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Eddie wakes first.
It takes a second for him to register where he is. He’s being dragged slowly into consciousness, his whole body relaxed and sleep-warm. That’s— okay , that’s inaccurate, he feels hot . His cheeks feel flushed, skin prickling, like his body is overheating.
At first, he blames it on the close proximity. There’s a body close, pressed against him, an arm slung over his waist. Eddie runs hot during the night, and the body pressed against him also feels flushed with warmth.
But then he feels it—
The unmistakable, clingy stickiness.
The front of his briefs is soaked through. His thighs feel damp too, like it’s spread through the front of his sweatpants. It’s not just damp—it’s wet . It’s warm. It’s—
Holy fuck.
Eddie freezes.
He doesn’t move an inch, afraid that any movement might draw attention to the fact that he’s just— yeah. Cum in his underwear, in his sleep, like a fucking teenager. He didn’t even have this happen often when he was younger. This is insane. He knew he was pent up, but he didn’t know he was pent up enough to end up having a full-on wet dream in a bed that is not even his.
But.
It’s worse than that. Because Buck is here, pressed against him. Their hips slotted close. And Eddie’s hand is— fuck . His hand’s resting in the crook of Buck’s waist, dangerously close to—
Eddie swallows thickly.
He should pull back. He’s desperate to create distance, to get up and go clean himself off, to pretend that none of this ever happened, but he can’t seem to move a muscle. Eddie’s heart is pounding violently in his chest, his skin burning, and there’s a part of him—a traitorous , electric part of him—that likes this.
And then Buck shifts in his sleep, makes a soft, breathy sound. The arm around Eddie tightens, just a little, fingertips skimming across the skin of his bare back.
Eddie’s eyes fly open.
Buck’s face is right there, warm and peaceful, cheeks aflame with a warm, bright pink.
Then, another twitch of Buck’s hips, a stuttered, quiet, oversensitive noise escaping Buck’s throat.
Buck’s lashes flutter, then after a few slow blinks, he catches Eddie staring at him. Eyes suddenly opened, boring into Eddie’s. His body goes suddenly, visibly , still. Everything seems to register at once, and then suddenly Buck jerks back like he’s been burned.
He nearly falls off the bed, but Eddie reaches a hand out, twisting his hand into the fabric of Buck’s shirt, gripping tight so Buck doesn’t pitch himself off the side and concuss himself on his own timber floors.
“ Oh — Eddie—” Buck’s voice is thick and trembling, eyes saucer-wide. “Jesus. I’m so … Eddie— Oh god. I’m so sorry.”
Once Buck has shifted slightly more onto the mattress, but still as far away as humanly possible from Eddie, Eddie retracts his hand.
Eddie props himself onto his elbow, trying to school his expression into something casual. He can be calm. Buck needs him to be calm. He’s not— he’s not turned on. He’s not.
“I didn’t— I’m sorry.” Buck mumbles, quiet and guilt-ridden.
Buck is trying to avoid his gaze now.
Eddie chases it, tilting his head to catch Buck’s eyes, voice soft as he says, “Whoa, hey.”
It’s the kind of tone you’d use with a spooked animal—gentle, grounding, like it’s trying not to crowd you.
“Buck, seriously—listen to me. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not ,” Buck says, hand flying up like he’s about to start tearing his own hair out. “We–I– I didn’t — This is– God, I’m so sorry.”
“Buck.”
“Jesus Christ, I– I humped you— I didn’t even … Eddie. I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t—” Eddie tries to interject, but is promptly cut off.
“I came on you. I came on you. I don’t even— I can stay somewhere else. I’ll get a hotel. I can quarantine on my own. Or I’ll move to Canada, or— or Mexico, that’s closer, right? I need to get over some sort of border. That feels appropriate—”
“ Buck ,” Eddie says, sharper this time, but not unkind. Slicing knife-sharp through Buck’s spiral.
Buck’s breath hitches, but he does pause. Eddie hadn’t even realised that Buck had cum. He’d thought all the wet stickiness had been his . That— somehow makes him feel better. Less guilty. Less weighed down by heavy shame. He thought he’d just gotten off against Buck, hurtled to orgasm by his own dream and a warm body beside him, but this– they're on even footing.
Buck’s eyes are wide, wild with guilt, like he’s waiting for Eddie to scold him. He’s still waiting for Eddie to kick him to the curb for this.
Eddie exhales a breath through his nose, then, keeping his tone as even as he can manage, “It’s not a big deal.”
Buck blinks at him.
Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He pauses for a second. Then another. Then
another
.
“Not a— what ?”
“I said it’s fine, Buck.”
“Eddie, you’re covered in—we—”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Eddie cuts in dryly, trying to sound more like himself than he feels. He feels insane. He's holding it together for Buck’s sake, but inside, he's spiralling. Buck came. Buck came so much that it’s on Eddie. “Still not a big deal, bud.”
Buck is staring like he’s never seen Eddie before. His eyes drop to the front of Eddie’s sweatpants and then his own, both visibly soaked through. Eddie follows the glance but looks away almost instantly like the sight burns.
Buck’s crotch is even more soaked than Eddie’s is. How did he cum that much? There’s just so much —
“Eddie, I– are you kidding?” Buck is still going. Eddie expected as much. Sometimes it takes a few reminders that everything’s okay for Buck to cool off. ”You’re telling me you’re not completely freaked out by this? By—”
Eddie is completely freaked out by this. Just not in the way Buck is thinking. Just in a way that Buck can never know about.
Eddie can’t even think about how much he’s freaking out, or he’ll think about the fact that the cum on the front of his sweats mostly isn’t his , but instead is Buck’s . He’ll have to think about Buck’s cum. About Buck’s dick. About Buck, heavy breathing, moaning, face screwed up, mid-orgasm—
“I’m telling you,” Eddie says, locking eyes with him again, “that I’m not uncomfortable. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were both asleep. This kind of thing happens sometimes.”
“To who ?” Buck blurts out. “Who the hell does that happen to?”
Eddie shrugs. “Us, apparently.”
Buck groans, throwing himself onto his back and dragging his pillow over his face. He looks like he wants to smother himself. Eddie’s only mostly sure he’s not actually going to try.
And Eddie, whose dick is only just now softening in his pants, who woke up and was hit with such intense arousal that he could barely fucking breathe, keeps his voice completely level as he adds, “It’s okay, Buck. You’re not staying anywhere else. You’re not moving to Mexico. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Eddie just has to not think about it. He can’t think about it.
Buck doesn’t budge. Eddie sighs, nudging Buck’s shin with his foot. “Buck, it’s fine. We’ve been sharing a bed for weeks now, man. We’re … pent up. It was bound to happen at some point. Seriously, don’t worry about it. We’re good.”
Buck lifts the pillow slightly, peeking out from under it. “You’re sure ?”
