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Buck did learn a lot at SEAL training. He always tells everyone he left early, that he rang the bell before training was done. It’s a little lie, one he’s perfected over the years to make his life easier, to stop the questions, to keep people from staring too hard. But the truth? He went further than he lets on. He survived the brutal hell of Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training, the freezing ocean swims, the endless log PT, the sand that never leaves your clothes, your hair, your soul. He learned the basics of combat, mastered multiple fighting styles, and even thrived in the chaos of it all.
But where they lost Buck – truly, honestly lost him– was the shooting.
It wasn’t that he was bad at it. He wasn’t. It was just… boring. The waiting for a target, the meticulous aiming, the disassembling and reassembling of the gun like some kind of twisted puzzle. And then? One shot. Bang . Done. No thrill, no chase, no fight. Buck discovered early on that he didn’t just want to pull a trigger… he wanted to hunt, to act . He wanted to feel the rush of capturing, the raw adrenaline of hand-to-hand combat. He wanted to win .
His first and only mission sealed the deal.
It was torture, and not the kind he expected, but the kind that made him question everything. Sitting in a damp, dimly lit room in Peru, waiting for hours just to take one shot. His commander kept saying it would get better, that not every mission was about sitting around, pointing, and shooting. But once was enough. When it was over, Buck screamed an “Amen!” loud enough to startle the birds outside. He cracked a few jokes, shook hands with his commander, and when the team left, he stayed behind. Just like that, he was done.
Peru became his playground. It didn’t take long for Buck to find his way into the underground fight scene –amateur hour at first, but he climbed the ranks fast. He made money faster, knocked guys out quicker, and enjoyed every second of it. The roar of the crowd, the sting of his knuckles splitting open, the way his opponents hit the ground like sacks of flour– it was electric. By the time he decided to leave for LA, he was a local legend. But Buck? He was ready for something bigger.
LA was a whole new beast. The street fighting developed into cage fighting, the scene was wilder , the money was better, and the competition? Oh, they were good. But Buck was better.
He fought his way through the fire academy with the same ferocity, trading punches in the cage by night and learning to save lives by day. He fucked his way through the city with a grin, fought his way through every shift with bloody knuckles and a laugh, and loved every second of it. The blood, the bruises, the adrenaline, it was like he was made for it.
And maybe he was.
Buck would never go pro, never go legal. He liked his little pond of rotating faces, a new punching bag to break in every week. It was his secret, his escape, his joy. But firefighting? That was something else entirely. He loved the job, the rush of running into burning buildings, the satisfaction of pulling someone out alive, the camaraderie of the team. He was learning every day, growing every shift. It was perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
There were awkward moments, of course. Like when he had to dodge questions about the fresh bruises on his ribs or the split lip he couldn’t quite hide. Or when he passed on Chimney’s invite to drinks because he had a fight that night and it sounded just a bit rude. But the real kicker came when Hen called him out in front of the whole team.
“Whenever we have a free night, you disappear,” Hen says one morning, her eyes narrowing as she studies Buck’s latest shiner. “And the next shift? You come back with even more bruises and a smile on your face. It makes me wonder.”
Buck smirks, leaning back against the counter, waiting for the usual assumption. He’s heard it all before.
“Are you saying Buck’s a sadist?” Chimney chimes in, his tone teasing but his curiosity obvious.
Buck laughs, loud and unapologetic. “Nope,” he says, popping the p like he’s savoring the word. “She’s saying I enjoy receiving pain. That’s masochism.” The room goes quiet, the way it always does when Buck drops a ‘truth’ bomb. “But,” he adds with a wink, “you haven’t seen the other guy.” They never expect him to be so open, so shameless, but sex is natural, everyone can understand sex to a point, but not everyone can understand the fighting.
Hen’s eyebrows shoot up, and Buck can’t help but laugh again. It’s true. They haven’t seen the other guy. They haven’t seen the way Buck moves in the cage, the way he takes a hit and comes back twice as hard. They haven’t seen the blood on the mat, the way his opponents look at him when they realize they’re in over their heads.
But Buck’s not a sadist, or a masochist. He’s a fighter. He loves the fight, the rush, the win. He loves the blood on the ground, the ache in his muscles, the way his heart pounds like a war drum. He loves it all.
And labels? Who cares about labels anyway.
They’re screaming for him, so loud it’s deafening, and Buck drinks it in like it’s oxygen. He accepts the roar of the crowd like a cloak, wrapping it around himself, letting it fuel him. He looks down at his hands, the tape still clean, still unmarked. His first fight of the night was over in three minutes, the other guy face-first on the ground before Buck even broke a sweat. His knuckles aren’t even bruised yet, but when the next man steps into the cage, Buck feels a spark of hope.
This guy –this guy– is different. He’s big, not as tall as Buck, but compact in a way that only fighters are. His muscles ripple under his skin like coiled springs, and even in the dim, flickering light of the underground arena, Buck can see the power in his stance. The man’s shoulders are broad, his jawline sharp, and his eyes – fuck, his eyes – are locked on Buck like he’s already planning how to take him apart. Studying him. Buck’s heart kicks up a notch, pounding against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. His mouth waters at the thought of a real challenge, someone who might make him work for it, someone who might make him bleed.
The bell rings, sharp and metallic, and the crowd erupts even louder. Buck doesn’t wait. He goes.
The man meets him in the middle of the cage, and the first punch Buck throws is blocked with a sharp crack of forearm against forearm. The impact reverberates up Buck’s arm, and he grins. This guy’s good, really good. His stance is solid, his movements precise, and when he throws a kick, Buck barely dodges in time. The air whistles past his ear, and Buck laughs, loud and wild, because this is what he lives for. The man’s fists are like hammers, his kicks like whips, and Buck takes every hit like it’s a gift. A punch to the ribs steals his breath, a kick to the thigh makes his leg buckle, but Buck doesn’t care. He loves it. He loves it.
The man lands a solid hit to Buck’s jaw, and for a second, the world tilts.
Buck stumbles back, his vision blurring, but all he can see is the blood on the man’s face, a split lip, a cut above his eyebrow, the crimson streak smeared across his cheek. It’s beautiful. The man towers over him, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like a storm, and Buck laughs again. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way the man’s eyes widen in surprise, but something about the sound makes the man hesitate.
That’s all Buck needs.
He grabs the man by the legs and yanks him down, pulling him on top of him. For a moment, they’re chest to chest, and Buck can feel the heat of the man’s body, the way his muscles tense and shift as he tries to break free. Their faces are inches apart, and Buck catches a glimpse of his big brown eyes –confused, maybe even amazed– before Buck twists his body and uses a jiu-jitsu move to flip the man onto his back, legs tangled. The crowd goes wild, but Buck doesn’t hear them. All he hears is the man’s sharp exhale, all he sees is the way the man smiles at him, bloody and defiant, like he’s enjoying this just as much as Buck is.
Buck doesn’t hesitate. He punches him once, twice, the sound of his fists connecting with the man’s face like music. But the man isn’t done yet. With a growl, he throws Buck off, sending him sprawling across the mat. Buck scrambles to his feet, his body aching, his heart racing, and the man sits up, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. Buck doesn’t give him the chance. He crosses the cage in two strides and punches him again, harder this time, and the man goes down.
This time, he stays down.
Buck stands over him, breathing hard, his chest heaving, and he feels it, that rush, that high, that love for the fight, for the blood, for the way the man looks up at him, broken but still smiling. Buck has never felt more alive.
At the makeshift locker, Buck wets his hands under a rusty faucet before starting to peel the tape off his knuckles. The water is cold, but his skin is still hot, still buzzing from the fight. The bruises on his knuckles are delicious, dark and mottled, a testament to the hits he landed, the blood he spilled. He flexes his fingers, studying the marks, and his mind flashes back to the man in the cage, to the blood above his brown eyes, the red on his teeth behind that snarl – that smile – and Buck laughs again, low and breathless. It was a hell of a fight. Maybe the best he’s had in months. Maybe ever .
“So the insanity is an off-ring thing,” a voice says behind him, and Buck freezes for a second. The voice is delicious, raspy, rough around the edges, like gravel and smoke. Buck remembers the punch he landed to the man’s throat, the way he stumbled back, coughing but still standing. Whatta man , Buck thinks, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a grin.
“Maybe I’m just a happy guy,” Buck answers, turning to face him. He tosses the bloodied wraps into a nearby trash can, the motion casual, like he hasn’t just been replaying the fight in his head on a loop. “Buck,” he says, offering his hand. It’s still dirty, streaked with blood and sweat, but the man –“Eddie” – stares at it for only a beat before taking it. His grip is firm, his palm calloused, and Buck feels the heat of it surging up his arm.
“Never seen a happy man fight like that,” Eddie says, his tone dry but his eyes sharp, like he’s trying to figure Buck out. He’s still holding Buck’s hand a second too long, and Buck doesn’t pull away.
“You’re new,” Buck says, finally breaking the handshake. He leans back against the lockers, crossing his arms over his chest. Eddie’s shirt is off, his torso a map of bruises under sweat, bruises Buck helped put there, and Buck’s eyes flicker over him before he catches himself.
“You obviously aren’t,” Eddie points out, and there’s a challenge in his voice, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Before Buck can respond, the organizer bursts in, his loud laugh echoing off the concrete walls.
“Boys!” he exclaims, clapping both of them on the back hard enough to make Buck stumble forward a step. “That was beautiful! Hell of a show!” He’s grinning like a madman, his teeth too white and too straight, and he pulls two money packages out of his jacket. He hands one to Eddie, then one to Buck. Buck’s is visibly bigger, fatter, victorious , and he can’t help but wink at Eddie as he tucks it into his duffel bag.
“Well,” Buck says, zipping the bag shut and slinging it over his shoulder. “Feel free to set us against each other whenever.” He says it casually, like it’s no big deal, but there’s a spark in his chest at the thought of it –of facing Eddie again, of feeling that rush, that heat .
Eddie stares at him for a beat, his dark eyes unreadable. “Yes?” Buck prompts, raising an eyebrow.
“It’ll be my pleasure,” Eddie says finally, and the smirk returns, wider this time. The split lip on his face opens up, and a drop of blood pearls down, catching in the stubble of his beard. Buck stares at it, transfixed, as it pools on Eddie’s chin, matting the dark hair there. He doesn’t know why he can’t look away, why his stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with the fight.
The organizer laughs again, slapping Eddie on the back one more time before heading out, leaving the two of them alone in the dimly lit room. The air feels heavier now, charged with something Buck can’t quite name. He clears his throat, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long swig, but his eyes keep drifting back to Eddie.
Eddie, who’s still smiling. Eddie, who’s still bleeding. Eddie, who fought like an animal and looked like one too.
Buck doesn’t know what to do with that. So he doesn’t do anything. He just grins back, because that’s what he does best.
Buck wakes up on the day of his shift like a winner. The sun streams through his blinds, and he stretches, his muscles aching in that perfect, satisfying way that only comes after a fight. He feels good. No, scratch that, he feels amazing. Like the world is his, like he’s earned every second of this joy. He’d stashed the money from the last fight in his safe, the stacks growing taller every time. It’s not even about the money itself, it’s what it represents. Proof that he’s a great fighter, an incredible fighter. A worthy winner above all.
He thinks about the fight as he gets ready, his mind replaying every moment like a highlight reel. Eddie’s movements had been so fluid, so precise, like a predator stalking its prey. There was a grace to him, a raw strength that Buck couldn’t stop thinking about. The way Eddie’s muscles coiled and released, the way he moved like he was born for the cage. Buck had fought plenty of guys before, but none of them had looked like that . None of them had made Buck’s blood sing the way Eddie did.
He smiles again, wide and unrestrained. Has he even stopped smiling since that night? He stares at his knuckles, the skin purple and raised, and he flexes his fingers, savoring the ache. Life is good. Life is great.
Hen notices it immediately when he walks into the firehouse. “How was the other guy?” she asks, her tone teasing but her eyes sharp, like she already knows the answer.
Buck laughs, loud and free, the sound echoing off the walls. Bobby and Chim look up from their coffee, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. “Hen,” Buck begins, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, “he was perfect.” He says it plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Hen’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he sits down. “He was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Buck continues, his grin widening, “and I wanted to lick the blood from his skin. It looked so good.”
“ Jesus , Buck!” Chim exclaims, half-surprised, half-disgusted. He looks like he’s not sure whether to laugh or call for a psych eval.
Buck shrugs, unbothered. “You ask and you don’t want the answer?” he teases. When he moves, he feels a sharp pain in his chest –a reminder of the fight, of Eddie’s fists connecting with his ribs– and it only makes him feel better. He loves the ache, loves the way it grounds him, reminds him he’s alive.
“I’ll make sure not to ask anymore,” Hen says finally, shaking her head, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. She’s impressed, even if she won’t admit it.
Buck nods, his grin never faltering. “You do that, Hen, and I’ll go dream about how the blood coated his teeth.” He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and Bobby’s expression shifts from concerned to outright worried. But the captain doesn’t say anything, not yet. He just watches Buck as he heads to the locker room to change into his uniform.
Later, back at the table after a call, Bobby’s gaze lingers on Buck a little too long, like he’s trying to figure him out. Buck notices, of course he does, and he meets Bobby’s eyes head-on. “Wanna say something, Captain?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes challenging.
Bobby blinks, looking down at his food for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Are you safe in your… encounters, Buck?” he finally asks, his voice careful, measured.
Hen chokes on her coffee, and Chim looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. Buck, for his part, just smirks. “I take PrEP,” he says instead of answering directly. “They say we’re all tested, but it’s better to be safe, right?”
“You’re a firefighter now, Buck,” Bobby points out, his tone firm but not unkind. “You have a responsibility to this team, to yourself.”
“And I have to get tests done accordingly,” Buck counters, leaning back in his chair. “Have you seen my latest exams, Captain?”
The table goes silent, the air thick with tension. This isn’t something they usually talk about, not here in the open, not like this. But Buck doesn’t care. He’s still riding the high from the fight, still feeling invincible. Bobby looks at him for a long moment before nodding. “I have, Buck.”
“And?” Buck prompts, his grin sharp.
“They’re clean,” Bobby concedes. “Perfect.”
“Well, then,” Buck says, biting into his toast with a satisfied smirk. “If that ever changes, let me know, will you?” He knows he’s being defiant, knows he’s pushing boundaries, but he can’t help it. He’s still high on the fight, still replaying every moment in his head. When he looks at his knuckles, he still thinks of Eddie’s face under his fists, still sees the blood on his teeth, the fire in his eyes.
