's hand sneaks between them as Eddie rides out his orgasm, and it feels like mere seconds before he's coming between them.
They don't speak as they clean up or when they curl up in bed together, Buck the little spoon with Eddie wrapped around him, his arms wrapped around Buck's waist and his face buried in his boyfriend's neck.
"Is it something you think about often?" he asks after about ten minutes of dozing, the words slipping out of Eddie's mouth without his permission.
Buck stiffens for a moment, shoulders getting tighter where they're pressed against Eddie's chest.
"Just sometimes." And then, after a beat, he admits: "It's not a new fantasy, though."
"Can you explain it to me?"
Eddie isn't sure if he's asking for an explanation because he wants to try to understand the appeal, or because he wants to know Buck's specific fantasy.
"It's just-"
He lets out a frustrated sigh, squirming in Eddie's arms, and Eddie is torn between tightening or loosening his hold, unsure if it's more important to let Buck free or comfort him by holding him right now.
"Do you promise you won't hate me for this?" Buck asks, voice trembling, and Eddie chooses the latter option, hugging him tighter and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck.
"I could never hate you."
Is the reveal of this new kink of Buck's a surprise? Yeah, of course it is. But Eddie has a hard time coming up with anything that could make him hate Buck.
"It's this fantasy of some guy breaking into my apartment or just grabbing me from the street," Buck admits. "And he just- he just takes me, uses me however he wants, maybe ties me up and keeps me there to do it again later, completely wrecks me even though I'm begging him to stop."
The words are now spilling out of him like a waterfall, and Eddie's ears are ringing with all that he's hearing. He never could have predicted that Buck would think and feel things like these. There is a difference between being kinky — and kind of a masochist — and having a rape fantasy.
Another part of him isn't all that surprised, somehow. He knows Buck better than anyone, probably, and is always finding new things under the next surface of who his boyfriend is. It's what makes being in a relationship with him so mesmerizing.
"Okay," he says after a beat, carefully choosing his words. "Thank you for telling me."
"You don't think it's fucked up?"
As he asks it, Buck squirms in his arms, turning halfway to be able to look at him. Eddie hesitates just a little too long, and Buck's face falls.
"I can't say I'm not shocked," he admits, "and yeah, it's probably a little fucked up, but people have fucked up fantasies all the time, it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. I love you, baby, dark stuff included."
Buck has his lips pressed tightly together, staring at Eddie with a blank look for a few seconds more before he smiles a small smile. Eddie leans in to kiss him softly before hugging him closer, murmuring sweet nothings as he runs a hand through Buck's hair.
*
The thing is, Buck doesn't bring it up again. Perhaps he was going to at some point, but he definitely isn't the first one to do so.
That's all Eddie.
"Did anything happen to you in the past?" he asks Buck during another post-coital cuddle session. "I mean, to make you fantasize about this? To cope, or something?"
Buck sighs. "No, not really, I don't know where it came from."
He's staring up at the ceiling as he says it, and Eddie can only see about half his profile, but that's not a problem. Eddie knows him well enough, and there was something there. Not that he thinks Buck is lying, but…
"No?"
It gets him a side-eye, but Eddie merely arches an eyebrow.
"I don't know," Buck mutters. "Not enough attention in my childhood? Too much unsupervised time on the internet as a teen? I wasn't touched inappropriately by authority figures or anything if that's what you were wondering. "
He says it with nonchalance, but Eddie knows it’s honest.
Eddie doesn't press any further then — or any time after that, really. No, after that, Buck is the one to bring it up.
*
"When I still went out a lot, I would fantasize that some guy at the club would dance with me, then threaten me while pressed up against my back," Buck confesses not long after that first time. "He'd take me to a bathroom, maybe, or outside to the alley, and fuck me hard and rough against the wall, hand around my neck while whispering in my ear what he'd do if I resisted."
They're lying in bed, intermittently sharing kisses with their hands wandering across each other's bodies. Not the kind of moment you'd think something like that would be said.
Eddie stills for a moment, feels his cock stir in the comfortable sweatpants he'd pulled on before they stumbled into bed after their shower as he imagines what Buck describes.
He doesn't say anything. What is he supposed to say in response to this?
*
"He'd have me on my knees," Buck whispers as his breath ghosts over Eddie's cock. He's on his knees in front of Eddie, lips brushing along the sensitive skin around his crotch. Eddie's fingers find their way into his hair, pulling lightly. "Tie me up, fuck my face, slap me when I try to bite."
It's so easy for Eddie to slide his dick into Buck's mouth and be a little rougher than usual. Eddie doesn't slap him and Buck doesn't act like he doesn't want it, but he's sure it's in the back of both of their minds.
Still, when Eddie imagines the scene that Buck described, he finds that it isn't him in the main role but instead a faceless, nameless man.
*
"I dreamt that someone came into our bedroom and fucked me right here in our bed, next to you," Buck murmurs in the morning, half draped over Eddie's body and still drowsy with sleep. "You didn't even wake up, and he gagged me with my underwear to keep me quiet."
Eddie had been slowly running his hand up and down the expanse of Buck's broad, bare back. At this point, the confession doesn't even surprise him enough to make him pause.
His half-hard morning wood stiffens a little more where it's pressed against Buck's thigh. Eddie still doesn't say anything in response, but they end up fucking hard and rough, his hand wrapped around Buck’s throat.
*
"Sometimes it goes beyond a one-time thing, the fantasy," Buck admits with a blush on his cheeks as Eddie jerks him off slow and teasingly, four of his fingers pressed inside Buck. He's wrapped up in pretty red rope, always a sight to behold. "I mean, they keep me, you know? In a cage or tied up, nothing more than a toy to use."
Eddie stares up at him, thinking.
"Yeah?" he ends up asking, slowing his strokes even more, loving the way Buck trembles. "You think one time isn't enough to wreck you?"
It's the first time he engages in conversation about this, after that first conversation and his first question.
Buck moans, attempting to thrust his hips up into Eddie's grip, to no avail.