“Buck,” Eddie starts, feeling warmth deepen on his cheeks. He swallows hard. “You’re not the only one who—” He clears his throat, glancing down. He can’t finish the sentence. “So, if anyone was to blame, it’d be both of us. But it’s fine . So, we can keep sharing the bed. It’s not a big deal.”
Eddie’s embarrassment comes second to soothing Buck’s anxiety.
Buck, for a long moment, stares. He looks like he’s searching Eddie’s face for any sign of disgust, judgment, hate, anything.
Eddie doesn’t feel any of it. He smiles at him, soft and hopefully reassuring.
Buck seems somewhat soothed by that. He nods slowly. “...Okay.”
Things would’ve been fine if Eddie just didn’t think about it.
If he could forget about it and move on with his life like it never happened, everything would be totally fine. There’s just one small problem:
Eddie has been thinking about it.
Constantly. It’s infiltrated his every thought. He physically cannot stop thinking about it.
Eddie has been trying to live his normal, heterosexual, mundane life, but he’s haunted . Not by Buck, never by Buck. But by Buck’s— okay, it sounds ridiculous, but by Buck’s dick.
He’d only gotten a glimpse of the outline of Buck’s dick for a fleeting second, so Eddie’s not really sure how he’s managed to be haunted by the image of it. It feels burned into the back of his eyelids.
He’d still been hard, Eddie had noticed, even as they both rolled out of bed to deal with their own respective … situations. Buck insisted that Eddie get into the shower first and that Buck would sort himself out, then he’d start on making them breakfast as an apology. Eddie had tried to argue—insisted it wasn’t necessary, that Buck didn’t even need to be sorry—but Buck had practically shoved him into the bathroom, so he’d caved.
He was starting to feel the cum drying over his dick and stomach in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant.
The cum. That’s also haunting him. Not his own cum, he could’ve moved on from that, but he can’t stop thinking about Buck grinding against him in the early hours of the morning to the point where he came that much. He must’ve cum hard , right? Eddie’s never cum that much, not even close.
Or maybe it’d been a lot of pre-cum. Buck had mentioned once, offhandedly, about how wet he gets during sex.
Eddie hadn’t fully believed him, surely it was a normal amount, but this morning, Buck had … he’d made a mess .
And Eddie would like to stop thinking about that mess. He just can’t.
He spends their entire shift thinking about it. At some point, right as they return from a call, Buck grabs Eddie’s bicep and tugs him into the locker room. Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed and panicked, thinking somehow Buck has read his mind and knows that Eddie, certified heterosexual, has been fantasising about his best friend’s dick for hours on end.
Buck shuts the door behind them and turns back to Eddie, who is trying to come up with some sort of excuse or reasoning behind his line of thinking, but he’s coming up blank. Completely blank. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking about it. He doesn’t know why he’s just so curious about what turned Buck on so much. Was it just having a warm body there? Is he that pent-up? Does Buck need more alone time? Does Buck like men?
Buck tugs his mask down, and Eddie catches his eyes focusing intently on Buck’s lips for too long and forces himself to look Buck in the eye.
“Eddie, okay, I’ve let it go for like ten hours, but you’re driving me crazy here,” Buck says, crowding in close to Eddie’s space.
Eddie feels caught. He’s a cornered animal, his whole body tensing under the proximity.
“Are you mad at me about earlier? I-I thought you said everything was okay. You haven’t looked at me since we got to work, man. You’ve been sitting like a foot away from me on the couch. Earlier, I grazed your arm moving past you, and you jumped out of your skin. You gotta…” Buck’s hands are moving as he talks, but they pause then, his face caught looking somewhere between hurt and scared .
“Can you just tell me if you’re mad about it? Please.”
Oh.
Eddie’s shoulders relax. He exhales, tugging his own mask down to reveal his mouth.
“Buck, I’m not … ” Eddie begins, but gets caught, trying to think of a way to describe how he’s actually feeling. He can’t tell him the truth. The truth is not an option here. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not. I said it was fine, and I meant it.”
Buck doesn’t seem convinced.
His brow is still furrowed, his brain clearly still grinding through the thoughts that Eddie is mad at him, that Eddie wants him to leave, and Eddie knows that. He can’t let Buck linger in that feeling.
He lifts a hand, pressing it to the same spot he always does, his thumb against the top of Buck’s collarbone, his fingers curled around his shoulder.
“Buck, we’re good. I’m just having an off day.” Eddie assures him, squeezing it gently.
Buck sags a little under the reassurance or the touch, Eddie’s not sure which. Eddie smiles at him gently, hoping it can ease him a little more. It seems to. Buck’s hands drop down, and Eddie lets go of his shoulder.
Buck studies him for a beat, looking for something. Eddie’s not sure what. He doesn’t think Buck finds it, whatever it is.
“Okay,” Buck says, only a little reluctantly.
Things are more okay after that.
Eddie doesn’t stop having the thoughts, but he manages to muscle his way through them the rest of their shift, pretending like they’re not happening enough that Buck seems to be a lot more at ease about Eddie’s behaviour. He sits closer to Buck on the couch, but blushes the entire time. He looks at Buck, but when he does, his eyes drift, lower, lower, lower —
He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He’s never felt like this before. He’s never even craved sex with women, not that he’s— he’s not craving sex with Buck. That would be insane. Eddie’s straight. And Buck is, too! They’re just two straight dudes. Two heterosexual best guy friends.
Eddie’s just … he’s intrigued, maybe. Fascinated. It’s a weird thing that’s happened; he thinks he’s allowed to be a little caught up on it.
He can’t get in trouble for having thoughts, right?
Is thinking about dick a sin?
He’s not sure. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention in church.
By the time they get back, Hen and Chimney, despite being just as dead tired as Buck and Eddie are, decide to go on a walk instead of setting themselves up in Buck’s living room, where they’ve been camped out since they all started quarantining together.
Buck is dragging himself up the stairs, the second they’re through the door. Eddie trails behind him, his eyelids feel weighted, drooping heavily with each step he takes closer to the room. As they reach the bedroom, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick Miss you, mijo to Chris, knowing he probably won’t see it for a few hours—but it eases something in Eddie to send it anyway.
He misses his kid. He tries not to linger on the feeling too much; they’re at a distance to keep him safe, which soothes him to a degree, but doesn’t stop Eddie from feeling like he’s missing a limb.
Buck and Eddie move around in silence, both of them stripping down and changing with their backs turned to each other. It’s not weird, they’re best friends, plus, they’re not looking. They never look.
Eddie— he has a very brief second of wanting to look, but he doesn’t. He stares very purposefully ahead at the white wall in front of him. If Eddie knows how to do anything, it’s to restrain himself from doing what he really wants.
Buck hits the bed first, flopping down with a soft oof and lying flat on his back. Eddie crawls in after he gets a loose, soft sleep shirt over his head. He curls up at the edge of the bed, exhaling quietly as his aching body melts against the sheets.