And he wonders if he’ll ever come down.
It’s a different cage, a different presenter, and a different man paying for Buck’s winnings, because he is winning. The crowd is electric, their screams bouncing off the walls like thunder, but when Buck looks up, he sees Eddie on the other side of the room. They lock eyes for a moment, and Buck feels that familiar spark, that rush of adrenaline that only Eddie seems to ignite in him. Both of them head to the backstage area, a cramped cubicle room where fighters share space and tape their hands, their energy buzzing like live wires.
Buck has his own number padlock, so he gets ready quickly, stashing his things and locking them up. He leans against the wall, watching Eddie. The man is shirtless again –they all fight shirtless, so that isn’t surprising– but Buck can’t help but focus on the way Eddie’s muscles move as he wraps his hands. His beard is a little thicker this time, and Buck realizes it’s been almost two weeks since they last fought. Two weeks since Eddie left bruises on his skin, since Buck felt the ache of Eddie’s fists in his ribs. He’s practically back to his factory settings now, has healed all over, no visible memories of Eddie left on his body. And when the last bruise faded, Buck had felt… bad. Like he’d lost something.
Eddie finishes wrapping his hands and looks up, catching Buck staring. He smiles, slow and easy, and Buck feels his stomach flip. “Hi, Buck.”
“Hi, Eddie,” Buck answers, his grin wide and unapologetic.
“Excited, are you?” Eddie teases, his voice low and rough, and Buck laughs, the sound loud and unrestrained.
“I am,” Buck admits, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “You’re a good fighter, Eddie. So good that it feels better when I win.”
Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s not backing down. They talk for a few more minutes, the conversation easy, like they’re old friends instead of rivals. But when the fight is called, they part ways, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.
The screams of the crowd are deafening as they step into the cage, the lights blinding, the air thick with anticipation. Buck smiles at Eddie, and Eddie smiles back, his expression fierce but playful. This time, they touch hands before the fight begins, a brief, electric moment that sends a jolt through Buck’s chest.
And then the bell rings.
Buck moves first, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. He throws a jab, testing Eddie’s defenses, but Eddie ducks under it effortlessly, countering with a sharp kick to Buck’s thigh. The impact stings, but Buck grins, because this is what he loves, the back-and-forth, the dance of it all.
Eddie’s good. Really good. His movements are fluid, his strikes precise, and Buck can tell he’s a veteran just by the way he fights. There’s a confidence to him, a rhythm that Buck hasn’t seen in anyone else. He’s not just throwing punches, he’s thinking, anticipating Buck’s moves before he makes them.
Buck feints left, then swings right, aiming for Eddie’s ribs, but Eddie blocks it with his forearm, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing through the cage. Eddie counters with a quick jab to Buck’s shoulder, and Buck feels the skin split, a warm trickle of blood running down his arm. He doesn’t care.
They circle each other, their movements almost playful, like they’re testing each other, feeling each other out. Buck throws a kick, and Eddie catches his leg, yanking him off balance. Buck hits the mat hard, but he’s up in an instant, his grin never faltering. Eddie’s smiling too, his eyes bright with adrenaline.
“You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?” Buck says, his voice breathless but teasing.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Eddie shoots back, and then he’s on Buck again, his fists flying.
Buck blocks most of the hits, but a few get through, each one sending a jolt of pain –and pleasure– through his body. He lands a solid punch to Eddie’s ribs, and Eddie stumbles back, but he’s not down. Not yet. He comes back harder, his strikes faster, his kicks sharper, and Buck realizes Eddie’s adapting to his style, learning his rhythm. It’s exhilarating.
The crowd is roaring, their screams blending into a single, deafening noise, but Buck barely hears them. All he can focus on is Eddie, the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his chest heaves with every breath. Buck lands a kick to Eddie’s side, and Eddie grunts, but he doesn’t go down. Instead, he grabs Buck’s arm and twists, using his momentum to throw him to the mat.
Buck hits the ground hard, the air rushing out of his lungs, but he’s not done. He wraps his legs around Eddie’s waist and flips them, pinning Eddie beneath him. Eddie struggles, his muscles straining, but Buck holds him down, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You’re good,” Buck says, his voice low and rough. “But I’m better.”
Eddie laughs, the sound strained but genuine, and then he bucks his hips, throwing Buck off. They’re both on their feet in an instant, their bodies bruised and bloodied, their eyes locked. Buck’s shoulder is bleeding, the gash open and raw, but he doesn’t care. All he can see is the blood on Eddie’s neck, a deep red smear that looks almost like a bruise… or a love bite.
The thought makes Buck’s stomach twist in a way he doesn’t want to examine too closely.
They go at it again, their movements slower now, their bodies tired but their spirits unbroken. Buck lands a final punch, his fist connecting with Eddie’s jaw, and this time, Eddie goes down. He hits the mat hard, his chest heaving, and Buck stands over him, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.
The crowd erupts, their screams deafening, but Buck barely hears them. All he can see is Eddie, his face bloodied but still smiling, his eyes bright with something Buck can’t quite name.
And Buck knows, without a doubt, that he’s never felt more alive.
Buck doesn’t lie to himself, as a rule of thumb, anyway. Lying to others? That’s fun, to a point. But lying to himself? That’s counterproductive. So when he notices he’s more pent up than usual, buzzing under his skin like a live wire, he doesn’t ignore it. He can’t, really. The usual methods to decompress –dates, one-night stands, the occasional solo session with his hand and his imagination– aren’t working. Not like they used to.
The last seven dates he had, all with incredibly hot women, ended the same way: Buck couldn’t get it up unless he thought about his fights with Eddie. The blood on Eddie’s skin, the way his muscles rippled under the dim lights of the cage, the sharp crack of his fists connecting with Buck’s body, it was all he could think about. The pain, the adrenaline, the bliss of it. It was the only thing that got him hard, the only thing that made him come. And that? That’s a problem.
He analyzes it in secret, in his downtime, turning it over in his mind like a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Is it the pain? The thrill of receiving it? The rush of doling it out? Or is it something else entirely? Buck doesn’t know, and that’s the worst part. He’s always been so sure of himself, so confident in what he wants and who he is. But this? This is uncharted territory.
The next fight he has after Eddie –almost a week after their last match– doesn’t help. There’s no Eddie in the cage, no familiar smirk or sharp brown eyes to lock onto. Just a rotating cast of opponents, each one forgettable in their own way. Buck fights like the winner he is, dominating five rounds over two nights, but when he gets home, all he can think about is that one blood drop from Eddie’s split lip during their very first fight. He remembers how it pooled on Eddie’s chin, how it matted in his beard, and how badly Buck had wanted to lick it away, to taste it, to follow it all the way back into Eddie’s mouth.
And just like that, he’s hard.
It’s infuriating. He can’t even remember the faces of the five men he fought, can’t recall how they moved or how Buck won against them. All he can think about is Eddie. The way Eddie fights, the way Eddie smiles, the way Eddie makes Buck feel like he’s on fire. And now, because Buck is becoming self-aware, he’s going to have to deal with it.
Buck likes Bobby. He really does. The captain is steady, reliable, and fair, everything Buck admires in a leader. And more than that, Buck wants to trust him. He needs someone to talk to about… well, everything really. When he started having problems, his first thought had been Bobby. But the last time Buck had hinted at his extracurricular activities, Bobby’s reaction had been… less than ideal. Not disgusted, exactly, but definitely judging. Bobby didn’t understand, and Buck could tell he wouldn’t like it. Chimney, on the other hand, had been outright against Buck’s “lifestyle,” as he called it, which left Buck with only one option: Hen.
Hen had always been the least abrasive of the team, the one who listened without jumping to conclusions. She was sharp, empathetic, and, most importantly, she didn’t seem to judge him –at least not openly. And Buck? He really, really needed help understanding his thoughts. He needed more than a soundboard or a google search; he needed someone to give him something back, to help him untangle the mess in his head.
“Good night, Buck,” Hen says as she’s leaving after a long, grueling shift. Buck had been waiting for this moment, leaning against the wall near the parking lot, biding his time. His next fight is tomorrow, and the anticipation is already buzzing under his skin, but this conversation? It can’t wait.
“Hen,” he calls out, pushing off the wall and jogging over to her. She stops, turning to look at him with a confused but patient expression. “Hi, I… can we talk?” he asks, tacking on a smile that he hopes doesn’t look as nervous as he feels.
Hen’s expression softens, and she nods. “Of course,” she says, glancing at her watch. “I’m meeting a friend in two hours, but–”
“That’s more than enough!” Buck promises, cutting her off. “I just need help figuring something out.” He admits it quietly, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he doesn’t usually show. Hen smiles, though it’s more tired than anything else, and she tosses her bag into her car before following him to a small concrete wall near the fire station. They sit side by side, the B-shift crew moving around them, some calling out greetings as they come and go. But overall, it’s quiet enough to talk.
“Okay,” Buck starts, taking a deep breath. “First of all, I’m not in the sadomasochist scene.”
Hen audibly gasps, then chuckles, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I wasn't expecting it.”
“It’s okay,” Buck tells her, grinning despite himself. “It’s a lie I’ve told before. Easier for you to think I’m kinky and gay than the truth.”
Hen’s smile fades, replaced by a look of concern. “And what is the truth, Buck?” she asks gently. “I’ve seen the bruises and cuts on you. Looking like you’ve been through a battle.”
“Oh, yeah!” Buck nods, almost happily, like he’s proud of it. “I want them… Well, I don’t want them, exactly. I just enjoy it and don’t mind them.” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I fight,” he says finally. “Cage fighting. I’ve been doing it for years. It’s fun, it’s thrilling, and it’s the only way I can get my skin to settle.”
Hen blinks, processing this. “Okay,” she says slowly, nodding. “That’s… a lot to take in. But I’m listening. What do you want to talk about?”
Buck hesitates, his confidence wavering for a moment. Then he takes the plunge. “There’s this new fighter,” he starts, his voice dreamy, almost wistful. Hen immediately starts chuckling, and Buck glares at her, though there’s no real heat behind it. “Hen, I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“So?” Hen teases, her tone light but her eyes sharp, like she’s already piecing things together. “It’s about a crush?”
“Maybe,” Buck admits, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I can’t…” He looks at her, then at the ground, his usual bravado slipping. “It’s… it’s maybe too much information.”
Hen blinks at him, her expression softening. “Hey, I have a son. Let’s just say this is training for when he comes home with questions about puberty…” She chuckles, then nods to herself. “Also, I’m a paramedic. I’ve seen a lot.”
“It’s nothing gross, promise,” Buck laughs, though it’s a little shaky. “I just really can’t stop thinking about him. Eddie, I mean. He’s incredible, Hen. The way he moves, the way he fights, he’s a real challenge. It’s not like the others where I just punch and they take it. And he’s strong, but not just physically. He’s got this… this fire in him. I don’t know how else to describe it.” He takes a breath, and Hen is still looking at him, her expression patient and open. “But now I don’t know if it’s him or if it’s just the fighting. The blood, the pain, the adrenaline, it’s all mixed up in my head. When I’m in the cage with him, it’s like nothing else exists. All I can think about is the way his fists feel when they connect with my ribs, the way his blood looks when it’s smeared across his face.”
Hen nods along, her face free of judgment, and Buck realizes how much he’s been craving this, someone who listens without flinching, who accepts him without question. He’s always said he doesn’t care what people think about his lifestyle, but now, sitting here with Hen, he realizes that’s not entirely true. The easy acceptance she’s offering him, the way she’s not recoiling or making assumptions, makes him feel… warm. Seen. And it’s nice. Really nice.
“Are you worried about being attracted to the… pain?” Hen asks gently, cutting through his thoughts.
“I’m worried,” Buck starts, but then he pauses. Being honest with himself is hard sometimes, but he knows he needs to be. “I’m worried I’ve broken myself, with the fighting. It’s been almost a month, and I can’t… have sex if I’m not thinking about Eddie.” He says it finally, the words spilling out in a rush, and Hen looks at him with a mix of sadness and understanding.
“Buck,” she says, her voice steady, “there’s nothing wrong with enjoying pain, or blood even, in your sex life if you’re enjoying it in a consensual relationship.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Buck knows that, of course he does, but it’s still nice hearing it from someone else. Reassuring, even.
“I know,” Buck says, but he knows he’s not being convincing when Hen smiles and touches his hand.
“You’re not broken,” Hen tells him, her tone firm but kind. “I’m going to be honest with you, Buck, because you need to hear this. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying pain or blood or even fighting in a relationship, so let’s get that out of the way. Having said that, I don’t think you do.”
Buck looks up at her from where he’s been staring at a crack in the concrete, his brow furrowed. “What? But I…”
Hen cuts him off with a knowing look. “Buck, I’ve known you for almost eight months now. That’s not a lot, but it’s enough for me to get an idea of what your character is like. And I’m not just guessing here… You’ve been fighting for how long now?” she asks, her tone gentle but probing.
“Almost four years,” Buck answers. And even longer, if you count the SEAL training.
“And this is the first time you’ve ever thought about it like this?” Hen checks, though she seems to already know the answer even before Buck nods. “Then I truly think it’s just the setting and a very hard crush.”
“The setting?” Buck repeats, his voice tinged with confusion.
“Yeah, the setting,” Hen says, gesturing vaguely. “Have you seen this Eddie outside the… cage?” She hesitates, searching for the right word, and Buck can’t help but smile a little at her awkwardness.
“No,” Buck admits, shaking his head. “Not yet .” He adds, hopeful still.
“Well, I’d bet a lot of money that if you’d met somewhere else, you’d feel the same way about him,” Hen says, her tone confident. “The fighting, the adrenaline, the blood, it’s all just… amplifying things. But at the end of the day, it’s him you’re drawn to.”
Buck isn’t so sure. He still enjoys the fighting too much, loves the way Eddie’s blood looks on his skin, the marks Buck leaves on him and the ones Eddie leaves on Buck in return. It’s visceral, primal, and it’s hard to separate that from whatever else he might be feeling. But he nods anyway, smiling gratefully at Hen. She’s trying to help, and he appreciates it, even if he’s not entirely convinced.
“I know you aren’t convinced,” Hen says, her voice soft but firm. She’s always been good at reading him, and it’s equal parts comforting and unnerving. “So, ask him out. I bet you whatever you want that when you go out on a date and kiss or sleep together, the last thing on your mind is going to be hurting him. That’s just not who you are as a person.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, half-smiling, scared. “And if I am?”