"Is that what you want?" Eddie asks. "For some stranger to pick you up off the street and turn you into his personal little fucktoy? Wreck your holes every day while you beg him to stop, to let you go?"
He punctuates the words with a press of his fingers against Buck's prostate, and Buck sobs, shaking under his touches. Eddie lets go just in time to watch Buck spurt ropes of cum all over his chest and abdomen with a frustrated groan at his ruined orgasm.
Playing along has changed something, Eddie knows that. He just doesn't know yet what.
*
In the end, Eddie decides he’ll have to turn to someone else for advice.
Eddie met Tommy through basketball. It's just a pick-up game with a bunch of first responders, but there are often familiar faces that come by almost every week, and Tommy is one of those. They'd instantly hit it off the first time they played together, perhaps because Tommy was also from the 118, even if that was before Eddie's time.
If he's being honest, Tommy might have been a bit of a catalyst in Eddie's acceptance of himself and starting a relationship with Buck. Having someone to talk to about it who wasn't heavily involved in all other aspects of his life, who didn't even know Buck, helped. And Tommy was gay himself, and an army guy with a religious upbringing, so he understood.
(He's pretty sure that at first, Tommy even tried to flirt with him, though he cut that out when he realized Eddie was head over heels in love with his best friend and struggling to come to terms with that fact.)
Tommy has also been the person Eddie talks to about the things he and Buck get up to in the bedroom — and out of it, sometimes. With Buck's permission, of course, but he hadn't seemed to mind at all that Eddie was telling his friend all about the kinky things he did to Buck. Perhaps he could blame that on his boyfriend's exhibitionist streak.
Besides, it had become clear early on that Tommy is pretty kinky himself, and he's often got good advice or knows where to find certain resources.
So after a game, Eddie invites Tommy to go for a drink, intending to bring it up and ask Tommy what he should do. He's feeling a bit jittery, hoping that the man won't judge him for even considering in the first place. Thinking ahead, Eddie picks a spot in the back corner, as far away from the current occupants of the bar as possible.
They've been talking about random stuff, mostly their jobs, when Eddie blurts out: "Buck told me about a fantasy he has."
Tommy swallows the rest of his sentence, staring at him for a moment, and Eddie can feel a blush rising to his cheeks. He watches as Tommy puts his beer down, feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze. It's too late to take it back now.
"Alright," Tommy says. "It has to be something incredibly kinky, or you wouldn't look so panicky about it."
Eddie huffs out a laugh and his shoulders rise on instinct, as if he can somehow make himself disappear. He hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out how to say this.
It's not that Eddie thinks Tommy would judge him, or Buck for that matter. When they first started talking about kink and BDSM, the man had told him early on that he considers himself a sadist. Tommy has done things much rougher and more extreme than either of them, and Eddie is sure he's barely even told half of it.
"He has this fantasy of being raped," Eddie confesses, keeping his voice low. "I mean, it's more like a long list of different scenarios, but it all comes down to that."
Tommy hums. "Did he tell you about it recently?"
"No, a while back, and he didn't really mean to, but we've- he’s been talking about it since."
"Does it freak you out?" Tommy asks. "That he wants that?"
Eddie purses his lips, tilting his head from side to side as he considers. The truth is, it doesn't freak him out that Buck has these fantasies. Not as much as it should.
"It freaks me out that it turns me on," he admits after a beat.
They're Buck's fantasies, Eddie has never even thought about it before, but now that he's been alerted to the existence of these kinds of depraved thoughts, he can't stop.
"Plenty of people with fucked up fantasies."
Eddie huffs. "That's what I told him."
"So, now what?" Tommy asks. "Do you want some tips to role-play it? I've done it a few times, met a few guys that liked that stuff, and I'll admit that I find it kind of a turn-on as well, from the opposite perspective, of course."
Looking at him, Eddie doesn't find it hard to imagine how something like that went down. Was it a smaller guy, slim and lithe, overpowered by Tommy's height and his muscles? Held down, moaning and crying as Tommy fucked him?
Or was it someone who looks more like Buck?
Eddie shifts in his seat as the image of his boyfriend being fucked by the man in front of him crosses his mind. Buck is big and strong, obviously, he's a firefighter, but so is Tommy. If anything, Tommy's arms are even larger, his chest even wider. He could probably hold Buck down pretty easily.
"Maybe," he replies after maybe half a minute. "I don't know if I- if I could. I mean, in a way that satisfies him. I can be rough, but I don't know if I could be rough like that."
The things Buck has described, the things he fantasizes about. Eddie loves him too much, he thinks. He likes the things they do, being rough with Buck, because it turns him on how much Buck loves it.
There would always be some mental block, probably, keeping him from treating Buck like that, as intensely as his boyfriend seems to desire if the fantasies he's described are anything to go by.
"Have you asked him if it's something he'd want? Role-play?"
"Not yet."
Tommy looks at him with a thoughtful expression, as if he's studying Eddie. What is he thinking about?
"You said it turns you on, but you don't seem all that eager to be the one performing," Tommy says, leaning in a little closer, a dangerous smile curving the corners of his mouth. "Do you like to watch, Eddie? Is that it? Would you want to watch someone else rape your precious boyfriend?"
Eddie licks his lips, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Tommy isn't wrong, the idea of watching turns him on much more than that of being the one doing it. Whenever Buck tells him his fantasies, Eddie never imagines himself in place of the man holding him down.
"Maybe," he mutters.
He fidgets with his beer, too self-conscious to look Tommy in the eyes. Again, it's not that he thinks Tommy will judge him, but it's rather strange to be perceived this way. When he glances up through his lashes, he finds Tommy looking as if he's mulling something over.
"Well, there's always the option of letting someone else defile him," Tommy says eventually. "I could, perhaps, be persuaded. We could even make it a little more… real, if you'd like that."
"More real?"
Tommy nods. "Yeah, surprise him, you know? So he wouldn't even see it coming."
Eddie's heart stutters in his chest, and images flash through his mind. He really can't get a hard-on right now, not here in public. Still, he resolutely shakes his head.