“Night, Eddie.” Buck mumbles, despite the fact that it’s just after midday.
“Night,” Eddie answers, letting his eyes drift closed and his brain drift to sleep.
Eddie wakes up much earlier than he intended to.
When he glances toward the large windows spanning the wall of Buck’s loft, the sun is barely starting to set. He’d hoped to get at least eight hours, but it turns out that was a pipe dream. He rolls over, still covered by the plush blankets on the bed, and is met face-to-face with Buck’s sleeping, soft face.
Buck’s shifting, though, just a little in his sleep.
Fuck.
Eddie should get up and go for a walk. He should go take a cold, cold shower. Eddie looks down at his own dick—his traitorous , half-hard dick— and sighs. Buck makes a gentle snuffling noise next to him, and Eddie’s gaze flickers up.
Buck is rolling his hips gently, breathing evenly, his cheeks faintly pink. Eddie stares at his face for a long minute, just watching, pondering, thinking. Buck’s body is seeking friction. It’s not— it’s not a big deal to help him out, right?
Eddie shuffles closer, putting his body almost flush against Buck’s. It’s close enough that on the next roll, Buck’s hard dick grinds against his. Buck’s breath stumbles, and Eddie freezes up, waiting for Buck to wake up and catch him.
His eyes don’t open, and Buck starts breathing evenly again. Eddie lets himself exhale as quietly as possible before bringing his hand up to press it over his mouth. He’s never been loud during sex, but he doesn’t want to breathe too hard on Buck’s face and wake him up.
Eddie’s not— he’s not doing anything wrong. He’s not doing anything. He keeps perfectly still, and he just… he lets Buck’s body react to the closeness on its own. Buck’s snuffling has softened into even, gentle breathing, but it remains even. He’d never realised how much of a heavy sleeper Buck was, but he’s– he’s learning it now.
Buck’s body does react. He shifts closer, pressing their hips flush together, and grinds his dick hard against Eddie’s. Eddie can feel just how hard Buck is; he can feel every aching inch of Buck’s cock against his.
Buck is… he’s wet .
He hasn’t cum, but when Buck’s hips pull back, Eddie can see a wet patch forming on the front of his sweatpants.
Then, his hips roll forward again, rutting against him with the same unconscious need. Eddie doesn’t move a muscle. His dick is fully hard now, and Eddie wonders what it would feel like if the layers of clothing weren’t in the way. He wonders how it would feel with Buck’s slick cock pressed up against his, one of their hands wrapped around both of them, jerking them off slow. It’s not gay to think about, not when it’s only prompted by a physical reaction his body is having to what’s happening.
It’s not gay .
It’s just been a while since someone else has touched his dick directly. It’d be nice. A warm, soft hand wrapped around his flushed, hard cock. Jerking him off with a firm, but sweet touch. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed. Each grind feels more and more like direct touch, like the real feeling that he’s craving.
His breath stutters against his hand, a small gasp escaping him as Buck’s hand lifts, curling around Eddie’s hip and pulling him closer. His eyes fly open, but he’s just met with Buck’s sleeping face, breathing quietly, brow pinched a little in pleasure.
Buck’s lips are parted, just a little, just enough to make Eddie think about how soft his lips are, how nice they’d feel wrapped around Eddie’s fingers, how hot they’d feel around his cock. The pace of Eddie’s breathing increases, his dick twitching in his pants as he uses all the self-restraint he has to keep himself frozen in place, just a warm, needy body for Buck to rut against in his sleep.
It’s not bad if he’s just helping Buck out. It’s fine .
A couple of minutes pass, and Eddie is teetering on the edge. The hand on his hip tightens suddenly, a quiet gasp falling from Buck’s mouth, but Eddie watches him closely, and he’s still asleep. Fuck.
Buck is going to cum.
Eddie presses his hand harder over his mouth, a quiet, desperate sound muffled against his palm. Buck whines in his sleep, hips speeding up, moving in an unsteady rhythm—chasing it.
His thumb traces lightly over Eddie’s hip bone, dipping just beneath the waistband. Eddie’s hips jerk forward, pressing into it, for the first time since he shifted closer.
And then he’s gone.
He whimpers into his hand, eyes screwed shut, as Buck grinds him through it. He cums harder than he can ever remember—his thighs trembling, his whole body shaking.
Buck moans—soft, breathy. He grinds once, twice, then follows Eddie over the edge.
The grip on Eddie’s hip loosens suddenly, but the thumb smooths over his skin just once more, like it’s trying to memorise the dip of the V of his hips. Eddie shudders underneath it.
Buck curls forward then, loose and blissed out, draping his arm over Eddie’s middle and pulling him closer in his sleep.
If Eddie tries to move, there’s no way that he doesn’t wake Buck up, not with how firm the hold around him is.
He doesn’t try. He shifts his hips a little so that his oversensitive, softening dick isn’t pressed right against Buck’s still -hard dick, and lets his body relax under the comfort and closeness.
He drops his hand onto the pillow, only briefly entertaining the thought of pressing it to Buck’s cheek—just to see if his skin feels as warm as his deep blush makes him look.
He wants to touch Buck’s face so badly it makes his knuckles ache.
But he doesn’t.
He can’t.
He’s going to regret ignoring the stickiness in both of their underwear in the morning when he wakes up feeling dried cum and sweat against his skin, but he doesn’t yet, so he lets his eyes fall closed.
With Buck’s arm around him, Eddie falls asleep quicker and easier than he has in years.
Eddie doesn’t mean for it to keep happening.
The first time, Eddie hadn’t even been awake for it.
The second time, he’d woken up by accident and let Buck get off against him.
The third time, Eddie had waited for Buck to fall asleep. Just to see if Buck needed it. He’s looking out for him if anything. Buck is clearly pent up if every night he’s grinding against the body next to him, desperate to get off, desperate to make a mess .
Eddie just … he lets him. Through some of it, Eddie even tries to think about things other than Buck. He tries to think about someone else’s hand gripping his hip, someone else’s mouth breathing heavy against Eddie’s.
There’s nothing wrong with that, right? There’s nothing wrong with the fact that Buck was thrusting into the air at first, and Eddie had to gently nudge him further onto his side so that their hips could slot together properly. There was no way Buck was going to be able to get off like that. He’s just helping out his friend.
He stayed awake to make sure Buck could get off properly. That’s—there’s nothing wrong with that.
There’s nothing wrong with the fact that Eddie cums just as hard as he did last time, biting down on his own hand to muffle the moan clawing its way up his throat. When he finally pulls his hand away, the bite mark is so deep he’s nearly broken the skin—the bite just shy of leaving blood in the wake of his ecstasy.
It’s still not gay. It’s still not a big deal.