Hen shrugs, her expression calm and unbothered. “Again, Buck, there’s nothing wrong with that either. As long as it’s consensual and safe, you do you. Understood?”
Buck laughs at the parental tone in her voice, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “Understood. Thank you, Hen. This helped a lot.”
“No problem,” Hen says, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You can come talk to me whenever you need to, okay?”
“Yeah,” Buck agrees, standing with her and walking her to her car. The parking lot is quiet now, the A-shift crew long gone, and the night air is cool against his skin. He feels lighter somehow, like Hen’s words have lifted a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying.
Hen climbs into her car and starts the engine, she rolls down the window and gives him one last smile. “And Buck? For what it’s worth, I think Eddie would be lucky to have you. Just… maybe don’t lead with the whole ‘I like it when you punch me in the face’ thing, okay?”
Buck laughs, the sound loud and genuine. “Noted. Good night, Hen.”
“Good night, Buck.”
As Hen drives away, Buck stands there for a moment, staring up at the stars. He’s still not sure what he’s feeling, still not sure if it’s Eddie or the fight or some messy combination of both. But for the first time in weeks, he feels like he’s not lost.
One day after his talk with Hen, Buck is back in the fighting scene. This arena is set in a car graveyard, or whatever the proper name for a place full of old, broken-down cars is, and Buck loves it. The air is crisp at night, sharp with the scent of rust and oil, and the dim, flickering lights make the blood on the fighters’ skin look darker, almost black. It’s primal, raw, and Buck feels at home here.
He’s on a roll tonight, having already won three fights. His knuckles are bruised but not split, his body aching in that satisfying way that tells him he’s pushed himself just enough. Now, he’s sitting in the stands, watching the next match with a hot redhead by his side. She’s his arm candy for the night, all smiles and soft laughter, and Buck plays the part perfectly, charming and easygoing, even if his mind is elsewhere.
“Sad thing you’re done fighting for the night, Buck,” the organizer says as he passes by, collecting money from the rich idiots sitting around Buck. They love to flock to the fighters, soaking up the adrenaline and the bravado, and Buck endures their boring small talk for the extra cash they slip him when they’re feeling generous.
“Oh?” Buck asks casually, accepting a beer from the redhead and opening hers first because he’s a gentleman like that. He takes a swig of his own, the cold liquid soothing his throat.
“Your favorite punching bag is coming up,” the organizer says with a grin, and Buck feels his stomach drop.
“Eddie?” he asks, his voice sharp, almost angry.
“Yeah, he got here after the cut-off,” the man nods, counting a wad of cash. “Good man, Eddie. Always wins when he’s not against you.”
Buck laughs, though it’s more of a bark than anything else. “If I lose, it’s going to be to him,” he says, and the rich idiots around him look surprised.
“Really?” one of them asks, his tone skeptical.
Buck nods, his expression serious. “He’s good like that. The only one who makes me sweat.”
“I’m going to bet on him, then,” another rich guy says, pulling out a stack of bills. Buck doesn’t smile, though he wants to. Here he is, making Eddie money without even trying.
“You’re certain to win,” Buck says, taking another drink of his beer. “Also, Eddie fights like an animal. It’s incredible to see.”
The men nod like they understand what Buck means, but they don’t. Not really. The organizer takes their money, scribbling down the bets, and nods at Buck. Buck’s good at this too, hyping up other fighters, guessing who’s going to win. It’s another reason why they like to crowd around him after a fight. He’s entertainment, even when he’s not in the cage.
Buck pulls out $300 of his own money and hands it to the organizer. “For Eddie’s winning pool,” he says, and the man nods, pocketing only $50 for himself. It’s less than he’d usually take, but Buck just made him at least $2,000 in betting rates. The organizer knows better than to push his luck.
The redhead tugs Buck back by the arm, her fingers warm against his skin. “Do you train?” she asks sweetly, her voice dripping with faux innocence.
Buck laughs, and the men around them chuckle too. “I do,” he answers with a wink, and the girl giggles, the sound light and practiced. She knows he trains—she’s not stupid. Maybe she thinks he’s stupid, but that’s the game for her. She’s the one who got him when every other girl had tried and failed. Buck can respect that. He even enjoys it, in a way. Apparently, he likes being prey as much as he loves being the predator.
But as the next fight starts and Eddie steps into the cage, Buck’s attention shifts entirely. The redhead’s laughter fades into the background, the rich idiots’ chatter becomes white noise, and all Buck can see is Eddie. The way he moves, the way he smiles, the way he looks at Buck like he’s the only person in the room when he notices Buck on the stands. It’s not just the fight. It’s not just the blood or the pain or the adrenaline. It’s Eddie .
Eddie is an animal. Buck realizes this with startling clarity as he watches the man fight for the first time from the outside of the cage. It’s strange, seeing Eddie like this, distant, untouchable, yet still magnetic. Buck’s always been in the cage with him, trading blows, feeling the heat of Eddie’s body, the sting of his fists. But now, sitting in the stands with a beer in hand and a redhead by his side, Buck sees Eddie in a new light. And it’s intoxicating.
The arena uses boxing gloves, which Buck hates. They’re chunky, impersonal, and they dull the connection between fighters. Buck prefers skin on skin, the raw, unfiltered impact of knuckles against flesh. But this organizer is from the LA casino strip, so he’s more… organized. Careful, even. Buck supposes it’s good for business, but it still feels wrong. Like something’s missing.
The man going against Eddie is unremarkable. Buck’s fought him before… Maybe, it doesn’t matter. What matters is Eddie. They don’t tap hands before the fight, and Buck is glad for it. He likes being the only one who gets to be personal with Eddie, even if it’s just the barest hint of respect in their fighting etiquette. Most fighters don’t greet each other, but Buck gets to greet Eddie. And that’s… nothing, really. But it feels like a lot.
The fight starts, and the man is all fists and no thought. He throws punch after punch, wild and unfocused, but the crowd eats it up. Eddie, though… Eddie is different. He moves with purpose, every jab calculated, every step deliberate. He picks the man apart piece by piece, his movements sharp and efficient. It’s beautiful, in a brutal kind of way. Buck can’t look away.
Eddie fights with a goal in mind. He hits hard and fast, his strikes landing with precision. The man doesn’t stand a chance. Eddie wins with a knockout, a devastating blow to the side of the head that sends the man’s feet flying for a second before he crumples to the ground. The crowd roars, and Buck feels a rush of heat flood his body. He’s hard. Of course he is.
The organizer holds Eddie’s fist up in victory, and Eddie locks eyes with Buck, his smile sharp and triumphant. Buck winks at him, and Eddie’s grin widens, his teeth flashing in the dim light. Buck’s stomach twists, his pulse racing, and he knows he’s in trouble.
He turns to the redhead beside him, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. “Have you ever fucked in the back of a car?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
She smiles, her lips curving in a way that’s both sweet and predatory. “There’s an Impala all the way in the back,” she tells him, her manicured hand sliding higher on his leg.
“I’ll let you call me Dean,” Buck says, and she laughs, sharp and knowing.
“I prefer Sam,” she counters, and Buck grins despite himself. It’s the wrong answer, but he doesn’t care. He just needs an outlet, something to take the edge off. They walk off together to the catcalls of the rich idiots, their laughter echoing in the night.
The Impala is as rundown as the rest of the cars in the graveyard, but it’s private enough. The redhead tries to turn onto her back, making it easier for him, but Buck stops her. He sits on the edge of the backseat and pulls her onto his lap, his hands rough but efficient as he removes her panties. He touches her first, making her wet before they even start, because he’s not a complete asshole. But his mind is elsewhere.
“I want to look at you,” he tells her, and she flushes, her cheeks turning pink. Buck feels a pang of guilt, but it’s fleeting. The brown of her eyes is almost the same as Eddie’s, that’s the only reason he accepted her advances in the first place.
She moans as she takes him out, rolling a condom on with practiced ease. “I didn’t expect romance,” she says, her voice teasing.
“It’s not romance,” Buck tells her, and the rest of the time is mechanical, almost clinical. He keeps her eyes open with a hand in her hair, the other guiding her up and down on him. It’s too fast, too hard, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her moans fill the car, and when her eyes flutter shut, Buck forces them open again. He needs to see them, needs to pretend they’re Eddie’s.
At some point, she hits her head on the car’s ceiling, groaning in pain, and Buck is ashamed to admit that it’s what pushes him over the edge. The sound of her pain, the way her body tenses, the way her eyes – Eddie’s eyes – widen in surprise. He comes hard, his grip tightening on her hips as he keeps going, chasing his own release. When he’s done, he drops her head gently and touches her clit, his movements rough but effective. He has a reputation to uphold, after all.
Once she’s finished, she pulls her underwear back on, her movements slow and deliberate. Buck tosses the condom to the side with a knot, his breathing still ragged.
“I’m not getting your number, right?” she asks, her tone light but her eyes sharp.
“No,” Buck tells her, and she nods, unfazed.
“Best of the year, either way,” she says, and Buck laughs, the sound almost ashamed. It’s still April, after all.
As she walks away, Buck leans back against the car, his mind already drifting back to Eddie. He feels a little proud, a little guilty, and a lot confused. But mostly, he just feels… empty. Because no matter what he does, no matter who he’s with, it’s always Eddie in his mind.
Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie . It’s still the only thing on Buck’s mind, and he didn’t think it could get worse… but it does. Eddie is like a force in his life, not always present but always there. He’s in the way Buck’s knuckles ache after a fight, in the way his pulse quickens when he thinks about the cage, in the way his stomach twists when he sees a flash of brown eyes in a crowd. It’s maddening. It’s exhilarating. It’s Eddie .
Work is great, though. Hen is a lot friendlier with him now, and she asks about Eddie as soon as Buck walks into the station. Chimney raises an eyebrow, his mouth full of croissant. “Hmm, Eddie. That’s your new boy?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Buck blinks at him, caught off guard. “Yes…” he answers slowly, sitting down at the table and opening the pastry box he’d brought for the team. “You’re… okay with this?”
Chimney freezes, his croissant halfway to his mouth. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, his voice tinged with confusion.
Buck flounders for a moment, his face heating up as the whole team turns to watch him. Chimney gasps, offended. “You thought I was homophobic ?! That’s why you haven’t been talking to me!” he exclaims, and Hen bursts out laughing.
“Buck,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes, “Chim is fine with it.”
“Really?” Buck asks, surprised.
Bobby chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I think me and Chim were a little judgmental of the… choices you make, but not because of the gay part.”
“Yeah, of course,” Chimney says, nodding emphatically. “I mean, Hen’s my best friend. It’s the licking blood off people’s skin that got to me.”
Buck shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. Yeah, that makes sense. “What’s Hen got to do with anything?” he asks after the laughter dies down.
Hen raises an eyebrow, her expression teasing. “Buck,” she says slowly, “you do know I’m a lesbian, right?”
Buck stares at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “How was I supposed to know?” he finally asks, his voice rising in pitch. “You never told me! You said you have a son, and I assumed–”
The whole table erupts into laughter again, and Buck can’t help but join in, even as his face burns with embarrassment. “Okay, okay,” Hen says, holding up a hand to calm everyone down. “So, have you asked Eddie out yet?”
“No,” Buck admits, and Chimney frowns.
“So you just met this man and…?” Chimney starts, his tone confused.
“Makes him bleed,” Buck finishes, and Hen shakes her head, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I, uh…” He hesitates, not wanting to tell them about the cage fights. “I want to meet him outside the scene,” he explains instead.
Bobby smiles, a small, pleased expression that makes Buck feel oddly proud. “So you want to be with only him,” Bobby says, more of a statement than a question.
“Yeah, I think,” Buck says, filling his coffee mug. “I don’t know yet, but Eddie’s different.”
Before they can say more, the alarm bell rings, and a thrill goes down Buck’s spine. The rush he gets from being a firefighter is almost as good as the one he gets from the cages. Almost.
When Buck steps into the arena for his next fight, it’s been a week, six days, to be exact, since he last saw Eddie. Almost two weeks since they last fought. So when he’s drinking his water on the edge of the cage, waiting for the organizer to call his next opponent, he doesn’t notice at first. Not until he looks back and sees him.
Eddie.
God, Eddie.
Eddie looks so good. He always does, but today he looks especially wild. His beard is gone, and Buck doesn’t know how to deal with this. He feels a cold knot in his stomach, but he also notices how good Eddie’s face looks without the scruff. There’s a small frown on Eddie’s face when their eyes meet, but slowly, a smirk appears, and Buck beams back at him, thanking the gods that he’s only wearing a pair of shorts and hand wraps. He’s glad he’ll get to see Eddie bloodied and bruised, thankful that he’ll feel Eddie’s skin under his fists, his body pressed against Buck’s in the heat of the fight.
When the bell finally rings, it’s like an angel’s trumpet.
They meet in the center of the cage, and Buck is hyper-aware of every point of contact. The brush of Eddie’s shoulder against his as they circle each other, the way Eddie’s breath hitches when Buck lands the first jab. It’s not just a fight, it’s a dance, a conversation, and Buck is determined to make every moment count.
Eddie is fast, his movements sharp and precise, but Buck is relentless. He throws a punch, and Eddie blocks it, their forearms slamming together with a sharp crack. Buck feels the impact reverberate up his arm, and he grins, because this is what he lives for. The pain, the adrenaline, the way Eddie’s eyes light up when Buck pushes him.
They trade blows, their fists flying, their bodies moving in sync. Buck lands a hit to Eddie’s ribs, and Eddie stumbles back, but he’s not down. Not yet. He comes back harder, his strikes faster, his kicks sharper, and Buck realizes Eddie’s been studying him. He’s learned Buck’s rhythm, his tells, his weaknesses. And Buck? He loves it. He lives for it.
The fight drags on, each play more intense than the last. They’re both sweating, their bodies slick with it, and Buck can’t stop staring at the way Eddie’s muscles ripple under his skin. He’s hyper-aware of every touch, every brush of skin against skin. When Eddie grabs his arm and twists, Buck feels the heat of his grip, the strength in his hands, and it sends a jolt of electricity through him.
They hit the ground, Buck on his back, Eddie on top of him, and for a moment, everything stops. Buck can feel Eddie’s weight pressing him into the mat, can see the blood smeared across his cheek from a cut Buck landed earlier. Eddie’s chest is heaving, his eyes dark and intense, and Buck can’t help but think something wildly inappropriate. He’s hard, and he knows Eddie notices when he shifts slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Then Eddie punches him, hard, and Buck’s head snaps to the side. The crowd roars, and Eddie stands, his fist raised in victory. Buck stays on the ground for a moment, his chest heaving, his body aching, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s thinking about the way Eddie looked at him, the way his body felt against Buck’s, the way he smirked when he noticed Buck’s reaction.