"No, that would be too-"
He cuts himself off, knowing that Tommy will understand what he means. Things are supposed to be safe, sane, and consensual, right? And that idea doesn't sound like any of those.
"Alright," Tommy says with a shrug. "So, do you want to tell me more about those fantasies? I could at the very least give you some tips for role-play."
*
The thing is, Eddie can't put it out of his mind.
Neither the idea of bringing Tommy into acting this out in the first place nor the idea of turning it into something more real. He knows he shouldn't be thinking it. It's wrong.
Compared to the fantasies Eddie has been having, Buck's are practically nothing.
Still, he wants to make his boyfriend happy, so he brings up the possibility of role-play. He deliberately doesn't do it when they're in the bedroom, though perhaps he could have chosen a better moment than over dinner.
"Would you ever want us to act out one of your fantasies?" he asks. "Like, role-play, you know?"
Buck nearly chokes on his bite of food, and he stares at Eddie with something akin to disbelief.
"Uhm…"
"No pressure or anything, but I thought that maybe you'd want-"
Eddie cuts himself off, shrugging a little.
"We could, yeah," Buck answers. "If that's what you want."
"I want to do what makes you happy."
It's clearly the wrong answer because Buck's face falls. "I don't want you to do something just because you think I want it. Besides, can you really tell me you'd be comfortable doing those things I told you I fantasize about? I know you always hold back at least a little when we do anything involving hitting or hurting me."
Eddie opens his mouth but hesitates. He can't say that, no. Tommy was right, the idea of watching it happen turns him on infinitely more than to be the one doing it, the one inflicting the pain.
"What, you think I'd hold back too much, and it wouldn't feel real enough?" he asks.
His boyfriend seems to mull that over for a moment, but then he shrugs.
"I guess, yeah. I mean, role-play would never quite feel real, don't you think? But especially if it's you, I guess."
Perhaps Buck is putting too much faith in Eddie right now because his first thought is that if Buck wants something real, then Eddie can make that happen.
He pushes that thought away. Eddie can't betray his lover's trust like that, and Buck might not fully understand what he's saying, or perhaps he doesn't mean it.
"Why would you want it to be real? Wouldn't that be traumatizing?"
Rape is serious, Eddie knows that. Even through the fantasies and the horny thoughts, he knows that it's an act of inexcusable violence and abuse.
Having fantasies, no matter how fucked up, isn't a bad thing. Hell, even if they did role-play it, that would be between them, and they'd both be consenting.
Buck sighs, running his fork through the food on his plate.
"You don't have to remind me that I'm fucked up for even thinking about this," he mutters.
It's not really an answer, is it? More of a deflection. Eddie narrows his eyes at him, not that Buck sees that with his head down.
(Perhaps Buck should be taught a lesson, a voice in the back of his head says, so he knows this isn't something to want to be real.
And doesn't Eddie have a way to make that happen?)
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
Buck accepts the apology, at least.
*
After another few days of deliberation, drowning in guilt, shame, and arousal , he texts Tommy.
That offer still on the table?
The reply comes in quite quickly.
To play with your adorable boyfriend? Of course
Eddie hesitates. Could he-?
How about making it a little more real?
Tommy starts to type almost right away, but it takes a while for his next message to come in, though it ends up being quite short.
Coffee to talk things through?
***
It's a regular day after his shift.
The sun is high in the sky, burning down on Buck as he walks out of the station and to his jeep, as it often does here in LA. He'd parked about as far away as possible yesterday, making it only just in time for his shift, the parking lot already filled.
Buck is eager to get home, especially after a few hours ago Eddie had pulled him into the supply closet to make out and have some fun. They'd gotten as far as two fingers inside him, teasing, before the bell rang and Buck had to abandon possible orgasm to do his job.
He clicks the button on the key fob to unlock his car and is about to open the door when there are suddenly strong hands grabbing him from behind. At first, Buck thinks it might be Eddie, his boyfriend having followed him to his car instead of going to his own. They drove in separately yesterday.
Then there is the feeling of a cloth against his face, pressed down by a large hand, a faintly sweet smell filling his nostrils.
That's all Buck knows before he's out.
He wakes up an indeterminable amount of time later. His head is fuzzy and there is a stale taste in his mouth. God, what happened?
When Buck tries to move, he finds that he can't. His hands have been tied behind his back, his ankles bound together. The rope feels soft, like the kind that he and Eddie use in the bedroom, and for a moment he wonders.
Were those hands that grabbed him Eddie's?
Blinking his eyes open, Buck is met with nothingness, and it's only then that he realizes there is something over his eyes as well. A blindfold, maybe a mask.
Don't panic, he tells himself as his breathing quickens. He has to stay calm and rational, assess the situation. Perhaps he can get himself out of this. Whoever took him, didn't gag him, he realizes. Does that mean he's somewhere he can't be heard? He tugs on his bonds, testing them.
There is a breathy chuckle, from somewhere in whatever room he is in. Buck is not sure how far away the person is, but it's low and decidedly male. It's also definitely not Eddie.
He squirms again, and something creaks, a chair maybe, heavy footsteps moving closer to him.
As he opens his mouth to say something or maybe yell, that large hand from before closes over it again, this time without the fabric in between.
"Shh," the man murmurs, "Stay quiet, Evan, and this will all be so much easier for you."
How does he know his name? Who is this, how did he know where Buck would be? His voice isn't familiar.
Calloused fingers brush against his chest as they undo the buttons of his shirt. He hadn't realized he was still clothed. It adds to his humiliation, somehow, that his assailant chose to wait to undress him until he was awake to experience it.
His binds are in the way, so his shirt ends up bunched around his wrists. The hands then slide down to his belt, unbuckling it and undoing his button, then lowering the zipper.
The man leaves his pants there, at least, but his knuckles brush against Buck's crotch, and he's filled with horror when he realizes that his cock stirs at the touch.
It doesn't go unnoticed, those fingers closing around him, feeling him up as his blood pools together down there, cock thickening in the man's hand.
"Hm, see, I knew you would enjoy this," he says, a slightly sadistic edge to his tone. "I'm going to have so much fun with you."