It’s not even a big deal in the morning when Buck and Eddie wake up at the same time, curled against each other and making awkward, lingering eye contact for a moment before laughing quietly, slowly untangling.
It’s almost a routine the way they slowly move apart, Buck moving to strip down and get changed, Eddie moving to climb into the shower to wash himself off. They don’t even talk about it past the first time.
The fourth time is almost identical. It just keeps happening. Eddie moves himself into place, and Buck’s body gets them both off, and then Eddie drifts back to sleep. Aside from the thirty minutes he’s awake in the middle of the night to let both of them get off, Eddie’s sleeping the best he has in years.
He’s also more relaxed than he’s been in a long, long time.
He’s never been the type of person who jerks off every day. He’s always been too busy. Even when he did jerk off, he’d do it as quickly as possible in the shower, almost mechanical, not really thinking about anything in particular, just trying to … get it over with. Sometimes he’d imagine someone sucking him off, but it was never anyone in particular, always just … a vague, wet, warm mouth wrapped around him.
When he lets Buck get him off, it feels… nice. It feels good . And no matter how hard he tries, Eddie finds he can’t think about anyone else. Only Buck.
He can’t even think about nothing, every moment that Buck’s hard dick is pressed against him, Eddie can only think about how much he wants it.
Which.
He’ll admit, very reluctantly, only to himself, is not the straightest thought he’s had.
It’s just the truth is becoming hard to deny. Even when he goes to work he’s stuck on it. He’s supposed to be working his fucking job , but he’s stuck thinking about how nice it’ll be to curl up next to Buck again, for them both to get to cum and for Eddie to fall asleep curled into Buck’s arms.
He can’t remember ever being held like that—held in a way that made him feel so small and secure. But every night so far, he’s drifted off feeling so safe it makes his chest ache.
He’s getting addicted to it. All of it. The routine. The intimacy. The touch. The Buck of it all.
And it’s been driving him insane.
Because he’s carrying a secret—one that not even the man sharing his bed can ever know. And it’s becoming the only thing he can think about.
Eddie’s trying to hide it the best he can, but he knows Buck has noticed he’s off. Buck keeps looking at him, a lingering side glance that Eddie keeps catching in his peripheral. He’s worried, and the only thing Eddie can do is keep assuring Buck he’s fine and try to act as normal as he possibly can.
When they’re driving home from work, Buck turns to him, both hands on the steering wheel, his index finger tapping nervously against the leather of it. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks eventually, breaking the silence.
Eddie has already answered that question three times in the last six hours. He glances over at Buck’s hand, his finger still tap, tap, tapping . “Yeah, Buck. I’m fine.” He says, again . “Just tired.”
Buck hums quietly like he doesn’t believe it, but he doesn’t push. He shoots Eddie a quick, concerned glance, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Buck is still sceptical. They fall back into silence, broken only by the hum of one of Buck’s playlists. Eddie stares down at his own hands for a moment, then pulls his phone out, scrolling aimlessly, more to look busy than anything else.
A few minutes later, he risks a glance to the side. His eyes catch on the fabric stretching over Buck’s thigh, the material straining to contain the muscle and softness beneath. It draws Eddie’s attention far more than he wants it to. His hand twitches.
He thinks about what it would feel like to rest his palm there. Just a simple touch, grounding. Reassuring. It would help— he knows it would. Mostly for him, maybe. But Buck does ease under a warm, well-placed touch. Eddie noticed that years ago.
Still, Eddie doesn’t move. The want to touch Buck sits sharp in his throat, heavy in his chest. He wonders, for the first time, how long it’s been there without him noticing—this quiet, hungry, aching want, lingering just beneath the surface of Eddie’s skin. He wonders how he got so numb to the pain till it was brought to his attention.
Eddie doesn’t mean for it to escalate.
The fifth time plays out the same as all the others. He positions himself so that Buck can grind against him easily, and Buck’s body, like always, instinctively takes over. It’s normal. It’s not— It’s not normal, but it’s become their normal.
But tonight, Buck is grinding in these slow, lazy circles, and Eddie is so fucking worked up he can’t help himself. Just once, to urge Buck on, he rolls his hips forward.
Buck’s hips stutter at the contact, but they don’t stop. If anything, the movement spurs Buck along. He’s so responsive, even like this.
Eddie flicks his gaze up to Buck’s face, concerned he’s dragged him toward consciousness. But— he looks the same as he always does. Mouth parted, eyes closed, features soft and unbothered.
Eddie thinks, just for a second, that it’d be nice to kiss him.
Buck has kissed a lot of girls. A lot . He must be good at it.
His lips— Jesus . They look soft. Warm. Like they’d fit perfectly against Eddie’s. The shape of them has been haunting him, the curve of his cupid's bow tempting Eddie in a way he can’t shake.
Eddie doesn’t know what takes over him. He’s just lost in it— the rhythm, the feel of Buck grinding against him, the slow build of friction that’s finally actually getting them somewhere.
So Eddie moves with him. Hips rolling forward in time, chasing the sensation, meeting Buck in the middle.
Then —
His hand lifts.
He wants to touch him. Aches for it. He knows what Buck’s skin feels like—it’s not like they’ve never touched before, but he craves something softer. Gentler. To cradle a part of Buck with tenderness.
Buck whines in his sleep, needy and a little pitiful, and Eddie caves.
He wonders if, even asleep, Buck could feel the warmth radiating from his palm. If he craves this as much as Eddie does. But he doesn’t linger on the thought—just slowly, gently lays his hand against the side of Buck’s throat. His thumb swipes beneath Buck’s jaw, tracing the clean line of it.
Buck shudders under his touch.
Eddie cums. It hits him so unexpectedly that he moans, not a hushed, under-the-breath noise, but he moans . Loud and whiny right in Buck’s face, which is barely inches away from Eddie’s. He rocks his hips forward, lost in the feeling. He can’t even think about the risk of waking Buck, the pleasure washes through him so hard that his fingers tighten on the side of Buck’s neck, holding firmly as he rolls his hips over and over, humping Buck through his orgasm.
Eventually, as he comes down from the high, he realises what he’s done. Every muscle in his body goes taut, eyes snapping open and searching over Buck’s face. He’s panting gently, face flushed bright, but… even now, his eyes are closed.
Eddie looks down. Buck came too, somewhere during Eddie’s orgasm. Eddie hadn’t even noticed .
Eddie’s hand on the side of his neck doesn’t lift off, but it goes back to just resting there. The skin underneath his fingers is sweaty and warm. Eddie wants so badly to lick a line up the side of his neck. To know what Buck tastes like. To take a part of Buck and have it inside of him, to keep it, to own it.
He feels like he’s crossed a line. Slowly, he draws his hand back, and unlike he has so far, he doesn’t curl against Buck’s chest, waiting for the arm to end up around him.