Eddie is the most beautiful thing Buck has ever seen. Wild, untamed, and utterly captivating. And as Buck lies there, staring up at the lights, he realizes something he’s been trying to ignore for weeks.
He’s already falling in love.
Eddie is sitting on a bench in the back of the arena, cleaning his hands with hydrogen peroxide. The cuts on his knuckles bubble up as the pink-tinged water cascades down to the beaten earth floor, a mix of dirt and sand that’s seen more blood and sweat than Buck can even imagine. The air smells like rust and antiseptic, and the low hum of the crowd outside the door is a distant buzz.
Buck watches him for a moment, his own hands stinging as he wipes them clean. “You know,” he starts, his voice low and rough, “this is the first time I’ve ever lost.”
Eddie looks up, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Did you enjoy losing, Buck?” The way he says it is full of innuendo, his gaze raking over Buck like he’s already won more than just the fight.
Buck grins, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I think I’d enjoy anything you do to me, Eddie,” he answers, his voice dropping just enough to make Eddie’s smile falter for a second. The flush that creeps up Eddie’s neck is worth every ounce of boldness Buck can muster.
Eddie laughs, shaking his head as he looks back at his hands. “I bet you say that to everyone you fight,” he jokes, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, curiosity, maybe, or hope.
Buck snorts, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “I really, really don’t,” he says, his voice firm. “I don’t even know other people’s names, but I can’t seem to forget yours.” He says it quietly, almost hesitantly, because the fighting scene isn’t exactly the most inclusive place, and Buck can hope, but he isn’t sure about Eddie’s interest yet.
Eddie’s smile softens, his eyes dropping to the ground before flicking back up to Buck, just a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice just as quiet. “You’re the only one who’s ever defeated me, too.”
Buck steps closer, close enough that he can see the cut on Eddie’s cheek, the way the blood has started to dry along the edge. “Did you enjoy losing to me, Eddie?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.
Eddie’s breath hitches, and for a moment, Buck thinks he’s going to close the distance between them. But then Eddie’s eyes flick over Buck’s shoulder, his face going blank as the organizer bursts through the door, his voice loud and exuberant.
“This night was incredible!” the man exclaims, clutching two brown packages of money in his hands. “The first time Buck has lost, and he loses here? Two of the best fighters on the scene at the moment in a brutal fifteen-minute fight! Fifteen minutes! In my little arena!” He claps his hands, the sound sharp in the small room, and hands Buck the smaller package. “Here, more than earned.”
Eddie opens his package, his eyebrows shooting up as he thumbs through the thick stack of bills. “Is this right?” he asks, his tone incredulous.
The organizer laughs, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “You defeated Buck!” he says, like that explains everything. And to Buck, it does.
“Yeah, yeah,” Buck says, tucking his own money into his bag. “But it’ll only happen once,” he adds, his tone half-complaining, half-teasing.
The organizer laughs again, his energy infectious. “The beer is cold, and we have hot dogs. If you two want to stick around, watch the men you’ve defeated.” He throws a few mock punches in the air, grinning. “Ah, what a fight!”
As the organizer leaves, Buck turns back to Eddie, who’s still sitting on the bench, his hands resting on his knees. The moment is gone, the tension broken, but Buck can still feel it lingering in the air between them. He steps closer, his voice dropping again. “So, Eddie,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious, “you sticking around for that beer?”
Eddie looks up at him, his smile slow and knowing. “Yeah,” he says, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I think I will.”
They sit in the stands, the usual crowd of rich idiots and fight enthusiasts flocking to Buck like moths to a flame. The energy around them is electric, the air thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Buck is used to this, the way people gravitate toward him after a fight, the way they hang on his every word. But tonight feels different. Tonight, Eddie is by his side, their knees brushing softly, and Buck can’t focus on anything else but the point where their skins touch.
Eddie frowns when someone hands him a beer without him having to ask, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. He takes the bottle, nodding his thanks, but his eyes keep darting to Buck like he’s trying to figure him out.
“Never stayed after a fight before?” Buck asks softly, leaning in so only Eddie can hear him. Most of the men around them are focused on the fight in the cage, their cheers and shouts creating a buffer of noise that gives Buck and Eddie a rare moment of privacy.
“Never felt the need,” Eddie answers, his voice low and rough. He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Buck’s face.
Buck smiles, his heart skipping a beat at the way Eddie looks at him. “What changed your mind?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.
Eddie doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at Buck, deep and long, like he’s trying to see into his soul. “You know what,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I do,” Buck agrees, his smile widening. “But just in case I’m dreaming…”
“You, Buck,” Eddie tells him, his lips curving into a quick, almost shy smile before he turns back to the fight. He takes another long sip of his beer, but Buck can see the way his hand trembles slightly, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something back.
Buck’s heart is pounding now, his palms slick with sweat. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s no use. The words are out before he can stop them. “Now that we’re on the same page,” he starts, his voice trembling just a little, “do you want to come back to my place?”
Eddie freezes, his beer bottle halfway to his lips. He stares at Buck for a moment too long, his expression unreadable, and Buck’s stomach twists with fear. He’s afraid Eddie will say no, afraid he’s pushed too hard, too fast. Afraid he’ll lose Eddie in every way he could have him.
But then Eddie looks away, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’d love to,” he says, his voice soft but sure.
Buck’s breath catches in his throat, his chest swelling with relief and something else, something warm and bright and terrifying. He grins, wide and unrestrained, and Eddie laughs, the sound low and warm.
“Good,” Buck says, standing up and offering Eddie his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Eddie takes his hand, his grip firm and steady, and Buck feels a jolt of electricity shoot up his arm before Eddie drops it when a couple of men turn to them. They leave the arena together, the noise of the crowd fading behind them as they step into the cool night air. The stars are bright overhead, the city lights a distant glow, and Buck feels like he’s walking on air.
Eddie follows Buck in his pickup truck to Buck’s apartment. The building has two parking spaces per unit in the garage, a perk Buck never really thought much about, until now. The assumption that someone renting a two-bedroom apartment would have a spouse never mattered to him before, but tonight, as Eddie parks beside him, Buck feels a strange sense of satisfaction. For once, he can have someone over without worrying about a neighbor calling to complain about an occupied parking space.
Buck gets out of his car, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and Eddie follows, though he hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking to the bag in his hand.
“If you don’t want…” Buck starts, but Eddie chuckles, cutting him off.
“I want,” Eddie says, his voice firm but his eyes soft. “It’s just… Well, there’s a lot of money in the bag.”
Buck grins, shrugging. “You can bring it up or leave it here. I’m ex-military, so the house is pretty secure either way.”
Eddie nods, opening the back door of his truck to stash the money pouch under the seat. Buck catches a glimpse of a booster seat, the kind for a kid, but he doesn’t say anything, filing the observation away. Eddie locks the car, and they head to the elevator together.
The ride up is quiet, the hum of the elevator filling the space between them. Eddie clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m,” he starts, then coughs, like he’s unsure how to continue. “Hm, I’m a veteran too.”
“I guessed,” Buck admits, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “The way you fight is…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, letting it hang in the air as he presses the button for his floor.
“You’re better,” Eddie says, his tone matter-of-fact, and Buck snaps his head around to look at him.
“I’ve been on the scene longer,” Buck says, his voice gentle. He smiles, his eyes sweeping over Eddie appreciatively. “I’ve fought other veterans too. We’re hardly the only ex-military guys who feel the need to… get it out of our system.”
Eddie looks at the numbers lighting up as the elevator climbs, his expression thoughtful. “I’m not…” he starts, then shakes his head. “I just need the money, actually.”
“Oh,” Buck says simply, his tone neutral. When the elevator doors open, he steps out, holding the door for Eddie. “I like the fight,” he adds as they walk down the hallway.
“I know,” Eddie says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You enjoy the adrenaline. I saw it in our first fight, the way you smiled at me when I hit you.”
Buck laughs, unlocking his apartment door and stepping inside. “You were beautiful that night,” he says, his voice low and warm. He holds the door open for Eddie, who follows him in with a small, pleased smile. “I kinda missed the beard today.”
Eddie grins, setting his bag down at the base of Buck’s leather couch. He eyes the couch suspiciously, his nose wrinkling slightly. “Never thought you’d be a leather couch man.”
Buck laughs, the sound rich and full. “It came with the place,” he says, shrugging. “The bed, though…” He steps closer to Eddie, his hand reaching up to gently touch the cut on Eddie’s cheek. “The bed is all mine.”
Eddie smiles up at him, and Buck has never been so grateful for his height. Eddie tilts his head just slightly, his eyes half-lidded and glowing under the dim apartment lights, and Buck feels his breath catch. The way Eddie looks at him, like he’s something to devour, sends a shiver down his spine.
“They say we’re all tested,” Eddie murmurs, his voice rough. “I’m clean.”
“I have to get regular tests for my job,” Buck says, his hands already sliding under Eddie’s shirt, mapping the ridges of muscle and scar. “Squeaky clean.”
“Great,” Eddie growls, and then he’s kissing Buck like he fights, all teeth and hunger, a collision of heat and need. Buck grips the back of the leather couch to stay upright as Eddie’s hands fist in his hair, pulling hard enough to make his scalp burn. The kiss is savage, perfect, Eddie’s tongue claiming his mouth with the same ruthless precision as his punches. Buck tastes blood, Eddie’s split lip or his own from the fight, and it’s metallic, intoxicating, better than any high. Eddie bites down on Buck’s lower lip, and Buck groans, his knees buckling as Eddie pins him against the couch.
Kissing Eddie is better than fighting him. Better than landing a hit, better than taking one. When Eddie’s calloused hands slide under Buck’s shirt, scraping over his ribs, Buck feels like he’s on fire. Every bruise Eddie left on him throbs in time with his heartbeat, and Buck thinks, God, Hen was right. All he wants is this… Eddie’s mouth on his, Eddie’s body against his, Eddie’s breath hot and ragged in his ear.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Buck rasps when they finally break apart, his thumb brushing the dried blood on Eddie’s cheek. “You were in my head every second. Couldn’t even get up without you on my mind.”
Eddie huffs a laugh against his collarbone, his lips grazing the sweat-damp skin there. “Yeah?” he asks, almost shy, like he’s not the same man who nearly broke Buck’s ribs an hour ago.
“Yeah,” Buck says, his voice cracking. He tilts Eddie’s face up, his gaze zeroing in on the cut just below Eddie’s cheekbone. The blood has crusted over, but the scent of it –copper and salt– is still sharp. Buck’s wanted this too long to resist. He licks the wound, slow and deliberate, and the crust melts under his tongue. Fresh blood beads up, bright and metallic, and Eddie laughs, the sound vibrating against Buck’s mouth.
“Well, that settles it,” Eddie says, his hands tightening on Buck’s hips. “You’re insane.”
“I promise I’m not,” Buck mutters, licking a stripe up Eddie’s jaw, savoring the salt of his skin. “Just… enthusiastic.”
“If you say so,” Eddie says, and then he’s dropping to his knees, the thud of his knees hitting the floor echoing through Buck’s body. Buck’s cock twitches, already aching, and Eddie stares up at him with a smirk. “Haven’t done this before,” Eddie admits, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Buck’s shorts. “But I’ve thought about it. Since our second fight.”
Buck’s breath hitches as Eddie yanks his shorts down, freeing his cock. Eddie’s eyes widen for a split second –impressed, hungry– before he glances up. “Take your shirt off,” he orders, his voice rough.
“Yes,” Buck chokes out, tearing his shirt over his head. “Yours too.”
Eddie grins, stripping his shirt off with one hand, the other still wrapped around Buck’s dick, barely leaving. The bruises Buck left on his ribs bloom purple and blue, and Buck can’t help but reach out, tracing the marks with reverent fingers. “Just because I know you like to watch the bruises you leave,” Eddie says, his thumb swiping over the head of Buck’s cock.
“Fuck,” Buck hisses, his hips jerking forward. He doesn’t know if it’s Eddie’s words or the way Eddie leans in, his tongue flat and hot as he licks from base to tip, pausing to swirl around the head. Eddie’s grip tightens, his other hand digging into Buck’s thigh like he’s anchoring himself, and Buck’s vision blurs.
“You’re good at this,” Buck gasps, his hand tangling in Eddie’s hair.
Eddie pulls off just long enough to smirk. “Beginner’s luck,” he says, and then he’s swallowing Buck down, his mouth searing and relentless. Buck’s head slams back, his free hand scrambling for purchase on the couch. Eddie hums, the vibration ripping a ragged moan from Buck’s throat, and Buck thinks, This is how I die. This is perfect.
“I hope you know I’ll fuck you eventually,” Buck says, his voice rough and breathless as Eddie takes him deeper, his lips stretched around Buck’s cock. Eddie’s eyes flick up to meet Buck’s, heavy-lidded and dark, and Buck’s grip tightens in Eddie’s hair. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t push, he just needs to hold on, grounding himself as Eddie works him over with a focus that’s almost terrifying. It’s so much better than anything Buck’s ever experienced, and he can’t help but compare it to the woman from the car graveyard. There’s no comparison. Eddie is everything .
When Buck starts to falter, his thighs trembling and his grip on Eddie’s hair tightening, Eddie pulls off, his hand taking over, pumping Buck with a rhythm that’s just as relentless as his mouth. Buck comes with a groan, his release streaking across Eddie’s face, some on his lips, some in his hair, and a single drop landing on the cut on his cheek. Buck sighs, his chest heaving as he watches Eddie, who’s still staring at Buck’s cock like it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve.
“Hmm,” Eddie says thoughtfully, his tongue darting out to catch the cum on his lips.
“Hmm?” Buck repeats, his voice hoarse. “Come here.” He tugs gently on Eddie’s hair, pulling him up, and Eddie kisses him, the taste of Buck’s release smearing between them. Buck reaches for the shirt he’d tossed on the couch earlier, using it to clean Eddie’s face with careful, almost reverent strokes. “You’re beautiful,” Buck murmurs, his thumb brushing over Eddie’s cheekbone.
“You’ve said that already,” Eddie smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“And that was before I saw you around my dick,” Buck jokes, and Eddie laughs, the sound warm and genuine. Buck tosses the shirt aside and cups Eddie’s face, his thumb brushing over the cut again. “I want to try something,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “But we’ll have to go to bed.”