"No," Buck pleads, shaking his head as he writhes on the floor, the concrete cold and rough against his skin, because he has to object, right?
He has to beg the man to let him go, to not do this to him. Except that it's safer not to struggle, isn't it? Buck tries to remember what he's read about situations like these. And the truth is, part of him wants to struggle, wants to see what fighting back or refusing will do. That's fucked up, isn't it?
Next thing he knows, his hair is grasped in a firm grip, pulling him upright. Buck tries to twist away but finds that between being bound and his assailant’s strength, he has nowhere to go. His pants slide down to his knees.
A single finger traces from his temple down along his cheekbone, stopping at the corner of his mouth for a moment before continuing to the middle of his lower lip, where it is joined by a thumb. The digits pull on Buck's lip, and he opens his mouth on instinct, a startled moan escaping him.
The chuckle that sounds at that sends a chill down his spine, but he doesn't have much time to think about that before the fingers slip into his mouth. They press down onto his tongue, sliding far enough to the back of his throat that he gags a little.
Buck can't see anything, can only feel and hear and smell. He thinks that if he could also see, it'd be too overwhelming. Right now, he can feel his blood thrumming through his veins, his heartbeat too fast in his chest.
As soon as the fingers leave his mouth, wiping a trail of spit on his cheek, he presses his lips together tightly.
Embarrassingly, Buck is still hard, undoubtedly already staining his boxer briefs because he always gets so wet . It's probably wishful thinking to hope the guy hasn't noticed it.
For a long, stretched-out minute, nothing happens.
Saliva is drying on his cheek, and his arms ache because of their position behind his back. No hands are touching him right now, and the unpredictability of it makes him squirm. If he's being touched, it's easier to guess what is going to happen, but right now he doesn't know what the man is doing.
Buck knows he's still there, though. He can hear his breathing, calm and measured. Then there is the sound of a belt buckle being undone, followed by the sound of a zipper lowering. It's incredibly loud in the otherwise quiet space.
The fingers touch his jaw lightly again and Buck flinches away, which leads to the man gripping his chin tightly. He presses his lips even tighter together. Buck can guess where this is going.
Shame fills him as his imagination runs away with that thought. He can't help but wonder what the stranger's cock will feel like, what it will taste like. His mouth involuntarily waters as he thinks about its weight on his tongue.
"C'mon, pretty boy, open up."
The voice is gruff, the man clearly affected by whatever he's seeing as he looks down at Buck. He runs his thumb over Buck's lower lip, gentle at first, before trying to pry his mouth open.
And suddenly the panic sets in again, just slightly. Perhaps it's more shame and his fear of himself rather than fear of what this man will do to him. Buck's stomach churns as he thinks of the things he would let him do to him, remembering the fantasies he'd admitted to Eddie with great embarrassment and anxiety.
"It's no use to resist, you little bitch," the man says, tone now a little more threatening.
In a lapse of judgment, the next time the fingers touch his lips, Buck attempts to snap his teeth at them. Because of his blindfold, he doesn't see the backhanded slap coming, head snapping to the right as his left cheek burns.
Before Buck can recover from the hit, fingers are threading through his hair and gripping it tight, and then he's being dragged. He yelps as he tries to move with the hand pulling him across the space, but he can't use his hands, and his ankles are too tightly bound together. His pants somehow manage to slip past his knees, and he can feel the concrete floor scrape across the skin there.
"We're going to make this a little easier," the man mutters, and Buck can feel his clothes brush against his skin as he leans over him.
There is the sound of metal, perhaps a chain, and then it's cold against the skin of his forearms as it's threaded through the small space between his wrists. It's not pulled tight, but Buck knows that if he tries to move away now, he'll be stopped by the chain.
A hand touches his leg and Buck flinches, but then he realizes that all the man is doing is pulling his belt from where it's still in the loops of his pants.
The leather touches his neck, and Buck holds his breath as he hears the belt slip through the buckle.
"So, are you going to behave now?" the man asks, and the hand he runs through Buck's hair is disturbingly gentle. "I'm going to fuck your pretty little mouth, and you're going to keep your teeth to yourself, alright?"
There is the sound of another belt buckle and the rustling of clothes, and Buck's mouth waters at just the thought of having a cock forced down his throat. It's the shame that washes over him at that, that has Buck running his mouth again.
"Go fu-"
He doesn't even get to finish the second word, a harsh pull on the belt around his neck shutting him up effectively. It's the shock rather than the force that does it, though even when he's silent with his mouth still open, the man tightens the belt a little further, putting actual pressure on his throat.
Buck gasps in a breath the moment it loosens. It didn't completely make him unable to breathe, but it certainly felt like it. Before he manages to close his mouth, though, he's being yanked forward by a harsh pull on the belt.
He once again chokes, but this time it's on the thick cock that is shoved into his mouth. His assailant isn't going easy on him, immediately pushing all the way in so Buck can feel his pubic hair against his nose as the head forces its way into his throat.
Above him, he can hear the man chuckle as Buck's chest heaves because of his triggered gag reflex. He pulls back just enough for Buck to take a deep breath through his nose and push down the gagging before he pushes back in again.
Tears have started to gather in Buck's eyes, soaking his blindfold. Three, four thrusts and he gets a chance to take a full breath again, the cock leaving his mouth altogether, though not for long. Buck's gasp for air sounds more like a sob.
He doesn't expect his reprieve to last very long, but to Buck's surprise, fingers are touching his blindfold, and suddenly it's gone. The fluorescent lights make him instantly close his eyes, only squinting them open a little after a few seconds.
"Look at you, crying so prettily," the man chuckles as he runs a finger along the lower lid of Buck's left eye before tracing it up, over his birthmark. "It'd be a shame to deny myself such a lovely sight, don't you think?"
Buck looks up at him through teary eyes, finding a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a white shirt that stretches tight over his chest and biceps and jeans that he's opened just enough to get his dick out. Of course, the man was smart enough to cover his face, the balaclava revealing nothing but blue eyes and thin lips.