He tries to draw back, to turn over and to hide against his side of the bed. He’s overstepped. He’s almost ruined it. He’s—
He’s halfway turned over when a hand goes over his waist, palm pressed flat against his stomach, and suddenly the grip tightens, pulling Eddie backward until Eddie’s back is lined up against Buck’s torso. Buck lets out a gentle sleeping snuffling noise, snuggling in closer, nosing against the hair on the back of Eddie’s head.
Eddie, like earlier, is weak.
He caves.
He lets Buck’s body curl around him and even lifts the hem of his shirt so that the hand is pressed flat against the skin of his abdomen. It’s selfish. He’s selfish.
Even in his sleep, all Buck does is give. All he does is comfort. All he does is make Eddie feel good. Eddie doesn’t deserve him. He shouldn’t want this from him.
But he stays, lying there, held close against Buck’s warm body.
Eventually, he falls asleep.
The next morning, Eddie wakes up first.
He’s still pressed against Buck’s chest, his whole body curved to fit the shape that Buck has moulded around him during the night. Eddie’s never been the little spoon before.
That thought hits him like a bullet, slicing clean through him.
Buck seems to be stirring as Eddie carefully extracts himself from Buck’s grip, but Eddie doesn’t linger, doesn’t let the moment breathe. Buck is waking up quick, sitting up, and Eddie doesn’t dare glance back to see whatever expression is etched into his face.
Guilt churns low in his gut.
He jogs down the stairs, socked feet thudding against the timber. As he hits the last step, he almost barrels straight into a very tired-looking Chimney.
Chimney, who is now squinting suspiciously at Eddie while protectively shielding his coffee from Eddie’s rush. “Woah there, cowboy— where you headed in such a hurry?”
Eddie freezes. “Uh.”
Chimney’s eyes narrow further, spurred on by the absence of an answer.
“I just need some air.” Eddie tries.
Chim snorts, lifting his coffee and sipping it. He doesn’t move aside to the side to let Eddie pass. Eddie considers side-stepping around him and making a run for it, but he realises that would likely bring more suspicion down upon him.
“You needed air so badly that you almost tackled me?” Chim questions, deadpan.
Eddie’s fingers slide through his hair, tugging at the roots, like he’s trying to physically pull the thoughts from his brain. “It’s just been a weird morning. I just need—”
Chim looks like a rat that got the cheese. “Weird? Didn’t you just wake up?”
“I mean, yeah, but —”
“Did something happen?” Chimney is squinting at him like he’s just smelled blood in the water. He’s so damn nosy . “Is Buck even awake yet?”
“Chim.”
“I’m just asking! You’re all flustered, and you look a little pale . Did you—”
Eddie cuts in quickly before any more questions can be thrown at him. Maybe a little too quickly. Whatever . He needs fresh air. That wasn’t exactly a lie. “No, he’s not awake. You know how he is. He’d sleep through a hurricane. And his alarm hasn’t even gone off yet.”
Chim gives him a bewildered look, which Eddie doesn’t really understand. The bewilderment seems to linger for long enough of a beat that Eddie finally manages to, as casually as he can—which is to say, not casually at all— duck around Chimney, heading toward the door, phone gripped tightly in his hand.
He lifts the phone, waving it a little in his hand like it’s a hall pass. Like he needs an excuse to leave. Which he doesn’t. Because he’s a grown man . “I’m just– I’m gonna go call Chris. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Eddie, what—”
“See you in a bit!” Eddie calls over his shoulder, already halfway to the door. He grabs his mask from the hall table and is already reaching for the handle. He doesn’t hear Chimney’s reply, or well, he can tell he does reply, but he simply refuses to hear it or process it. He ducks into the hallway, closing the door and speeding toward the elevator.
He presses the button for the ground floor and then repeatedly, very aggressively, jams his finger into the close door button just in case someone tries to follow after him.
After a beat, it begins sliding shut, almost frustratingly slowly, like it’s just waiting for someone to stick a hand in and stop it. Finally, it closes. Eddie exhales, pressing his back against the cool, metal wall and slides down a little, eyes falling closed for just a beat.
He doesn’t call Chris. Not at six in the morning when there’s no chance his kid is doing anything but snoring loud enough to shake the walls.
But he misses that snoring. Misses how Chris can make a house feel full, even when it’s just the two of them.
Or sometimes, on the even better days, when it’s the three of them.
Buck, slotting in like he’s always belonged.
Eddie goes for a walk, hoping that by the time he gets back, he’ll be able to look Buck in the eye. He told Buck everything was okay, that it wasn’t a big deal.
But maybe Buck was right, maybe they shouldn’t share a bed.
That night, Buck drags Eddie to bed by his wrist, insisting Eddie looks exhausted, like he barely slept a wink the night before.
Eddie tries to argue, but Buck doesn’t back down.
Eddie knows Buck is only doing this because he’s been acting off all day, more so than he has the days prior. He’s been trying so hard to pretend that things are normal, that nothing has shifted between them, but it has, at least for him.
It’s not even about last night. Or it is , but it very much also isn’t.
It’s about the thoughts. The thoughts never stop. Eddie wakes up, and he thinks about Buck’s dick. Eddie goes for a walk, and he thinks about Buck’s mouth. Eddie brushes shoulders with Buck in the kitchen, and his skin burns for hours after. Eddie stands in the shower, thinking about cradling Buck’s face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together. It’s not— they’re not normal thoughts.
Buck is his best friend. He’s fairly sure Chimney isn’t loitering around the loft thinking about holding Buck’s hand, but here Eddie is, next to Buck on the couch, realising that if he shifted his pinky over just an inch, he could hook it over Buck’s.
He wants to. He’s not supposed to want to.
Eddie’s straight. And— and Buck is straight.
It doesn’t matter that tracing the pad of his thumb along Buck’s jaw is what made Eddie cum last night. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.
He’s not going to do it tonight. Even if Buck starts moving in the night, Eddie is going to stay on his side of the bed. It’s just one night. He can be normal again. Actual normal.
It’ll be fine.
Eddie curls up at the edge of Buck’s bed, one of his knees hanging off the side of it.
Quietly, behind him, a quiet, tentative voice sounds out. “Night, Eddie.”
Eddie winces. He’s making his thoughts Buck’s problem. He’s making Buck think he’s a problem. Buck has stopped checking in with Eddie verbally, but that doesn’t stop the lingering, concerned glances that Buck keeps shooting his way. Every time he catches him, Eddie forces a reassuring smile. Buck doesn’t seem all too comforted by them.
It’s fine. Everything is okay. Eddie refuses for things not to be okay.
Eddie will get over whatever is happening to him, and they can go back to normal. Buck won’t worry then.
He exhales, shifting his pillow a little before settling more against it, forcing the muscles of his back to relax, knowing Buck is likely staring at them, waiting for a response.
“Night, Buck,” Eddie replies, as casually as he can manage.
It takes a while for him to fall asleep, but eventually he does.