“That’s fine by me,” Eddie agrees, his smirk widening. Buck takes his hand, leading him to the bedroom, and Eddie follows without hesitation. Buck’s glad he’s shameless enough to walk naked through his apartment, because the way Eddie’s eyes linger on him makes his skin burn.
“Shorts off,” Buck says, gesturing to the bed. “On the bed.” He disappears into the bathroom, grabbing the lube from the drawer, and when he returns, Eddie is lying on the bed, his shorts discarded and his cock still hard. Buck’s mouth waters at the sight, but he forces himself to focus. “How far are you willing to go today?” he asks, holding up the bottle of lube.
Eddie eyes it curiously, his expression thoughtful, before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Fuck, I’ve been to a literal warzone,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ll tell you to stop if I dislike it.”
Buck beams, leaning down to kiss Eddie, his lips soft and lingering. “Kissing you is addictive,” he murmurs against Eddie’s mouth.
“I’m addicted to you too, Buck,” Eddie admits, his voice quiet but steady.
Buck’s chest swells with something warm and bright, and he presses another kiss to Eddie’s lips before moving down his body. “I’m going to destroy you for any other person,” Buck promises, his breath hot against Eddie’s skin as he licks a path down his chest, bypassing his cock entirely to bite gently at the thin skin between Eddie’s thigh and crotch. “Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Eddie answers, his voice already strained. Buck smiles, coating his fingers with lube and warming them between his hands before circling Eddie’s hole. He pushes just the tip of his finger inside, barely a knuckle, and Eddie groans, his hips jerking slightly.
“We should have showered before doing this,” Eddie says suddenly, and Buck laughs, the sound rich and full.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Buck says, and Eddie flushes, the pet name hitting him harder than the finger inside him. Buck loves the way Eddie’s cheeks turn red, the way his breath hitches. “You must have noticed I like it a little dirty,” Buck adds, pushing his finger deeper, and Eddie moans, loud and unrestrained. Buck waits only a moment before adding a second finger, and Eddie hisses, his body tensing before relaxing into the sensation.
“Enjoying it?” Buck asks, his voice teasing but his eyes soft.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s great,” Eddie says, his voice breathless. “Keep going.” He grabs Buck’s head, pulling him closer, and Buck laughs, his breath hot against Eddie’s skin as he obeys.
Buck has no need to torture Eddie, so he opens his mouth and takes him in, swallowing him down in one smooth motion. Eddie shouts, his hips jerking off the bed, and Buck uses the distraction to push his fingers deeper, moving faster, curling them just right as he searches for Eddie’s prostate. He bobs his head, his lips tight around Eddie’s cock, and when Eddie gasps, Buck knows he’s found it. He wants to smile, but his mouth is full, so he settles for a hum that makes Eddie’s thighs tremble.
When Buck pushes a third finger in, Eddie gasps again, his body tensing. Buck pauses, pulling off to look up at him. “Go back!” Eddie shouts, his voice ragged, and Buck laughs before diving back down, his tongue swirling around the head of Eddie’s cock. He loves this –loves the way Eddie’s body responds to him, the way his breath hitches and his hands fist in the sheets. And if Buck didn’t believe in love before, he does now, because Eddie is coming apart in his hands, his release spilling down Buck’s throat, and it’s perfect .
Eddie’s eyes are closed, his chest heaving, and Buck takes a moment to just look at him, his flushed skin, the sweat glistening on his chest, the way his hands are still gripping the sheets like he’s afraid to let go. Buck presses a kiss to Eddie’s hip before slipping out of bed and heading to the bathroom to wash up. He grabs a wet towel on his way back, gently cleaning the lube from Eddie’s skin, his touch soft and reverent.
He’s kissing Eddie’s knee when Eddie smiles, his eyes still closed. “That was…” Eddie starts, his voice hoarse, and Buck grins.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Buck says, tossing the towel aside and climbing back into bed. He stretches out beside Eddie, their shoulders brushing, and Eddie turns his head to look at him.
“Loved it,” Eddie says, his eyes heavy but warm. He reaches out, his fingers brushing Buck’s cheek, and Buck leans into the touch.
Buck touches Eddie’s face in return, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “This was…” he starts, but he hesitates, afraid of saying too much, of scaring Eddie away. But Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at Buck with a soft, curious expression.
“What?” Eddie prompts, pressing a kiss to Buck’s palm before nipping at his fingers.
“This was better than fighting,” Buck says, his voice quiet but sure. He inches closer, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s cheek, his temple, the corner of his mouth. “I really like you, Eddie.”
Eddie huffs a laugh, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Buck’s neck. “You barely know me,” he points out, but there’s no bite in his words. He pulls Buck closer, his leg hooking over Buck’s hip, and Buck feels a rush of warmth at the way Eddie’s body molds to his.
“There’s nothing you can tell me that will change my mind,” Buck says, his voice firm. He kisses Eddie again, slow and deep, until Eddie’s lips are swollen and his breath is coming in short, uneven gasps. Buck pulls back just enough to look at him, his thumb brushing over Eddie’s bottom lip.
“Promise?” Eddie asks, his voice soft, and Buck realizes that maybe Eddie is a lot more… vulnerable than he lets on.
“Eddie,” Buck says, his voice gentle. He kisses Eddie again, quick and reassuring. “Do you want to spend the night?”
Eddie blinks at him, his expression shifting. “I can’t, Buck. I want to, but…”
“But you have to go back to your son,” Buck finishes, and Eddie freezes, his body going rigid in Buck’s arms.
“How do you know about Chris?” Eddie’s voice is sharp now, his eyes dark and guarded.
“Whoa, whoa,” Buck says, pulling back slightly. “I saw the booster seat in your truck and just assumed. Sorry, I can pretend I don’t know if you want.”
Eddie stares at him for a moment, his shoulders tense, before he lets out a breath and relaxes. “Sorry,” he says, running a hand over his face. “Fuck, Buck, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t even know what…”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Buck says, his voice calm. He reaches out, his hand resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “A weird adrenaline junkie who enjoys punching people brought your kid up while you’re naked. That’s okay.”
Eddie laughs, the sound rough but genuine. “You’re right, though. I left him with family, but I don’t like being away for too long.”
“I get it,” Buck says again, his thumb brushing over a scar on Eddie’s shoulder, a bullet wound, if Buck’s ever seen one. “Can I at least get your number?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice soft. He reaches out, his fingers brushing Buck’s cheek. “And you’ll call me.”
“You won’t get rid of me,” Buck tells him, his voice firm. “Never.”
Buck is smiling so big it’s a wonder Hen waited until they sat down for lunch to ask. The team is gathered around the table, plates of spaghetti in front of them, and Buck can’t stop grinning. He’s been floating on cloud nine since the night he saw Eddie, and it’s obvious to everyone.
“Buck,” Hen begins, her tone amused, and Buck chuckles, poking at his plate of spaghetti. He knows what’s coming. “You’re especially happy today.”
Buck looks up at her, his smile widening. “Hen,” he says, his voice practically glowing, “I got Eddie.”
“That’s great,” Bobby says, and Buck blinks, surprised. He hadn’t expected the captain to weigh in. “So you won’t be going… out anymore?” Bobby asks, his tone careful but his eyes sharp.
Buck sets his fork down, his expression turning serious. “Cap,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “It’s… I like Eddie a lot. I may even be falling for him. But I have… needs.”
“Didn’t you say this Eddie was enough?” Bobby asks, his brow furrowing.
“He is,” Buck answers quickly. “Eddie isn’t like me. He doesn’t need it like I do…” He stops, sighing as he tries to figure out how to explain without oversharing. “Look, all you need to know is that I have an… Eddie.”
“You have an Eddie?” Chim repeats, his tone dripping with amusement.
“We haven’t talked about labels,” Buck says, shrugging. “Also, I don’t believe in labels.”
“So you’re okay with him seeing other people?” Chim asks, genuinely curious.
Buck’s jaw tightens, and he bites down on his food harder than necessary, his face closing off. “Not if he wants to see me again,” he says, his voice low and firm.
Hen gasps, and Buck looks at her, confused. “Sorry,” she says, waving a hand. “Just figured something out. Never mind.”
It takes Buck three calls to finally corner Hen alone later that day. He finds her in the locker room, tying her shoes, and he leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “What was it?” he asks, his tone casual but his curiosity burning.
Hen looks up, arching an eyebrow. “What was what?”
“That you figured out,” Buck prompts, stepping closer. “At lunch. What was it?”
Hen smiles, her expression a mix of amusement and understanding. “You like the bruises because they’re marks,” she says softly. “You’re just very possessive, Buck. It’s not the pain, it’s not even the hunt, it’s the winning and the owning.”
Buck stares at her, his mind racing. He thinks about Eddie’s bruises, the satisfaction he felt when he saw them, the way they faded over time and left him feeling… empty. And suddenly, it clicks. Hen’s right. It’s not about the pain or the fight. It’s about the marks, the proof that Eddie is his. He’s just really, really possessive.
“You,” Buck says, pointing at Hen with a serious expression, “lost your calling as a psychologist.”
Hen laughs, patting his arm as she stands up. “I’m just glad I helped,” she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She pauses at the door, turning back to him with a grin. “Do you have a fight tonight?”
“No,” Buck answers, shaking his head.
“Great,” Hen says, her smile widening. “Come have dinner with me, Karen, and Athena. They’ll love to meet you.”
Buck nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
Buck had a fight that night; Eddie didn’t. So when Eddie parks in Buck’s garage, they make out against the side of the Jeep for a few minutes, their hands roaming, their breaths mingling. Buck’s heart races, and he can’t help but think how lucky he is to have this, to have Eddie. But eventually, they pull apart, hopping into the Jeep and heading to the arena.
The drive is quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Eddie breaks the silence, his voice low and husky. “Buck,” he says, his tone serious. “I don’t think I’d be able to fight you anymore.” He sounds almost afraid, like he’s worried Buck will be angry or disappointed.
Buck glances at him, his hand instinctively settling on Eddie’s thigh. “Baby,” he starts automatically, and Eddie flushes, his cheeks turning pink. Buck catches himself, correcting, “Eddie…”
“No,” Eddie interrupts, his voice firm but soft. “I like ‘baby.’” He pauses, then adds, “When we’re alone.”
Buck smiles, his thumb rubbing circles on Eddie’s thigh. “Okay,” he says, his voice warm. “Baby,” he starts again, “I don’t want to hurt you either. Having you with me is more than enough. I can get enough out of my system with the other men in the cage.”
“But I’m special,” Eddie announces, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.
“Yes,” Buck agrees without hesitation. “And whatever I need besides that, I can get in bed with you.”
Eddie laughs, the sound rich and full, and Buck feels a rush of warmth at the way Eddie’s whole face lights up. “I wouldn’t mind bleeding for you,” Eddie says after a moment, his voice dropping lower. “A little bit.” Buck’s hand tightens on Eddie’s thigh automatically, his grip firm. “You’d like that, right?” Eddie teases, his smirk widening.
Buck groans, forcing himself to put both hands back on the steering wheel. “Being with you is enough,” he says, his voice steady but his pulse racing. He’s not lying – Eddie is enough – but the way Eddie flushes, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red, makes Buck’s chest swell with something warm and possessive.
“I like it too, Buck,” Eddie admits after a beat of silence. His voice is soft, almost shy. “I like when you mark me, I like when I mark you.”
“Fuck, baby, timing,” Buck mutters, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. Eddie chuckles, the sound low and satisfied.
“Good,” Eddie says, leaning back in his seat with a grin. “Now you’re pent up for the fight.”
Buck shakes his head, laughing despite himself. “What do you want?” he asks, glancing at Eddie. “Want me to put him down quickly? Drag it out?”
Eddie considers this, his expression thoughtful. “Put him down quickly,” he says finally. “Then we can go home.”
Buck grins, his heart skipping a beat at the way Eddie says home . “Deal,” he says, his voice firm. “But you’re driving back. I’ll be too wired.”
Eddie laughs, the sound warm and full, and Buck feels a rush of affection for this man, this wild, beautiful, impossible man who’s somehow become his.
They park at the arena, the screams of the crowd already echoing through the night air. The organizer finds them in the makeshift locker room, where Eddie is wrapping Buck’s hands. Buck finds the moment incredibly intimate, the way Eddie handles him, his hands steady and sure as he wraps the tape around Buck’s knuckles, his fingers brushing over Buck’s skin like a caress. There’s a romance in it, a tenderness Buck didn’t expect but craves all the same.
“You got Eddie to be your trainer?” the organizer asks, surprised, and Buck raises a brow at Eddie, who just smirks and nods.
“He did defeat me,” Buck points out, and the man smiles, clearly remembering the fight.
“Will he get the trainer fee?” the man asks, and Buck is already nodding when Eddie looks up, his expression conflicted.
“Of course,” Buck says firmly. Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but Buck cuts him off. “So, how many fights tonight?”
“Only three,” the organizer says, shaking his head like it’s a shame. “The only three that agreed to go against you.”
Eddie laughs, tapping Buck’s hands to signal he’s done with the wrapping. “Okay, fighter,” Eddie begins, his voice low and serious, and Buck focuses on him immediately. “Hard and fast. And don’t go chasing the high like you like to do. It gives them an opportunity to realize you’re all strength and no brains.”
Buck blinks, realizing Eddie is actually giving him advice… advice that Eddie himself used to defeat Buck. He smiles, wide and enamored. “Are you calling me brainless?” Buck asks, his tone teasing.
Eddie pats his shoulder, his smirk widening. “Hard and fast, Buck,” he repeats, and this time he winks as the organizer leaves the room. “Just the way I like it,” he adds, and Buck groans, his stomach flipping.
“Kiss for good luck?” Buck whispers, leaning in slightly.
Eddie rubs his jaw, hiding a smile, then pauses. He kisses his fingers and presses them to Buck’s cheek softly. Buck can feel the blood rushing to his face, and by the look of satisfaction on Eddie’s face, he knows it too. “Hard and fast,” Buck says, his voice low. “Just for you.”
“Just for me,” Eddie repeats, and Buck’s smile is blinding.
The first man is a wiry newcomer with tattoos snaking up his arms. He has a cocky grin and a shaky stance, like he’s trying too hard to look tough. When the bell rings, Buck doesn’t wait.