As if he feels the need to offset the too-gentle touch with something mean, Buck suddenly finds himself being slapped across the face once again, though this time the guy uses the palm of his hand.
He doesn't have long to think about the red-hot feeling spreading through his cheek because a pull on the belt brings him back to what he was previously doing, the dark-red cockhead pushing past his lips.
Being able to see it makes him realize how big the erection filling his mouth is, even more than feeling it before. Buck has never had anything to complain about with Eddie, but he realizes that what this man is packing could do some serious damage.
As it is, the cock is stretching his lips to their limit. The man has set up a rhythm where he uses the belt to pull Buck onto his cock, letting it loose again so Buck can pull back. It doesn't take long for him to catch onto it, but it's not as if he has a choice. He needs to pull back to breathe.
Eventually, even that luxury is barely granted. Tears are running down his face and saliva is smeared all around his mouth and dripping down his chin. Every time he is pulled forward, the man holds him there, the belt tight around his throat. He keeps Buck there until his lungs are burning and his throat is convulsing before letting him go, and even then the time he gets to get fresh oxygen doesn't feel enough, causing Buck to get a little lightheaded.
"Are you enjoying yourself, you slut?" the man asks when he's finally offering Buck some reprieve again, and it feels like those blue eyes are staring straight into Buck's soul, even through the blurry sheen of tears. "It looks like you are."
He is confused for a moment, not understanding why he would think that, but then there is a boot pressing down on Buck's erection. His throat spasms around the cock that is once again shoved down his throat, nose against the man's pubic bone.
The boot doesn't let up, if anything it presses down harder, squashing Buck's dick between the sole and his thighs. It hurts, and yet his erection doesn't flag. The pressure is only relieved at the same time that Buck finally gets to pull back and breathe again, gasping for air.
On the next one, the boot is there again. It pushes down even harder this time, and the pain zips up his spine as if it's pleasure.
The man has started breathing heavier and while Buck hasn't heard him moan at all so far, the grunts he's letting out are close enough. Is he getting close?
A hand reaches down and pinches his nipple, twisting it painfully, and Buck's pained moan must send vibrations down the guy's dick. It's what gets him the first real moan. Buck knows he should be disgusted at the feeling of pride that elicits.
He expects the man to come down his throat and have him choking on it. That's not what happens. Instead, he's pulled off by his hair just in time to feel ropes of cum cover his face.
Buck closes his eyes on instinct, only barely saving himself from the painful experience of cum in his eye. It falls onto his eyelids, in his hair, drips down onto his cheekbones, and to his lips.
His tongue darts out without his permission, tasting the sticky substance.
Above him, there is a chuckle, and Buck forces his eyes open, his eyelashes stuck together.
"I think this is a perfect look for you," the man says. "Shows what a slut you really are, so greedy for cum."
Buck glares at him, and he opens his mouth to say something, but he had forgotten about the boot on his crotch. It presses down, effectively shutting him up as the pain zings up his spine.
"Quiet, bitch."
Pressing his lips together, Buck decides that for now, he can try to shut up. Maybe the guy will let him go now that he's gotten his rocks off, if he just keeps quiet.
His knees ache, and he tries to shift, but it doesn't get any more comfortable. Not that he expected it to. The cum is already starting to get itchy on his face.
Buck watches as the man tucks himself back into his underwear, not bothering to do up his pants. He doesn't know what to expect now, but it isn't for the guy to start walking toward the door.
"Hey!" he tries to yell, but his vocal cords are rough from the abuse they've gotten, and the man is gone before he gets any real sound past his lips.
Then, Buck is alone.
He fidgets with the rope holding his wrists together but finds that it has little to no give. His next order of business is to look around.
It's not a small basement, with multiple wooden pillars in the space that hold up what must be the house above. The walls and floor are all gray, depressing concrete, and bright fluorescent tubes light the basement.
Besides some stacks of boxes and junk against the walls, Buck's eye falls onto a pile of rope and chains. There are some chairs stacked in the corner, with the only other piece of furniture being what seems to be some kind of leather-padded bench.
Buck pulls on his binds.
How long will he be left down here?
*
Eddie is too busy staring at where Buck is still kneeling and connected to a support beam with a chain to realize that Tommy hasn't just stepped out of the frame but has also left the basement.
He’s in Tommy's kitchen, watching the live feed that he set up, and he's been teasing himself, working his hand up and down his cock, spit slicking the way. It's a beautiful sight, Buck kneeling on that cold hard floor, Tommy pulling him onto his cock again and again with the belt around his neck.
And now he's still there and catching his breath, face covered in come, tears, and saliva, all of it dripping down his chin and onto his chest. Eddie wishes the footage was a little less shadowy, a little sharper. Still, he can't tear his eyes away right now, either.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Eddie startles at the question, flailing hard enough to almost fall off his chair. He stares at Tommy with wide eyes, but his friend seems unfazed, making his way to the fridge and grabbing two beers. He's got the balaclava rolled up to his forehead.
Tommy puts one of the beers in front of him, as if Eddie isn't sitting here with his dick still in his hand. It doesn't escape Eddie that Tommy is surprisingly put together, even if his pants are still open and there are wet patches on the fabric.
And if Tommy has no shame, especially after what he just did to Eddie's boyfriend, then why should Eddie?
"Yeah," he says, trailing off into a sigh when he strokes himself from the bottom up, thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock.
Tommy's eyes have an almost predatory look in them as he lets his gaze trail over Eddie's body. Eddie hopes he doesn't seem as tense as he feels, and that he manages to give off at least some air of nonchalance. He doubts that is the case, though.
The way Tommy makes his way around the table doesn't make Eddie feel any less like prey.
"And the show, did you enjoy the show?" Tommy asks in a whisper as he puts his hands on the back of Eddie's chair, leaning in so close his lips are brushing the shell of Eddie's ear. "Did you enjoy watching me corrupt your precious little boyfriend?"
Eddie can't stop his moan at those words, and he tightens his hand on his dick so he doesn't come just from that. A whimper escapes him when teeth bite down on the top of his ear.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes," Eddie grinds out, letting his head fall back and feeling it hit Tommy's chest. Fingers slip into his hair, keeping him there. "I enjoyed it."