When Eddie wakes up, there’s an arm sliding around his waist. Buck is no longer curled up, looking like a kicked puppy on his side of the bed, like Eddie saw him last. Now, he’s pressed close, tucked against Eddie’s back, breathing softly against the back of Eddie’s neck, warm and unguarded in sleep.
Eddie didn’t put him there. Eddie hasn’t done anything. It’s not Eddie’s fault when—
Buck rolls his hip against Eddie’s ass, whining quietly in his sleep at the friction it brings.
Oh .
Eddie exhales shakily, hand clutching tight where it’s tucked under his pillow. He keeps still, almost rigid , terrified of waking Buck up. The stillness of his body does nothing to ease the arousal that is suddenly pooling warm in the bottom of Eddie’s stomach.
Maybe he should wake Buck up.
He thinks about saying Buck’s name to try to drag him into consciousness.
He thinks about saying Buck’s name, and it almost crawls off his tongue, into the air, desperate and begging. Like a prayer.
He wants to say it over and over, to chant it while Buck bites along his throat, to whimper it while Buck takes Eddie’s dick into his mouth. He wants to murmur it against Buck’s cheek while stroking his hair, wants to say other words instead— sweetheart, baby, mi amor, mi corazón — each one softer, more dangerous than the last.
He says nothing.
Buck’s arm tightens around him, pulling him close. His lips brush featherlight at the nape of Eddie’s neck, just below Eddie’s hairline. Eddie exhales, forcing himself to focus on the sensation of Buck’s grinding, nothing else. He doesn’t need to think about it, not now, not when Buck is taking what he needs, what his body wants.
Buck doesn’t want Eddie, not really, but his body chases Eddie. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a big deal.
The hips roll against him in a slow, lazy grind. The drag of Buck’s hard cock against Eddie’s ass—even through the layers of clothing—is enough to make Eddie gasp quietly into the dark.
Buck seems to be enjoying this just as much, if not more, than he had when it was their dicks grinding together. He holds Eddie tight, gripping him like he’s afraid Eddie will pull away, like he might leave.
Eddie never would. Eddie would never leave Buck hanging.
He’s too much of a coward to admit anything he’s been thinking about. Too much of a coward to put a stop to all of this. He’d tried, but Buck needs it, needs— it needs to get off. That’s it. It’s okay. It’s fine.
So, he lets his eyes flutter closed, trying to lose himself in the sensation, trying to just feel Buck. When it’s their dicks together, it’s easier to stay out of his head, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the pleasure, but like this, his mind lingers on the tight, aching feeling that’s been building in his chest.
Buck is making noises in his sleep, just almost imperceptible whines and barely-there moans.
And maybe Eddie would be able to ignore it, if they weren’t happening right beside his ear. Buck is nuzzling gently into the back of Eddie’s neck, like he wants to be closer, like any distance, even a few inches, is too much to have between them.
Then, Buck speeds up, the roll turns into a hard thrust, just once against Eddie’s ass and that—
Would Buck fuck him?
The thought drags a quiet, high-pitched, involuntary noise from the depths of Eddie’s throat.
Eddie imagines it then—Buck rolling him onto his back, slotting himself between Eddie’s thighs, sliding his hand soothingly over his sides. Telling Eddie he’ll go slow. telling him he’ll make Eddie feel so good.
Eddie knows he’d be nervous, shaking.
He knows Buck would look after him, that he’d take his time, that he’d try so hard, that he’d be so good —
Eddie’s never had anything inside of him. Not even his fingers. He wonders how it’d feel, the stretch, the intrusion, the warmth .
He thinks about Buck whining into his neck, fucking into him, slow and deep. He thinks about digging his nails into the firm muscle of Buck’s back, dragging them down, marking him up.
God, and then–
He wonders if Buck would let Eddie fuck him .
Eddie’s fucked people before—well, person. The only person he’s ever slept with was Shannon.
Eddie imagines pulling those stupidly long legs of Buck’s over his shoulders, folding Buck in half and fucking him so deep he’d feel it in his throat.
He wonders how loud he could get him. How needy .
Eddie can’t handle it. He can’t . His dick is so hard that it’s aching and throbbing, completely untouched.
He can’t touch himself. That’s a line he can’t cross. Right now, he’s letting Buck get off using him; Buck clearly needs it. Eddie’s just being a good friend.
But if he touches himself—If he slides a hand into his shorts, wrapping his fingers around his flushed, hard cock, then he’s crossing a line that he’s not sure he can uncross. It’s weird if he does it, it means he’s specifically getting off to the feeling of Buck grinding consistent, firm grinds against Eddie’s ass.
Buck’s hand is flat against the bare planes of Eddie’s abdomen, fingers tensing and untensing occasionally while he grinds, and Eddie just— he needs friction . Eddie waits for a second, making sure that Buck doesn’t falter, that he’s not teetering on the edge of consciousness, and slowly wraps his fingers around his wrist. The fingers of Buck’s hands tighten for a millisecond, but then go lax against his stomach again.
Eddie exhales, shaky, and continues. He guides the hand down slowly, letting it slide underneath the sheets, and presses it, just slightly, against Eddie’s dick through the fabric.
The touch is barely anything, but it hits like a shock. Eddie sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, hard enough that he nearly breaks the skin, desperate to muffle the sound clawing its way up his throat.
He thinks he hears Buck’s breath stutter behind him—but then a second passes, and Buck’s chest rises and falls with the same steady rhythm. Still asleep.
Then Buck’s hips roll forward again, grinding harder against him. Eddie can feel the outline of his cock with every slow press, thick and insistent through the thin layers between them. He wishes they were gone. Wishes he could feel it— really feel it—hot and heavy, leaking against his bare skin. He wants to feel Buck’s precum smearing across his skin. He wants to touch it. He wants to taste it.
He wants, wants, wants —
Eddie shudders, hips grinding forward against where he’s gently holding Buck’s hand. It’s electrifying. Eddie can’t— he can’t stop . Suddenly, the fingers under his grip twitch. Like muscle memory, instinct, something deeper than dreaming, Buck’s hand curls loosely around Eddie’s cock. Eddie whines before he can stop it, soft and wrecked, his entire body tense and burning.
If he felt out of control at the initial contact, now he’s genuinely losing his fucking mind .
Eddie’s concerns bleed out of him, melting through his skin as he grinds against Buck’s hand. It’s a loose, barely there grip, but it’s enough for him to thrust up into. His hips roll back, pressing against where Buck is grinding, before rolling forward into the sweet pressure of Buck’s hand.
He presses the hand down just a little harder and feels pre-cum slide from the tip of his dick. He’s getting wet . He’s only ever gotten this turned on during— during these nights with Buck.