He charges forward, fists like pistons, driving the man into the cage wall. The crowd roars as Buck lands a brutal knee to the ribs – crack . The man crumples, gasping. Buck thinks of Eddie’s smirk, the way he’d arch an eyebrow at such a sloppy opponent. A spinning backfist sends the man to the mat, his body limp like a puppet with cut strings. Buck feels… incomplete. Eddie would’ve blocked that.
The next one’s smarter. He ducks Buck’s hooks, counters with sharp jabs. Buck’s lip splits… thinks of Eddie’s split lip, the taste of blood and beer. The man lands a kick to Buck’s thigh, and Buck grins, the pain sharp and grounding. He feints left, then slams a right hook into the man’s liver. The man staggers, and Buck seizes his arm, twisting him into a chokehold. The man taps.
Buck looks out at the audience, searching for Eddie. He finds him in the crowd, his eyes locked on Buck, mesmerized, just like Buck had been watching him. Buck smiles, then smirks, raising his hands in victory and turning so it’s not obvious his focus is laser-sharp on Eddie.
The bell rings again, and a new man steps into the cage. He’s a brute, all muscle and snarling threats. Buck doesn’t blink.
The man lunges. Buck side steps, sweeps his legs. The crowd gasps as the brute crashes to the mat. Buck straddles him, fists raining down –not Eddie’s face, never Eddie’s face– until the man’s eyes roll back. Fast and hard, just like Eddie told him.
Eddie meets him backstage, pride and worry warring in his gaze. He dabs peroxide on Buck’s split lip, his fingers lingering a little too long. “You fought… different tonight,” Eddie comments, his voice low and rough.
Buck grins like a lunatic, his adrenaline still coursing through him. He wants to kiss Eddie, to taste the blood on his own lips and see if Eddie tastes it too. “Had a good reason,” Buck admits, his voice husky. “Wanted to put on a show for you.”
Eddie’s thumb brushes Buck’s cheekbone, possessive. The unspoken hangs between them: Mine. Yours.
Buck stares at Eddie, his eyes dark and hungry. He wonders if Eddie would let him – just a little bit – whip him. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. Whips. Leather. Eddie’s back arching… Fuck.
They get back to Buck’s house on a high, Eddie driving only because Buck can’t stop smiling. The fight was good, but it wasn’t the same as before. Buck realizes the fighting was something he used to fill an empty space inside himself. He didn’t know what exactly that space was, but now that he has Eddie, he doesn’t need the cage as much. It’s still enjoyable, and the blood is still beautiful, but the pain is only okay, and the money is fine, okay, the money is great. But Buck has enough already with the safe, the trust fund, and his salary. So really, Eddie is more than enough. Buck truly believes it. He’ll only need one or two fights a month. And if Eddie goes along with the whip…
He can’t stop thinking about the whip.
“Are you hard?” Eddie asks, amused, his hand resting on Buck’s arm.
“Yes,” Buck admits without hesitation.
“Because of the fight?” Eddie asks, and this time Buck feels a flicker of jealousy, a tinge of anger. He decides to be open about it because honesty has been working so far. And if Eddie decides it’s too much, they’re almost at Buck’s building. Eddie can go to his car and leave.
“No,” Buck says, his voice firm. He rolls his shoulders, and Eddie’s hand leaves his arm at the hard no. “I thought of something during the fight.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything for a moment. “ During the fight?” he finally asks, his tone curious but cautious.
Buck feels a rush of satisfaction at the hint of jealousy in Eddie’s voice. “I thought of you the whole time,” Buck promises. “I thought of something that you may not like, and you can let me know if you don’t.”
Eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Buck,” he says, reaching over during a red light to touch Buck’s face. His thumb brushes Buck’s cheek, and Buck leans into the touch. “I already told you I’d bleed for you. Whatever you want to try, I’m game.”
Buck smiles, kissing Eddie’s hand where it rests against his face. “I’d like to try out a whip.”
Eddie’s breath hitches, and for a moment, Buck thinks he’s gone too far. But then Eddie smiles, slow and deliberate, and nods once. “Yes,” he says, his voice steady. The light turns green, and Eddie drops Buck’s face, returning his hand to the wheel. “I’m guessing you don’t have one hidden away in your place.”
“Sadly, no,” Buck agrees, grinning.
Eddie hums, and Buck can see the gears turning in his head. “Not on my ass,” Eddie says after a moment.
Buck chuckles. “Okay, can I ask why?”
Eddie raises a brow, his smirk widening. “I’m Latino. Beating my ass is my mom’s job. Your job is beating my face… or better, on my chest… less visible.”
“Your back?” Buck asks, his voice low and teasing. Eddie thinks for a moment, shifting in his seat, and Buck looks down, noticing the strain of Eddie’s cock against his jeans. “Back is fine, then,” Buck comments, and Eddie chuckles.
“Yes,” Eddie agrees. He hesitates, his cheeks flushing. “I’m…” He trails off, shaking his head. “This is harder than I thought.” Buck is a gentleman, so he ignores the obvious joke.
“What is?” Buck asks, his tone gentle.
“Telling you that I cleaned myself,” Eddie says in one breath, his face turning red. Buck can finally see his parking lot coming up, and he grins, his heart racing.
“Oh, baby,” Buck croons, his voice dripping with affection. “You really want me to fuck you.”
Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “I can still change my mind,” he points out, though his tone is light.
“You won’t,” Buck promises, his voice firm. He parks the car, and they sit there for a moment, the air between them thick with anticipation. Buck reaches over, his hand resting on Eddie’s thigh. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and possessive.
Eddie looks at him, his eyes dark and intense. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady. “I am.”
They go straight up to Buck’s apartment, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. When the door slams shut behind them, Eddie crowds Buck against the wall, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Buck groans, his hands gripping Eddie’s hips, but he pulls back, breathless. “I was thinking,” he says against Eddie’s lips, his voice rough. “Are you really okay with the whip?”
“I already said I am,” Eddie tells him, his mouth trailing down Buck’s neck, sucking marks into his skin.
“Then I have an idea,” Buck says, his hands moving over Eddie’s body, touching him softly, reverently. “You can back out,” he reminds Eddie, his voice gentle but firm.
Eddie groans, grabbing Buck’s hand and dragging it to his still-hard, straining cock. “Stop checking every five minutes,” Eddie starts, then pauses, his smirk widening. “Actually, I kinda like it when you check. It feels nice. But also, I can say no.”
Buck nods, his heart racing as Eddie shoves him toward the bedroom. But Buck stops him with a hand on his chest, his expression serious. “Wait,” he says, his voice low. “I need to make sure you’re okay with this.”
Eddie rolls his eyes but nods, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “I’m okay, Buck. Trust me.”
Buck retrieves a black leather belt from his closet, testing its weight with a grin that’s equal parts wolfish and nervous. Eddie watches, his jaw tight but his eyes burning with something that makes Buck’s stomach flip. “That’s a belt,” Eddie points out flatly.
Buck shrugs, his grin widening. “Improvisation.”
Eddie snorts but strips off his shirt anyway, turning to reveal the broad planes of his back. Buck’s breath hitches at the sight of the unmarked skin, the strength and vulnerability of it. He stares for a moment, his grip tightening on the belt. He whips it against his hand once, testing its hardness, its flexibility. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.
When he raises his arm, Eddie can’t see him, so Buck doesn’t warn him. He just strikes. The first hit is tentative, a flick of leather against skin. Eddie flinches, then laughs, nervous, exhilarated. The sound is… God, Buck can’t describe it. It’s like music, the crack of the belt mixing with Eddie’s laugh.
Eddie turns his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That all you got?” he teases, his voice light but his eyes dark.
Buck’s next strike lands harder, a sharp crack that paints a red line across Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie’s laugh dies in a gasp, and Buck drinks it in like water in the desert. “Baby?” Buck checks, his voice rough.
Eddie’s voice is hoarse. “Again,” he says simply, shyly.
The third strike bites deeper. Eddie’s fingers claw the bedsheets, his back arching. Buck drops the belt, pressing against him, his mouth grazing the welt. “Still breathing?” Buck asks, his voice muffled against Eddie’s skin.
Eddie trembles under him. “Fuck you,” he says, his voice breaking.
Buck laughs, low and dark, before flipping Eddie onto his back. He looks at the clean, unmarred skin of Eddie’s chest, his heart pounding. “Yes, Buck,” Eddie says, his voice steady but his eyes burning, answering a question Buck hasn't even formed yet.
Buck laughs again, reaching for the belt. But first, he stops to kiss Eddie, because he wants to, because he can. The kiss is slow and deep, a contrast to the sharp sting of the belt. When Buck pulls back, he strikes Eddie’s chest, harder this time, firmer. Eddie winces, then moans, the sound sending a jolt of heat through Buck. From above him, Buck can appreciate the look on Eddie’s face, the serenity, the calmness, the lust. Buck smirks, raising the belt again. Eddie looks at him and nods.
The next strike is louder, more controlled, as Buck learns the rhythm and force needed to make the belt sing. Eddie smirks, like he knows Buck is up to something, and the one after that, Buck concentrates, his focus razor-sharp. The belt cracks against Eddie’s skin, and immediately, a thin line of red blooms, a small break in the skin that makes Eddie grin when he looks down.
“I knew it,” Eddie says, his voice breathless but triumphant. He falls back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I knew it. I knew you’d want to make me bleed.”
But Buck is transfixed on the blood on Eddie’s skin –the blood he put there, the mark he made, the pain he caused. It’s intoxicating, the way Eddie’s body responds to him, the way Eddie trusts him enough to let Buck do this. Buck’s chest swells with something warm and possessive, and he can’t look away.
“You said I could,” Buck points out, his voice rough but gentle. He climbs on top of Eddie, throwing the belt to the side. It was fine, but not optimal, and Buck knows he’ll have to spend time researching – leather, whips, sizes – because he enjoyed it a lot. And he wants to give Eddie only the best. Eddie deserves the absolute best.
The welts on Eddie’s chest are blooming like roses, red and vivid against his skin. Buck traces one with his tongue, the metallic tang of blood blooming in his mouth like spring. “You’re beautiful like this,” Buck mutters against Eddie’s sternum, his lips stained red. He licks the blood away, savoring the taste, before kissing Eddie deeply, their mouths mingling with the sharp, coppery flavor.
Eddie’s hands grip Buck’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and Buck can feel the way Eddie’s body trembles beneath him, not from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and unfiltered. Buck breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Eddie’s, their breaths mingling.
“Mine,” Buck whispers, his voice low and possessive.
Eddie’s eyes flutter open, dark and intense. “Yours,” he agrees, his voice steady but soft. He reaches up, his fingers brushing Buck’s cheek. “Always.”
“Dating is such a strong word,” Buck says as they ride back in the rig after a call. Chim is looking at him funny, and Buck realizes why when he notices Chim’s eyes lingering on the sweet little hickey Eddie left on his neck. “We go out together,” Buck adds, trying to sound casual.
“Do you want to date him?” Bobby asks from the passenger seat, his tone light but probing. “Like, a real date?”
“I don’t…” Buck starts, but Chim and Bobby cut him off in unison.
“Believe in labels,” they say together, and Buck flushes, the rest of the team laughing.
“Funny,” Buck mutters, shaking his head. “I just… I’ve never dated before.”
“Really?” Chim asks, incredulous. “You’ve never been on a date? Paid for someone’s dinner?”
Buck thinks back on his encounters, but he doesn’t feel ashamed when he realizes most of them were fleeting—names forgotten, faces blurred. “I never felt the need,” he admits. “Most people I… fucked… I didn’t want to see again.”
“Language, Buck,” Bobby chides, and Buck almost looks away from the road to frown at him.
“Cap!” Buck exclaims, exasperated, as Chim and the others laugh.
“Just ask the man out on a proper date, Buckley!” Jones calls out, and Chim nods in agreement. “It’s what you want anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Buck says, nodding. Then he sighs. “So, hypothetically, how do you ask someone out?”
The team laughs again, but Bobby looks amused when Buck glances at him. “You say, ‘Hey, Eddie, how about we eat out today?’” Bobby suggests.
“And if he says no?” Buck asks softly, his voice tinged with fear.
“You go on how you are already,” Chim says, shrugging. “You won’t lose anything, and you have all to gain. It’s the perfect gamble!”
The rest of the team agrees, and Buck nods, but his chest tightens. I have everything to lose , he thinks. For now, he can pretend. Pretend that what he and Eddie have goes further than the bedroom. Pretend they’re a functional couple, kissing hello and goodbye, not just as foreplay before sex. Buck closes his eyes, dreaming, pretending. But if Eddie looks him in the face and says, ‘ No, thanks. You’re only good for the sex,’ Buck will break completely and he won’t be able to pretend anymore… and he can’t lose that yet.
Eddie parks beside Buck’s Jeep one night, the parking space already feeling like his in Buck’s mind. Eddie is beautiful as always, and when he gets closer, kissing Buck hello, Buck feels his stomach flip for a dozen reasons. “Hey,” Buck greets him, his voice soft, and accepts another kiss.
“Ready for the fight?” Eddie asks, his tone casual, but Buck groans, his stomach sinking. He’d lied… he’d told Eddie he had a fight tonight because, suddenly, he’d felt like a coward. Eddie’s brow furrows, his expression shifting to concern. “Hey, what is it?”
“Don’t get mad?” Buck asks, his voice tentative.
Eddie forces a smile, his hand resting on Buck’s arm. “I’ll do my best.”
Buck sighs, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no fight today,” he admits, bracing himself.
“Oh?” Eddie says, visibly confused, and Buck groans again, his face heating up.
“I wanted to ask you out,” Buck blurts out, his voice rushed.
“Oh?” Eddie says again, but this time his mouth curves into a smile, his eyes lighting up.
“I know,” Buck says, rubbing his face. “I sent you the message and you assumed it was a fight and I didn’t know how to tell you… I’m such an idiot.”
“No,” Eddie says, stepping closer and pulling Buck into his arms. Buck melts into the embrace, so pleased, so happy to be held by Eddie. “You could’ve just asked me out.”
“I know!” Buck exclaims, hiding his face in Eddie’s shoulder. “I just didn’t want you to say no.”
Eddie chuckles, his hand cupping Buck’s jaw and tilting his face up. “Buck,” he says, his voice soft but firm, “where are you taking me, then?”
Buck laughs, the tension easing out of him. “Wherever you want, baby.”
Eddie’s lips brush against Buck’s jaw as he murmurs, “I want to go to your bed.” He pauses, his smirk widening. “But I also want you to take me to a nice restaurant.”
Buck looks at Eddie, his expression sweet and earnest. “I got you flowers…” he admits, his voice sheepish.