A chuckle leaves Tommy's lips. "So did he, even if he tried to act like he didn't. Do you think he figured out this is because of you, yet?"
His breath ghosts over Eddie's skin as he says it. When Eddie tries to shake his head, he realizes he can't, not with Tommy's hand in his hair.
"N-no," he answers through a shuddering breath. "I don't think so."
In the meantime, Buck has started to struggle against his bonds. Eddie only realizes when his eyes are drawn back to the movement on the screen.
His boyfriend doesn't seem to be very successful in getting free, but it's clear he isn't going to give up yet.
"Let me go, you fucker!" he yells, and they can't hear it from the basement, but it comes through the speakers of the laptop. "You've had your fun! C'mon, where are you?! Let me out if you know what's good for you!"
Eddie is mesmerized by the words and how they are contradicted by the rope and chains tying Buck down as well as the mess on his face.
"I feel like he's going to start yelling about what his boyfriend will do to me when he finds him any moment now," Tommy says with a chuckle. "If only he knew."
Tommy's hand finally slips from Eddie's hair, allowing him to turn his head and look at him. He's rolling the balaclava down again, hiding his face.
"Last chance to back out."
Eddie stares at him, mouth half-open but not saying anything, his dick forgotten in his hand. Two fingers grip his chin and Tommy leans down, looking straight into his eyes.
"I mean it, Edmundo," he murmurs. "Remember what you said yes to, what you asked me for? I am going back down there and I intend to ruin him, and this is your last chance to change your mind."
His breath catches in his throat as he remembers the things they talked about. The absolutely depraved fantasies that Buck has confided in him about.
Eddie licks his lips and notices how Tommy tracks the movement with his eyes.
"Anything you want," he whispers.
A wide, sadistic grin finds its way onto Tommy's face.
Eddie watches him go.
*
Buck startles when the door suddenly opens and the man steps back into the basement. The ceiling is pretty high, Buck realizes, because the man is of above-average height and his head is nowhere near touching it.
"Honey, I'm home," he sing-songs, and even with the mask Buck can see how his mouth is twisted into a smirk. He approaches and, when he's reached Buck, leans down and undoes the chain from the ropes twisted around Buck's wrists. "Time for some more fun."
He lets himself be dragged to his feet without protest, stumbling as he's pulled over to the bench. It's high enough that the man bends him over it with ease. Buck is being held with only one hand as the man grabs a rope from the pile on the floor, but he doesn't manage to wiggle free.
The rope is wound around his thighs and the legs of the piece of furniture he's bent over, effectively keeping him in place. His head hangs over the other end, his shoulders only just on the leather padding.
His dick is pressed against between the other end and his thighs, no longer hard thanks to the wait. Buck only now realizes he's still wearing his underwear, and it seems that he's not the only one who realizes that. He yelps in surprise when something sharp and pointy slices through the fabric as it is pulled away from his body. The knife only barely misses his skin and Buck squirms, tries to get away from it, and manages only to make his upper body almost shift off the bench because only his legs are tied.
A strong hand catches him by the hair before it can happen, pulling him back onto the surface. It's followed by a rough slap against his now bare ass, hard enough to punch a moan out of him. The place where he was hit burns, but in a good way, and his cheeks also start to burn as he bites his lip to keep from begging the man to do it again.
Fingers trail down his crack, finding his hole, and a single digit slides in with surprising ease, even to Buck. That is, until he remembers what he and Eddie did this afternoon when they snuck away. He's still a bit loose because Eddie had made it to three fingers, not so much prep — they weren't going to get around to any actual fucking at work, Buck knew that — as simply trying to pleasure Buck. There are still traces of lube left behind, he can feel it.
"You slut," the man sneers, pulling his finger out and roughly shoving two back in, and this time Buck feels the burn, the ungentle gesture making it hard to adjust to the intrusion immediately. "You already got fucked today, didn't you?"
Buck has his eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between his teeth, already overwhelmed by the two thick fingers roughly thrusting in and out of him. He doesn't realize it isn't a rhetorical question until there is a hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back so his back is arched.
"I asked you a question. Did you already get fucked today?"
The voice is so low it's almost a growl, and it sends a shameful thrill up Buck's spine. He tries to shake his head no and belatedly remembers that he can't, a whine slipping past his lips.
"No," Buck gasps out when there's another tug on his hair. "No, just fingers, t'was just fingers."
"Hm, I bet you're gagging for a cock up your ass by now, then."
Buck bites down harder on his lips and he can taste the blood. He should say no, should beg the man to stop, to not do this to him. The fingers fucking him brush across his prostate, a little too rough but still sending sparks up his spine, and he can't stop the moan that escapes him.
Then they are both gone, and he can hear the sound of boots on the concrete floor, but he refuses to open his eyes. At least, until there's a hand in his hair that pulls sharply and the man demands: "Open up, this is the only lube you're going to get, so you better get it nice and sloppy."
When Buck opens his eyes, the guy's dick is right in front of his face, already fully hard again and standing up proudly, the head flushed a purplish red. A ring is wrapped around the base, telling Buck he's in this for the long haul.
The hand in his hair stays, but it allows him to move. He isn't forced down the way he was before. Instead, the guy clearly expects him to do all the work.
Remembering what he said, Buck gathers as much saliva in his mouth as he can before putting his mouth over the head, letting it all drip down. He moves down, knowing he can't get it all into his mouth unless he lets it into his throat. It should be fine, the saliva is already finding its way to the base.
His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment as he does his very best to literally drool all over a cock. Not just any cock, but one belonging to a man who is about to forcibly fuck him, not giving him any choice. Buck should feel disgusted, terrified, but instead, there is low-grade arousal building in his gut.
Eventually, the man decides it's taken enough time. When he pulls back, Buck can see how his dick is shiny with spit, and he knows that it will probably still hurt, but not as much as it could have if he decided to go in dry. He seems sadistic enough to have tried it if he felt like it.