What they’re doing isn’t sex, but it’s still driving Eddie crazy in a way that the sex he has had, never has. He’s never felt this needy, this desperate, this worked up and utterly undone. Like he can’t think about anything but the physical sensation, the pleasure is drowning out everything else. Not even his years of practiced guilt and shame can pierce through the waves of it.
He’s panting, heavy and hard, not caring how much Buck can probably feel it through the press of their bodies. Buck is nuzzling into the back of Eddie’s neck, warm breath ghosting over his skin, nosing at the vertebrae of his neck like he’s trying to memorise every notch in his sleep—it makes Eddie whine again, quieter, but just as broken and desperate.
It feels so fucking good.
He can’t stop, can’t even think to want to stop.
Distantly, he hears Buck make a quiet, keening noise. It barely registers because all Eddie can focus on is Buck’s warm fingers wrapped around his dick and the hard press of Buck’s cock against him, like he wants to slide right in.
The tension builds, and builds, and builds. Eddie is shaking like a leaf against Buck, trembling with desire. He wants more, wants skin-on-skin, needs it, but he can’t. He takes what he can get, and even this, even the outline of Buck’s cock against his ass and a loose fist for him to fuck against, is enough to get him there.
Of course, it’s enough.
It’s Buck .
Eddie jerks forward, hips stuttering as the tension finally breaks. He cums hard, trembling, biting down on the pillow to keep himself from crying out. His cock pulses in Buck’s hand, wet heat soaking through the fabric as he rides it out, grinding helplessly through the aftershocks.
Behind him, Buck’s breathing turns erratic—then he groans, low and broken. Eddie can feel it as much as hear it: the way Buck thrusts once, twice, and then goes rigid against him. Buck comes with a muffled gasp, cock pressed tight between them, warmth blooming between them as he cums.
The room is filled with the sound of their breathing, harsh and tangled together.
Eddie feels loose; all the tension in his muscles has melted out of him. He melts against Buck’s body, feels as Buck’s hand shifts, moving away from Eddie’s over-sensitive dick just a little.
Even in his sleep, Buck is considerate of how Eddie is feeling. Or maybe he’s just content, drifting further into sleep, unable to do anything but go lax against Eddie’s back.
Eddie doesn’t mind. Buck deserves to feel good. Eddie likes that he can help his friend. In the afterglow, he can’t remember why he was running away from it, why he’d tried to hide from it.
Then Buck’s mouth brushes against Eddie’s neck. It feels like a kiss, but it can’t be. Buck’s asleep. He knows that, because if Buck were awake, it wouldn’t happen.
An ache blooms in Eddie’s chest.
He wishes Buck were awake. He wishes Buck wanted him when he was awake.
He wishes Buck wanted him.
The thought crashes over him like cold water, sobering and sharp. His panting comes to a pause, eyes focus hard on the wood grain of the side table. He tries to focus hard enough to anchor his brain, to focus on anything else, but he can’t. The thought slides through his skin, blade lodged between his ribs, sinking in deep.
He wants Buck to want him.
A pause. He exhales through his nose. Jaw clenched.
He wants Buck.
Buck’s hand shifts, moving to rest back against Eddie’s stomach, fingers tracing soothing little lines up and down the ridges of his abdomen.
If Buck were awake, he’d pull his hand away, apologise quietly, and roll away to the other side of the bed to give Eddie his space back.
The thought sits heavy in his chest.
Eddie doesn’t want the apology. He doesn’t want the space.
Both of them would feel like a blow, and Eddie couldn’t even blame him for swinging. Buck doesn’t know what Eddie wants. Buck doesn’t want him.
Eddie wants to cry. Sob. Scream. He wants to slice through his chest and pull out his heart, squishing out every feeling, every need, every want. Wanting has never gotten him anywhere good.
He wants to sink into the yearning, but he worries that he’ll never be able to claw his way out. There’s mud under his nails, water in his lungs, he’s still alive in here.
Eddie wants to cry. But he doesn’t. Sometimes, he’s not sure he remembers how to break down. Held at gunpoint and told to sob, he thinks all he’d be able to do is weep, hand pressed to his mouth, smothering any noise, waiting for the bullet to hit.
Buck seems to be sleeping deeper now, more soundly—only his hand twitches, drifting absently across Eddie’s stomach.
Eddie’s glad Buck's sleeping well. He is.
The only sounds in the room are Buck’s soft, even breaths and Eddie’s own quick, panicked breathing.
He smothers it. Puts a lid on the fire, closes his eyes tight, and wills his breathing steady.
He doesn’t dream the entire night.
In the morning, Eddie wakes up cold.
He doesn’t expect to—he always wakes up first, with Buck’s body lingering close. Even before the grinding started, Buck always drifted closer in his sleep. Maybe it’s the army habits still ingrained in Eddie’s bones, or maybe it’s just that Buck is such a deep sleeper—the only things that ever get him up are his alarm or someone nudging him awake.
Eddie slowly sits up on the bed, pushing the sheets off him. He looks around. Bathroom door open, no sign of Buck. Then, distantly, he hears Buck’s laugh.
Eddie makes quick work of cleaning himself up. He lingers in the slower, scrubbing hard at his skin, hoping the want can be washed off his skin if he presses the sponge down hard enough that it hurts.
It doesn’t. He gets out of the shower, tugging on his underwear, then his jeans and grabs the shirt he’d placed on the sink and tugs it over his head. It’s loose, and a part of him realises it’s Buck’s shirt, but he—
He can’t bring himself to take it off and swap it for one of his own.
He brings the collar up to his nose and inhales. It’s freshly washed—Buck’s detergent is the strongest note—but underneath that, Eddie can still catch the lingering trace of Buck’s deodorant and his cologne. He’d know those scents anywhere.
Pressing his nose into the fabric now makes him wonder how much stronger it’d be up close, his face buried in the crook of Buck’s neck, Buck’s arms wrapped around his waist.
They don’t hug much. Not really. The closest they get is the near-cuddling that happens after they come, wrapped around each other in the quiet aftermath.
Eddie wants more. He wants everything.
He wants, wants, wants —
Eddie sighs into the material before letting it fall from his grip.
They’ve shared clothes before, the frequency increasing the longer they linger in the same space like this, caught endlessly in each other's orbit. It won’t be a big deal when he heads downstairs in this. Buck probably won’t even notice.
Eddie only notices when Buck steals his clothes because they cling tighter across Buck’s biceps, ride up just a little when he reaches overhead—and that’s… something Eddie’s been noticing. Lingering on. For a lot longer than he realised.
God .
How long has he felt like this? How long has he been like this and not known?
Eddie moves through the doorway and sinks onto the edge of the bed, elbows braced against his knees. He drops his head into his hands and exhales, long, hard and heavy.
Eddie doesn’t think he can pinpoint the moment that things shifted with Buck—on his end, at least—but the longer he thinks about it, the further back the moment seems to be.