“Shut up,” Eddie says, his smile widening as a blush creeps up his cheeks.
Buck ducks his head, grabbing the flowers from the Jeep’s passenger seat. “It’s stupid,” he mutters, holding them out.
“It’s not,” Eddie says, taking the flowers. He doesn’t smell them or fuss over them, just looks at them for a moment, then back at Buck, his eyes soft. “It’s sweet,” he says, his voice warm. “You’re a sweet man, Buck.” He kisses Buck again, slow and lingering, before placing the flowers carefully inside his own car.
When they part, Buck sighs, satisfied and a little dazed. “Do you like Italian?” he asks, his voice light.
“Very much so,” Eddie says, climbing into the Jeep with a matching smile.
The restaurant hums with quiet energy, fairy lights draping the room in a warm, golden haze. Eddie and Buck sit tucked into a corner booth, knees brushing beneath the rustic wooden table. Half-finished plates of gnocchi and osso buco sit forgotten, their conversation flowing as freely as the beer between them.
Eddie swirls his mug, amber liquid catching the light as he smirks. “Chris has his science fair next month,” he begins, voice tinged with paternal pride. “He’s building a volcano. Insists glitter lava is ‘scientifically superior’ because it’s shiny.”
Buck’s fork hovers mid-air, his grin widening. “Glitter lava? That kid’s gonna outsmart all of us by sixteen.”
Eddie chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Last week, he conned me into neon green nails for ‘research purposes.’” He flashes his thumbnail, the polish chipped but stubbornly vibrant. “Turns out nail remover’s useless against a nine-year-old’s resolve.”
Buck reaches across the table, tracing the green streak with a calloused fingertip. “Suits you. Brings out the hazel in your eyes.” His touch lingers, thumb brushing Eddie’s knuckles.
Eddie rolls his eyes but leans into the contact. “Your turn. Tell me something real.”
Buck hesitates, then folds a paper napkin into precise creases. “Maddie taught me origami when I was eight. Said a thousand cranes would grant a wish.” His hands move deftly, shaping wings. “Took me six months. Wished for a dog.”
“Did it work?”
“Got a goldfish named Crane instead. Mom flushed him after three weeks.”
Eddie’s laughter is soft, his foot hooking around Buck’s ankle beneath the table. “What’d you wish for now?”
Buck sets the finished crane by Eddie’s plate, his gaze steady. “Already got it.”
The air thickens, charged with unspoken weight. Eddie cradles the crane, its delicate form a stark contrast to his battle-worn hands. “Chris asked if you’re my boyfriend,” he says abruptly, eyes lifting.
Buck freezes. “And?”
Eddie leans in, the crane dwarfed by his palm. “Told him you’re… complicated.”
“Complicated?” Buck arches a brow, fighting a smile.
“Yeah. Like quantum physics.” Eddie’s grin sharpens. “Or glitter thermodynamics.”
Buck kicks him under the table, laughter bubbling up. It’s a new sound –lighter, freer– untethered from the cage’s shadows. When tiramisu arrives, Buck feeds Eddie a forkful, cream smudging his thumb. Eddie’s tongue swipes over the spot, deliberate, and Buck’s breath stutters.
“Menace,” Buck mutters, cheeks flushing.
Eddie steals his beer, eyes glinting. “Takes one to know one.”
Later, they stumble into the night, hands intertwined, streetlights blurring into halos. Eddie tugs Buck into an alley, lips grazing his ear. “Still taking me home?”
Buck nips his jaw. “Only if you’re staying till morning.”
Eddie’s laugh is a velvet promise. “Gonna call me your boyfriend yet?”
Buck crowds him against the brick wall, voice a rumble. “Baby, I’ll call you whatever you want.”
They get home to Buck’s apartment quickly. Buck had only drunk one glass of beer, while Eddie had two, but neither of them is drunk, just giddy, riding the high of the night. Eddie pulls Buck through the parking garage and up to his apartment, and Buck loves it. The way Eddie knows his way around Buck’s life, his space, his world. He’s still buzzing from the date, from the way Eddie had opened up about Chris, shared the most important part of his life with Buck, and asked him to stick around. They have a label now.
Buck feels like they have a future.
Eddie waits impatiently at the door as Buck fumbles with the keys, his hands trembling slightly. “You’re so eager,” Buck comments, his voice teasing as he finally unlocks the door.
“I want to have sex with my hot boyfriend,” Eddie says, his tone light but his eyes dark with intent. Buck’s smile is wide and unashamed, his heart swelling at the word boyfriend.
Once inside, Eddie’s modus operandi becomes clear. As soon as they’re alone, he pins Buck against the nearest wall, kissing him with a hunger that leaves Buck breathless. Eddie’s hands are everywhere, tangling in Buck’s hair, gripping his hips, pulling him closer. Buck meets him with equal fervor, his body thrumming with anticipation.
From there, Buck expects Eddie to drop to his knees. He’s come to learn that Eddie loves giving blowjobs, loves the way Buck falls apart under his mouth, looking up at him so pleased. But tonight, Eddie doesn’t. He kisses Buck like he means business, his tongue sliding against Buck’s, his teeth nipping at Buck’s lower lip until it’s red and swollen. Then he stops, pulling back to look at Buck, his chest heaving.
“Eddie?” Buck asks, his voice rough.
“I did something,” Eddie admits, his voice soft but his eyes steady. “I thought you were going for a fight tonight. Thought you’d be… the way you are after a fight.”
Buck smiles, his hand cupping Eddie’s jaw. “Whatever you want, you just have to ask, baby,” he says, his voice sweet but firm.
Eddie’s smile is beautiful, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he leans in, his breath hot against Buck’s neck, his nose brushing Buck’s ear. “I prepared myself before leaving the house,” Eddie whispers, his voice husky and tinged with shyness. “I thought you’d finally break and fuck me like you’ve been promising for so long. So I came… prepared.”
Buck’s breath hitches, a raspy chuckle escaping him. “Oh, baby,” he says, his voice thick with lust. “You’re truly perfect.”
He pushes off the wall, guiding Eddie to the leather couch. Eddie lands on the cushions with a soft squeaky thud, his eyes never leaving Buck’s as Buck strips off his shirt. “Clothes off,” Buck says, his voice low and commanding.
When Buck is finally naked, he grabs the lube from the bedroom, his heart racing. He enjoys opening Eddie up, the intimacy of it, the way Eddie’s body responds to his touch. When he returns, Eddie is naked, sitting on the couch with a hand on his neck, his expression thoughtful.
Buck sits beside him, his hand resting on Eddie’s thigh. “Are you worried or overthinking?” he asks, his voice gentle.
“Overthinking,” Eddie admits immediately, his voice soft.
Buck leans in, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder. “Tell me,” he says, his voice a murmur against Eddie’s skin.
Eddie hesitates, then sighs. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up, I’ve never…” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… important to me, Buck.”
Buck’s chest tightens, his heart swelling with affection. “You’re important to me too, Eddie,” he says, his voice steady. “And you’re not gonna mess this up. We’re in this together, okay?”
Eddie nods, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay,” he says, his voice soft but sure.
Buck smiles, his hand sliding up Eddie’s thigh. “Now, let me show you how much I want you,” he says, his voice low and rough.
Eddie is smiling as Buck kisses him, his hands sliding to Eddie’s hips to pull him into his lap. Eddie goes willingly, his body pliant and eager, and Buck doesn’t want to part from the kiss, doesn’t want to miss the taste of Eddie for even a second. He controls Eddie with one hand, the other fumbling with the lube. Eddie pulls back for a moment, breathless, and kisses Buck’s neck, his lips hot and insistent. Buck coats his fingers and gets to work, one of his new favorite pastimes –breaking Eddie apart with his fingers.
Eddie is already loose, and Buck almost – almost – gets angry about not being the one to open Eddie up. But he’s also glad he can get into Eddie faster, happy that Eddie took the initiative, that he’d thought of Buck while preparing himself.
“Did you think about me?” Buck asks as he inserts a second finger, scissoring Eddie open.
“What?” Eddie’s voice is distant, his head tilting back as Buck’s fingers work him open.
“When you were opening yourself up,” Buck continues, his voice low and rough. “Hidden in your bathroom, keeping quiet so Chris wouldn’t hear you…”
Eddie moans, a mix of pleasure and frustration, probably at Buck bringing Chris up during sex. Buck chuckles, his fingers curling just right. “Did you think about me?”
Eddie licks a stripe up Buck’s neck before biting his ear, his breath hot and uneven. Buck is still scissoring him, still going in and out, preparing to introduce a third finger. “I imagined you fighting,” Eddie starts, his voice shaky as Buck adds the third finger and picks up the pace. “Thought of you over me with that belt, the way you licked my blood…”
Eddie is almost bouncing on Buck’s lap now, his body trembling with need. “That’s enough,” he says, his voice breaking. “That’s enough, Buck, please.”
“Really?” Buck asks, raising his hips so his leaking cock rubs against Eddie’s hole.
Eddie shivers, slamming down and forcing Buck’s fingers deeper before hissing. “Really,” he says, his voice firm but pleading. “You said I just had to ask. I’m asking, Buck. Fuck me now, please.”
Fuck. Please ? The word is sweet, perfect, irresistible.
Buck lifts Eddie up, his hands steady on Eddie’s hips, and takes his own cock, coating it with lube. He holds Eddie in place, letting the man set the pace as he lowers himself slowly. Buck’s hands caress Eddie’s thighs, feeling the muscles strain as Eddie takes him inch by inch.
“Just drop down, baby,” Buck says, his voice rough with need.
Eddie rolls his eyes, his breath hitching. “You’re big, Buck. It’s not easy.”
Buck laughs, his hands gripping Eddie’s ass. “I’m big,” he repeats, his tone impish.
Eddie looks down at him, still hovering, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, with a determined glare, he slams himself down, taking Buck in one swift motion. Buck forces his eyes to stay open, wanting to see every flicker of emotion on Eddie’s face, the way he bites his lip, the way his eyes flutter shut, the little wince of pain that makes everything sweeter.
“So you think I’m big,” Buck repeats, his voice teasing.
Eddie chuckles, his hands resting on Buck’s shoulders. “I also think you’re an idiot,” he says, his voice fond but exasperated.
Buck massages Eddie’s ass, his touch soothing. “But…” he starts, his lips brushing Eddie’s jaw. “Your idiot, right?”
Eddie’s laugh is soft, his eyes warm as he looks down at Buck. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady. “My idiot.” Eddie agrees, his voice rough and possessive. He grabs Buck’s head, pulling him into a deep, searing kiss.
Buck is still holding Eddie in place, his hands firm on Eddie’s hips as they move together, shallow thrusts that make Eddie moan into Buck’s mouth. The taste of Eddie is intoxicating, and Buck can’t get enough. He picks Eddie up and brings him down hard, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.
“Fuck, Buck,” Eddie gasps, his hands gripping Buck’s shoulders.
“Yes, that’s the plan,” Buck says, his voice low and teasing. He starts slamming into Eddie properly now, the angle deeper than his fingers have ever been. When Buck pulls back to look into Eddie’s mesmerizing eyes, he sees the little frown of pain there, the way Eddie’s breath hitches.
“Okay, baby?” Buck asks, his voice soft but urgent.
“Yes, Buck,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “Yes, good.”
Eddie moves his hips in time with Buck, their bodies syncing perfectly. One of Buck’s hands grips the back of the couch for leverage, while the other snakes around Eddie’s lower back, holding him steady. Eddie settles a hand on top of Buck’s, their fingers intertwining, squeezing.
“Buck,” Eddie whispers, his voice trembling.
Buck responds by thrusting harder, faster, his hips snapping up to meet Eddie’s. Eddie’s moans grow louder, his body trembling as he rides Buck with abandon. Buck gets lost in it –the grunts and groans, the moans and sweet sighs, the strength of Eddie’s fingers holding his own.
Buck loves it.
Buck loves him.
He bites Eddie’s shoulder, the skin breaking almost immediately under his teeth. The metallic tang of blood floods his mouth, and Buck comes, deep inside Eddie. He keeps his mouth on Eddie’s shoulder, lapping at the blood like a man starved, as he grabs Eddie’s cock and pumps him hard and fast, like he’s in a fight. Eddie comes with a cry, his hips faltering as he spills over Buck’s hand and stomach.
Buck finally releases Eddie’s shoulder, staring at the mark he’s left, the indents of his teeth where the skin didn’t break, the three small points where he bit too hard and drew blood. He licks the blood away even as it’s already stopped flowing, his lips brushing against Eddie’s chest as he smiles.
“Baby?” Buck asks after a moment, still inside Eddie, the mess between them already cooling.
“One second,” Eddie pleads, his voice breathless. “Just a… small second.”
Buck chuckles, untangling their hands after kissing Eddie’s knuckles. He snakes his arms around Eddie and, with all his willpower, lifts them both off the couch. He feels himself slipping out of Eddie, and both of them hiss at the sensation.
“No fucking way you’re carrying me to bed after sex,” Eddie mutters against Buck’s skin, his voice muffled but amused.
Buck snorts, adjusting his grip. “You’re my princess now,” he says, laying Eddie down on the bed. “Mine.”
“Yes, yes,” Eddie agrees, his voice soft and fond.
Buck heads to the bathroom, not caring about the mess on the couch. He’d like to take a shower before they sleep, but he can wait a moment while Eddie recovers enough strength for them to clean up together. He cleans himself up quickly, wetting a towel so Eddie can rest without the mess on his skin until they shower.
Eddie lies on his stomach, one arm slung over Buck’s waist, his face buried in a pillow. His breathing is slow, even, the warmth of his body seeping into Buck’s side. Buck wakes first, blinking lazily at the ceiling, his body heavy with satisfaction. Eddie’s breath is warm against his shoulder, his bare back rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Buck traces the bite mark on Eddie’s shoulder, now a growing bruise with three small scabs. Mine , he thinks, pride and guilt warring in his chest. He knows it’s possessive, maybe a little too much, but he can’t help it. Eddie’s his in a way that feels both new and inevitable, like they’ve been orbiting each other and finally crashed together.
Eddie stirs, mumbling into the pillow. “Stop staring.”
Buck smirks, his fingers still brushing over the mark. “You don’t know I’m staring.”
“You are always staring,” Eddie lifts his head, squinting at him like he’s trying to focus through a haze of sleep. His hair is a disaster, his stubble darker than yesterday, and Buck’s chest tightens at the sight. Eddie Diaz, undefeated in the cage and utterly defenseless in the morning light.