The hand in his hair doesn't leave, not as the man disappears from his sight again, not when the slick head rubs over his hole. No, instead its grip tightens to the point of painful, pinprick sensation erupting all over his scalp—the other hand lands where his wrists are bound together, holding on.
"Beg for it."
There is not a single second where Buck is unsure what he means. He wants Buck to beg him to be fucked, to have his cock. Buck licks his lips, opens his mouth to attempt it, but all that he can get out is a low moan.
"Beg," he says again, and it’s a threat.
A strange mix of fear and arousal courses through Buck's veins. His hole clenches in anticipation of what is to come
"Please," he says, barely more than a sigh, and at the tug on his hair, he continues, a little louder: "Please fuck me, I need your cock."
The dark chuckle it earns him sends a shiver down his spine, and he clenches again as the guy presses the head of his cock a little more firmly against his hole. "Such a needy slut, c'mon, say it, what are you?"
Buck can't help the sob that escapes him. Shame washes over him because the man is right, isn't he? Here Buck is, desperate and feeling so empty, and he wasn’t lying when he said he wants it, was he? He wants it.
He shouldn't want it.
"I'm a needy slut," Buck says, no, agrees. “And I need your cock.”
The last word has barely left his mouth before a wail falls from his lips because the man has pushed fully inside him in one quick stroke — and, fuck, it hurts. The saliva helps smoothen the slide, but it's too much, too fast. He doesn't get even a moment to adjust to the feeling, his assailant setting a punishing pace right from the start.
He's so big, and Buck likes it rough, he does — this isn't even the first time he's been fucked using spit as lube — but this is overwhelming. He can feel the sting of tears on his heated cheeks, mingling with the mostly dried cum.
It's only the grip on his hair and his legs tied to the bench that is somewhat keeping him in place, but the piece of furniture isn't exactly meant to endure the man's hard, rough thrusts, the legs scraping over the floor.
Pleasure is pooling in his gut, only fueled by the burn of being split open by a large cock with too little prep, and the painful tug on the roots of his hair. Buck knows he's a freak to like this pain, to like this abuse.
This is rape, and it's the first time he lets himself think the word. Humiliatingly, that knowledge only makes his dick twitch where it has been rubbing against the edge of the bench.
He's hard, so hard, and while the guy is fucking him roughly and without any care for his comfort, every thrust has his dick rubbing against that sensitive knot of nerves inside Buck. The result is toe-curling pleasure, his legs trembling as he lies there and gets every last coherent thought fucked out of him.
When Buck comes, he barely experiences it consciously. He only knows the building pleasure, how it grows larger and larger until it's reached its highest point and there is wetness against his thighs, his dick jerking against the bench.
The sounds that fall from his open mouth are barely recognizable to him, and his assailant clearly realizes what has happened. The hand on his wrists leaves, presumably to reach down, because the next thing Buck knows it's wrapping around his spent dick and balls, squeezing so tightly that he screams.
"You slut," the guy hisses, pulling on Buck's sore dick as he keeps up his fast and hard pace, his abuse of Buck's prostate sending him into overstimulation. "Didn't even touch you, you just came on my cock like a bitch in heat, didn't you? Such a whore."
Buck sobs, trying to shake his head even though he can't deny it, not with his cum sticky against his thighs.
It's becoming too much, the pleasure of overstimulation starting to edge into only pain.
"Please," he begs, vaguely aware that the word comes out slurred to the point that it's barely recognizable. "Please, stop, too much."
Cruel laughter reaches his ears, and the hand in his hair finally lets go, causing Buck's head to flop down hard enough that he hits his chin against the leather of the bench. Both hands hold onto his tied wrists, using them as leverage as the man speeds up his thrusts.
"Not my problem that you couldn't wait," the man pants. "You're here for my pleasure, so you're just going to have to take it like a good little toy."
He's right, Buck knows. All he can do is wait it out, endure.
Somehow, after a while, his dick starts to take interest again. Buck can feel it fill up against his thigh, and he doesn't know where it's coming from, he thinks that maybe-
He's not capable of thinking at all at this point, not really. Not when his legs have gone numb, and he can't figure out how to close his mouth, drooling onto the floor. All he knows right now is the rhythm of the man's thrusts, how they leave him empty, then full again. Buck can't focus long enough to think about which one he prefers.
Too empty, too full. Too much, not enough.
Moans are still falling from his lips, punched out of him by the brutal pace.
Buck doesn't know how much time passes before he can feel the man's hips stutter. They press tightly against his ass as he bends himself over Buck's back, plastering himself close enough that Buck can feel his breath against his shoulder.
Warmth floods his insides and blunt teeth dig into his shoulder, hard enough to make Buck shout out, his body twitching. He does not doubt that it's drawn blood.
The man stays there for a moment, a heavy weight that makes it hard for Buck to breathe. Buck's arms are trapped between them, and the man's hands have started to travel, meanly dragging his nails down Buck's sides. Not in that light, teasing manner that Eddie often does, but hard and stinging.
That stray thought of Eddie has Buck's breath catching in his throat. What would his boyfriend think if he knew about this? If he could see him right now?
He squirms as the man laps at the bite mark, tongue hot and wet and saliva causing it to sting. All his moving does is earn him a harsh slap against his thigh.
Apparently, the man has had enough time to catch his breath. He pushes himself up and off Buck's back, and then he's pulling out, leaving him empty. Buck clenches around nothing, feels cum trickle out of him and down to his balls.
Those calloused fingers run through his crack, over his hole, then swipe at the cum that has escaped to push it back in. The first finger slips in easily, and he immediately replaces it with two, then three.
Fuck, he's so loose, can hardly believe it even though he can feel it.
A pinky joins the three fingers, and he can't help the moan that falls from his lips, even as he squirms in a futile attempt to get away, get free. Buck is torn between begging the man for more and begging him to stop.
His head is swimming, caught between pleasure, fear, and shame.
"Such a greedy hole," the man mutters, so quietly that Buck isn't even sure it was meant for him to hear.