“Guilty,” Buck says, leaning in to kiss the corner of Eddie’s mouth. His lips linger, savoring the warmth of Eddie’s skin.
Eddie grunts, rolling onto his back and stretching like a cat. The sheets pool at his hips, revealing the constellation of bruises Buck left on his chest. “Coffee,” he demands, his voice gravelly with sleep.
Buck laughs, sitting up and running a hand through his own messy hair. “Demanding princess.”
Eddie kicks him weakly, his foot connecting with Buck’s thigh. “You bit me. Coffee is reparations.”
“Fair enough,” Buck says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He pads to the kitchen in sweatpants, the cool floor grounding him as he starts the coffee maker. Eddie follows, shirtless and sipping orange juice straight from the carton. The silence between them is easy, punctuated by the gurgle of the coffee maker and the distant hum of traffic outside.
Eddie’s eyes linger on Buck’s back, the muscles shifting as he reaches for mugs. “Chris texted,” he says suddenly, holding up his phone. “Asked if you’re coming to his science fair.”
Buck freezes, the mug in his hand hovering mid-air. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, tentative, like he’s afraid to hope.
“Yeah.” Eddie sets down the carton, his gaze steady. “Told him you’d be there.”
Buck turns, leaning against the counter. “You don’t ask. You just… decide?”
Eddie steps closer, stealing the mug from Buck’s hand. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re stuck with the glitter lava. Also,” he adds, his tone softening, “the school is public enough for you to meet him there. You keep saying I’m yours, and I want to be, but that means you’re mine too. And I come with a package…”
Buck’s throat tightens. Boyfriend. The word feels too big, too bright, like sunlight after years in the dark. He swallows hard, his voice rough when he speaks. “I’m in for the whole package.”
Eddie smirks, sipping the coffee. “And you’re making pancakes.”
“Am I?” Buck raises an eyebrow, feigning indignation.
“Yes.” Eddie uses a single finger to tap the bite mark on his shoulder, his grin unrepentant. “Work smarter, not harder.”
Buck snorts but doesn’t argue. He makes the pancakes, partly because Eddie is apparently useless in the kitchen, though he does enjoy watching Buck and telling him what he wants so Buck makes the pancakes… but also because every time he looks at Eddie, he sees the faint, old motteen marks of his belt, and he doesn’t feel bad, not at all, but he does feel like Eddie deserves the whole world for being so perfect to him, and if Buck can start with pancakes, he will.
Eventually, they’re lying on the sofa, Eddie sprawled on top of Buck like a human weighted blanket. The squeaky leather protests under their combined weight, but the fleece cover offers a little bit of comfort. Buck’s fingers card through Eddie’s hair, his other arm wrapped around his waist, when Eddie’s phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Buck can see the screen from his angle, Pepa in bold letters. Eddie sighs before answering.
“Hi, tía,” Eddie greets, his voice soft and warm. He’s still propped against Buck, who doesn’t stop playing with his hair as the voice of a woman comes through the speaker. Buck doesn’t try to understand the rapid-fire English-Spanish, but he catches the word novio and feels his chest swell.
“Yes, I’m still at my boyfriend’s,” Eddie says, and Buck kisses the top of his head for it, earning a playful pinch to his arm. “Okay, I’ll be there in thirty. Bye, tía. Thank you.”
“You have to go,” Buck says, his voice tinged with reluctance.
“Yeah,” Eddie replies, sitting up. He looks down at Buck, his eyes soft. “Kiss?”
“Yes,” Buck agrees, pulling him in. The kiss is slow and lingering, sweet , like they’ve got all the time in the world, even though they don’t. A minute later, Eddie is sitting up, searching for his clothes, which Buck had folded and left on the table in the bedroom.
Buck stays on the couch, staring at the ceiling, until Eddie returns, dressed and carrying his shoes. “Were you serious about Chris’ thing?” Buck asks, his voice casual but his chest tight with anticipation.
Eddie looks up from tying his laces, his expression serious. “Of course. I can’t call you my boyfriend, spend nights at your place, and not have you meet my son.”
Buck nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let me know the details later, then.”
“Sure,” Eddie says, standing and grabbing his keys. He kisses Buck one last time before heading to the door. Buck follows, leaning against the frame as Eddie steps into the hallway.
“Let me know when you get home,” Buck calls after him.
Eddie turns, his smile teasing. “So domestic.”
Buck laughs, shaking his head as the elevator doors close on Eddie’s face. He stands there for a moment, the apartment suddenly too quiet, before heading back inside. The remnants of their morning –empty mugs, syrup-stained plates– are scattered across the counter. Buck starts cleaning up, a smile playing on his lips. Domestic, maybe.
But it feels like the start of something real.
The elementary school cafeteria smells like burnt microwave popcorn and poster board glue. Buck shifts his weight from foot to foot near the "Geology Rocks!" banner, his leather boots squeaking against a diorama of Mars. He sees Eddie almost immediately, from across the room. Eddie is kneeling beside a sparkly volcano, adjusting a tiny lab coat on the most serious-looking six-year-old Buck’s ever seen, also the most adorable. Not that Buck’s seen many children before now, but Chris is Eddie’s, and anything that belongs to Eddie is beautiful. Buck included, he thinks, smirking to himself as he steps closer.
"Okay, mijo ," Eddie says, tapping the plastic goggles slipping down Chris’ nose. "Remember, safety goggles stay on until we are done filming. And if the glitter clogs the tubing again..."
"Use the chopstick gently," Chris recites, adjusting his tiny clip-on tie. "I know, Dad."
Buck’s chest does something alarming; he takes a deep breath and tries to move forward, but it feels worse than holding a gun and going blind into a fight. He’s about to retreat when Eddie spots him.
"Buck! Over here." Eddie’s smile crinkles the fading bruise on his cheek. "Chris, this is the friend I told you about."
Chris peers up through fogged goggles. "You’re tall. Do you do science?"
"Uh..." Buck crouches until they’re eye-level. "I’m more of a... hands-on experiment guy."
Chris considers this. "Like when Daddy mixed bleach and vinegar by accident?"
"Exactly." Buck taps the volcano’s papier-mâché slope. "I can also make a boiled egg fit inside a glass bottle..." He looks at Chris with a smile when the boy stares unimpressed at him. "...without cutting it."
Chris’ eyes light up with an interested glint. "Can you show me?"
Eddie chuckles, and because Buck knows these things now, he can see that Eddie is a lot more relaxed now that Chris and Buck seem to be getting along. "Do you have a boiled egg in your lab coat?" Eddie teases.
"No," Chris says, sounding both sad and angry about it at the same time. Buck feels the need to make him happy again, he’s such a sweet-looking kid.
"I– I can show you another time?" Buck promises immediately, and Eddie snorts behind Chris, mimicking a whip.
He probably means that Buck is already being manipulated by a six-year-old five minutes after meeting the child, but Buck immediately looks down at Eddie’s chest. It’s been almost two months since Buck hit Eddie with the belt. The last time they slept together, three days ago, Buck had sunk his teeth into Eddie’s thigh and paid for it in the morning with a freshly baked cake because Eddie wanted it, and Buck had to give it to him because Eddie said so.
Eddie blushes furiously and looks at Chris pointedly.
"After the experiment?" Chris asks, and Buck blinks down at him before looking at Eddie. Eddie shrugs, and Buck shakes his head, grinning. Eddie rolls his eyes.
"Of course, buddy!" Buck says finally, and Eddie smiles. "So, tell me about this awesome volcano."
"Ms. Rodriguez says knowledge is our lava of growth," Chris explains, frowning at Buck’s snort. "It’s not funny. Real lava is 2,200°F!" Chris stumbles over his words just a little, and it makes Buck smile.
Eddie hides a smile behind his phone. "Show him the control panel," he says, stepping closer to Buck. Buck has to resist the urge to touch the man in a way that the PTA moms wouldn’t approve of. "We built it together," Eddie tells him proudly.
"Together?" Buck confirms.
Eddie blinks and steals a kiss from Buck’s cheek. "He watched the YouTube video," he admits with a grin.
Buck smiles brightly and touches Eddie’s hand quickly as Chris gets behind his little table.
"When I press the button..." Chris flips a switch made from LEGOs, and a red LED light pulses inside the volcano. "We should see how the lava moves."
Nothing happens.
Eddie checks the tubing with a frown. Buck doesn’t laugh because he’s been in Chris’ place before. He knows how it feels to have someone treat his failures as a laughing matter. After a few tweaks from Eddie, the volcano erupts with a wet glorp. Glitter-slime arcs over Buck’s head, splattering a nearby "Solar System Cupcakes" display. Chris whoops as pink ooze drips down Buck’s shirt.
Chris beams. "You look like unicorn poop!" he points out with a laugh.
Eddie’s halfway through an apology when Buck scoops glitter from his collar and flicks it at Chris. "Oh yeah? Well, you look like what a disco ball would throw up!"
Chris’ shocked giggle makes the PTA moms glare. Eddie watches them wrestle over gooey LEGOs, something soft and painful in his eyes. Buck doesn’t notice until Chris smears glitter on his face. Buck smiles at him.
"So, you’re still Dad’s boyfriend?" Chris whispers later, while Eddie mops the floor.
"I am," Buck says, using wet paper towels to clean Chris up. After five different explosions –only the last two didn’t end up on other kids’ presentations– Buck now has a lot of pictures with a grinning Chris and a beaming Eddie. His favorite is the one he’ll be making in his background as soon as he’s home: a selfie with Chris in Eddie’s arms, where Eddie was kissing Buck’s face. "Are you okay with this?"
"I like it," Chris says, smiling. "But I think it’s unfair."
"Unfair?" Buck asks, adjusting the boy’s crooked glasses.
"Dad said you had pancakes," Chris says, an adorable frown on his face that is absolutely Eddie. "But pancakes are my favorite," he explains, and Buck laughs.
"Well," Buck looks back at Eddie, who has finished the floor and is putting Chris’ things away. "If we pester your dad enough, I bet we can get breakfast for dinner today."
"Yeah?" Chris looks at him like Buck is a wonder.
"Yeah," Buck says, offering Chris his fist for a fist bump. "We can do this." Chris bumps it with a little laugh, and later that night, after the egg trick, he gets his pancakes.
“We’re about a week away from submissions being due for the Hot Days, Smoldering Nights: Men of the LAFD wall calendar,” Buck tells them, reading his email on his phone.
Buck can’t possibly enter his picture into the firefighter calendar. Mostly because there would be a whole photoshoot with other firefighters, and he wouldn’t be able to pick the day. He’d have to stop fighting for months to make sure he wasn’t bruised during the photos. He thinks about it for a second and lets it go.
Hen groans. “Do you really need to use that whole title? You could just say, ‘that idiotic, reductive, sexist calendar that insults the dignity of this organization and furthers the myth that all firefighters are male.’”
“Yeah, that’s not any fewer words,” Buck points out, laughing.
“Hen, come on, it’s for charity,” Bobby says placatingly.
“No. Bobby, you too?” Hen hisses.
“Well, why not? They say a man is at his sexiest when he reaches 50.”
“Is that what they say?” Buck teases, looking Bobby up and down with an exaggerated smirk. The captain just snorts. “That’s what they say?”
“Okay, you’re both wrong,” Chimney interjects as they get back into the bay. “I think it’s high time for sorority houses everywhere to have a new Asian sex symbol on their walls. It’s our time!”
“I think it’s great,” Buck agrees softly but Hen snorts.
“What, you don’t think I can do it?” Chim asks, not sounding angry, just a little insecure.
“Did I say that?” Hen replies. “I mean, sure, let’s be real. They’re only picking one candidate from each station.”
“Woah,” Chim stops when they get close to the changing area. “Now that’s a beautiful man.”
Buck rolls his eyes. Chim is probably wrong anyway; the most beautiful man Buck has ever seen is Eddie, and so far, nobody even comes close… Well, maybe Ryan Guzman, but only because he’s a damn good dancer. So when Buck looks up, he doesn’t expect the immediate wave of lust to hit him as he sees the man pulling a shirt down. It only does because he knows that body –he knows those scars, those bruises. He knows it intimately.
“Where’s the lie?” Hen comments, enchanted. “And I like girls.”
Eddie finishes putting his shirt on – his LAFD uniform shi rt– and they’re still staring.
“That’s Eddie Diaz,” Bobby says proudly, a beaming smile on his face. “New recruit. Graduated top of his class just this week, the guys over at Station Six were dying to have him, but I convinced him to join us.” He pauses, clearly savoring the moment. “He served multiple tours in Afghanistan as an Army medic, guy’s got a Silver Star. Come on, I’ll introduce you to him. He likes to be called Eight Pack.”
Buck snorts as Eddie leaves the room and comes in their direction. “No, he doesn’t.”
Hen blinks, looking from Eddie, who is now staring at Buck with a confused but appreciative smile, to Buck, who is just standing there, amazed. “That’s Eddie?” she exclaims. “ Your Eddie?”
The words your Eddie sound so damn good that Buck can’t help but grin. “Well,” he starts, and Chim gasps.
“Wait, your Eddie?” Chim repeats incredulously. “Eddie like ‘I want to lick the blood off his skin’ Eddie?”
Bobby flushes. “Chim!”
“You told them that?” Eddie asks. He doesn’t look angry, but his face is a little closed off.
“No!” Buck exclaims. “No…” He pauses as nobody else speaks. “It was before we started dating.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “When?”
“The first time we met?” Buck admits shamelessly. “It was a good look on you.”
“You were only interested because I lasted longer than the others,” Eddie says plainly.
“And you looked very hot doing it,” Buck promises before turning to Bobby. “Is this going to be a problem?”
Bobby sighs, looking from one to the other. “Not yet. There are a couple of papers you need to sign, and we’ll see how well you work together before making any drastic choices.”
Buck smiles, his confidence unshaken. “It’s going to be great, Cap.”
Eddie steps closer, his smirk widening. “Yeah, it’s going to be great ,” he echoes, his tone dripping with sarcasm. But there’s a glint in his eyes that tells Buck he’s just as excited about this new chapter as Buck is.
Hen shakes her head, muttering something about “workplace romances” and “HR nightmares,” but Buck doesn’t care. He’s too busy staring at Eddie, who’s now standing in the middle of the firehouse bay, looking every bit the hero Buck knows he is.
Chimney claps Buck on the shoulder. “Well, at least we know who’s winning the calendar contest this year.”
Buck laughs, his eyes never leaving Eddie. “Yeah, but I’m not sharing him.”