Next thing he knows, the fingers are pulling out, but it doesn't mean any reprieve. There is a tear of plastic, a slick sound, and then Buck cries out in pain as a too-large fist forces itself into his ass, past the abused muscle.
His sight is blurry with tears as the hand starts to move, quite literally punching pained, overstimulated noises out of him. This is not Buck's first time, but Eddie has always been gentle, patient.
In stark contrast, the way this man fucks him with his fist is rough and unrelenting, and he's going so deep, deep enough that he must be inside Buck to halfway up his forearm.
To his horror, Buck realizes that sparks of pleasure find their way through the pain. He can hear moaning, knows it's his voice, stuttering and mixed with choked-off sobs.
"Fuck," he hears the man curse. "Bet you could take two of my fists if I tried — could have you begging for it, even."
There is no way he will get hard, not again and not like this, but the abuse of his prostate is intense and overwhelming. Buck can feel his cock twitch, can feel something building.
He's forgotten that there is only one hand touching him until the other closes around his balls, squeezing hard and suddenly. Buck wails as an orgasm unlike any he's ever had, more pain than pleasure, crashes over him, and he thinks he blacks out.
No, he's pretty sure, actually. What wakes him up is a slap across the face, harsh and stinging, and the cruel laughter of his assailant, immediately followed by another from the other side.
The caress across his cheek that follows next is almost tender, and Buck blinks up at him, his sight a little blurry. Not so blurry that he can't see the guy has his cock out again, though. Or still, perhaps.
Buck figures it can go one of two ways: either the man jerks off on his face, or he fucks his mouth again. He's too exhausted to care at this point, too fucked out to protest or make sassy comments or even really think much.
Perhaps that's why he doesn't see the stream of hot, putrid piss coming until it's hitting him in the face, dripping from his forehead through his eyelashes and down his cheeks. It's in his hair, on his skin, and fingers grip his jaw and force his mouth open so the stream hits his tongue.
He chokes a little, not prepared for the way it hits the back of his throat, and it drips back down from the corners of his mouth.
Shoving two thick fingers between Buck's teeth to keep his mouth open, not seeming bothered by the molars digging into the digits, the man uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch Buck's nose shut. It forces him to swallow if he wants to breathe.
Even though he feels like it's never-ending, eventually the stream of piss stops, though the droplets keep dripping from his hair and rolling down his face.
The man's fingers retreat from his mouth and away from his face. Buck lets his head hang, the exhaustion catching up with him. He unconsciously licks his lips and gets another burst of the salty flavor of piss.
What his assailant does next, Buck doesn't know. He moves to somewhere behind him and there is the rustle of clothing, but that is about it. Perhaps he's simply watching the result of his work. Buck is too tired to lift his head and figure it out.
Right now, the adrenaline is wearing off, making him crash. Buck doesn't know if the guy is done with him, if he'll finally let him go after this, but he's almost too exhausted to care.
All he can do is take in what he feels and hears. His ass hurts, and it feels loose, but not empty. As he shifts, Buck hears the sound of metal and when he clenches he’s not even halfway to fully closing the muscle, but it helps him identify the feeling of what is inside of him.
It’s one of the thick chains that was on the ground, realizes. Not all of it, some of it must be hanging down, pulling on his rim, but the man has stuffed a metal chain into his ruined hole.
If he had any voice left, he might have moaned.
Before he passes out, Buck has a stray thought about the fact that the man could keep him here to use whenever he wants and how that is eerily close to fantasies he's had, ones he even told Eddie about.
Buck doesn't quite manage to finish that thought before the light goes out, though.
*
When Buck wakes, he's much more comfortable than he remembers being when he passed out. He's also pretty sure he's less gross and sticky, though every part of his body is still sore.
As he shifts a little, Buck realizes he's being held. Not held in place, like the cuffs and the ropes did, but held tenderly. He's too drowsy to open his eyes yet, but he squirms a little.
"Shh," someone says, soothing him, and it takes him too long to realize he knows that voice.
Buck forces his eyes open, and blinks once, twice. His eyes sting a little, dry from all his tears earlier. How long has it been since then? Hours?
"Eddie?" he asks, or at least he tries to. His throat is rough and bruised, and his voice doesn't work.
"Don't worry, baby, you're safe."
He manages to turn his head a little from where it had been turned into someone's chest and finds indeed Eddie's face in front of him, smiling down softly. Eddie's hand caresses through his hair, so gentle compared to all the touches Buck has felt today.
He's safe, but how? Did they find him, take him away? Buck suddenly realizes he doesn't recognize the room. Not the walls or the bedding or the dresser standing in the corner.
His body is spent, and Buck can feel the blooming bruises under his skin with every movement. Surprisingly, his ass doesn't hurt as much as he expected it to, though the feeling of still being so loose is weird. It wasn't like that when Eddie fisted him.
The sound of footsteps startles him, letting him know that they're not alone. Buck lifts his head just enough to see who's in the door opening.
A tall man stands there, holding two cups of coffee and a water bottle under one thick arm. He's wearing an LAFD t-shirt and gray sweatpants. There is a small smile on his face.
Eddie helps him sit up, making Buck settle half against his chest, one arm wrapped comfortingly around his midriff. It's only now that he notices he's wearing underwear, unfamiliar Calvin Klein boxer briefs.
The man puts the coffee cups on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the mattress. He holds out the water bottle, and it takes a little too long for Buck to take it, so Eddie does instead. After he twists off the cap, he holds it up to Buck's lips, letting him drink from it.
"Who are you?" Buck asks when the water has slicked up his throat, though his voice is still rough.
The man chuckles quietly.
"Do you remember all the things we talked about, the fantasies you told me about?" Eddie asks, murmuring against his ear, as his hand runs softly up and down Buck's side. "Meet Tommy, baby."
A mix of excitement and fear rushes through Buck as he slowly starts to realize the truth, and despite the exhaustion and pain, he can feel his cock twitch.
The smile on the man's face turns into a smirk that Buck would recognize even without the mask. He licks his lips, then opens his mouth.
"Hello, Evan."