Maybe when it was flashing images of Buck and Chris that dragged him out of the well. Maybe after Buck saved Chris from the tsunami. Maybe while pulling Buck out, hand in hand, out from underneath a firetruck. Maybe when he introduced him to Carla.
Maybe somewhere between Buck climbing into the back of an ambulance, a live round buried in a man’s leg in front of them, and Eddie saying, You can have my back any day.
Eddie lifts his head and shakes it hard, like he’s trying to dislodge the thoughts that are rattling inside and shake them off completely. They don’t go away, but it helps, just a little. He inhales deep, holds it, then exhales slow.
Buck’s laughter echoes up the stairs again, and like sailor following a siren’s song, he’s helpless to do anything but follow it.
He walks down the stairs, hands tucked into his pockets, glancing around until he spots Buck parked at the kitchen island, laptop open and Maddie’s face filling the screen.
He catches her just as she rolls her eyes, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. Buck’s mid-story—something about their last shift. Eddie only catches the end, but he knows this one. The story about the cat that had purred in Eddie’s arms till the moment it’d been handed back to its owner. Buck tells stories the same way every time.
It makes repeat stories easy to spot, but Eddie never pulls him up on it. He likes listening to Buck talk, even if he knows what happens next.
He could happily spend the rest of his life listening to Buck tell the same story over and over, and over if it meant he never shut up.
Maddie lets out a soft “aww,” saying she’s always wanted a cat. Eddie catches a flicker of sadness in her eyes, gone as quickly as it came. When she spots him, he gives her a small wave over Buck’s shoulder. She smiles gently in return as Buck finishes the story.
Buck’s head turns around at the motion, face lighting up at the sight of Eddie making his way behind Buck toward the kitchen. Eddie’s chest aches. His heart stumbles over a beat.
Eddie moves through the kitchen on autopilot—coffee machine on, bread in the toaster, glass filled with water, drinking it swiftly. He focuses on the routine, grounding himself in the small, familiar motions of morning.
Buck’s already launched into another story by the time Eddie slides onto the barstool beside him, yawning into his hand. He sets his coffee down, tuning in just as Maddie responds to something Buck had asked.
Then: “How is sharing a space with my brother, Eddie?”
Eddie freezes for a bit.
He feels the energy of the room stiffen slightly. He doesn’t look at Buck. Can’t. He smiles casually, shrugs a shoulder and sips his coffee. “It’s not bad.”
Buck jumps in quickly, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Chim keeps leaving his socks on the armchair, actually, it’s so–,” he says, too fast.
But Maddie zeroes in on Eddie instead. Just like Chimney , Eddie thinks. They really do make sense together.
“You must sleep like a rock, Eddie. Buck’s the lightest sleeper I’ve met in my entire life. I thought he’d be more sleep deprived sharing a bed with someone else full-time. You shift once, and he’s wide awake, complaining. When we were kids—”
She continues on, and Eddie turns to look at Buck, a laugh bubbling in Eddie’s throat, ready to spill out, only to catch on something lodged in his throat. Instead of looking amused or annoyed by what she’s saying, Buck looks— horrified.
Eddie doesn’t hear what else Maddie is saying. He’s waiting for Buck to argue, to correct her, to say literally anything to the contrary of what he’s hearing.
Buck is the heaviest sleeper he’s ever met. Buck could sleep through a hurricane. Buck—
“Maddie, sorry— we gotta– there’s a fire. Not a big one! Just… smoke, you know?” Buck is stumbling through his sentence, eyes wild and panicked. Eddie can’t stop staring at him. “Talk later. L-Love you. Bye, bye, bye !”
Maddie blinks. She looks thoroughly confused, her mouth opening to say something, but Buck hits the end call button and slams his laptop shut with a sharp snap. Eddie flinches at the sound, even as he’s still staring at Buck in stunned silence.
Buck’s hand stays planted on top of the laptop, fingers splayed, unmoving. He doesn’t look at Eddie. Eddie can’t look away.
His stomach flips, heart pounding so hard it’s all he can hear.
No. It can’t be true. Because if it is, then Buck knows. And if Buck knows, then—
“I—I can explain,” Buck says softly, still staring straight ahead.
Eddie blinks, stunned. “ Can you?”
Buck doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t have an explanation. Or maybe he does, and he’s decided Eddie’s not ready to hear it.
Truthfully, Eddie’s not sure he is.
He should have a thousand thoughts racing through his head—questions, fear , something—but instead, there’s just static. Blank space where all the noise should be.
It’s like his whole system just short-circuited. Like he needs to be unplugged or fucking turned off and on again.
Eddie swallows thickly.
“You—” Eddie forces out, voice tight. “You … you knew? I—”
Eddie can’t even say it out loud. He can’t say out loud what he’s done. Can’t say what Buck’s done, either. He can’t even think about what it means—the idea alone feels like a hot stove, his hand hovering just above it, never making contact.
He hovers there for a beat. He thinks about touching it. He thinks about pressing his hand flat against the thought, letting it burn through him.
He watches Buck’s throat work as he swallows. Buck closes his eyes, hand clenching into a loose fist where it’s resting on top of the laptop.
Buck inhales. Exhales. “...Yeah.”
It’s so quiet that Eddie’s ears barely catch it.
Eddie throws caution to the wind, closes the distance. Stove, meet hand. Burn, meet skin.
Buck wanted him.
“Buck,” Eddie says, voice soft and private between them. Buck doesn’t look at him. “The whole time?”
He watches the muscles in Buck’s jaw tense. Eddie thinks he must be staring so hard that Buck’s cheeks probably feel hot. Buck nods.
Eddie’s hand lifts, drifts slowly, god, achingly slowly toward Buck’s face before the tips of two of his fingers find Buck’s chin and slowly turn it sideways. Buck’s eyes finally flutter open.
He looks terrified.
Eddie thinks he probably looks the same.
“I’ve been going crazy, Buck. I thought—” Eddie exhales a laugh, shaking his head gently. “God, last night, you– I was gonna stop. I stopped. But then you— you rolled over and you— Buck, I was going to stop letting it happen.”
“I never wanted you to stop.” Buck cuts in, the most confident he’s sounded in minutes.
Eddie’s fingers are lingering on Buck’s jaw. Eddie should pull away. He doesn’t want to.
“ Why ?” Eddie manages to ask, even though he’s terrified of the answer.
“I—I don’t know,” Buck says, voice unsteady. “The first night, I was barely awake. It just… happened. I felt awful about it. But you said it was okay—that it wasn’t a big deal.”
He swallows hard, eyes flickering from Eddie’s eyes down to his mouth, then back again.
“Then the second night, I was asleep for a second, I think, but then— you were awake, and I just… I wanted to see how far it’d go, you know?”
Eddie isn’t sure he’s breathing.
“And then you came. Awake. It wasn’t just your body reacting. I— I liked how much you wanted me. It. Not me—I'm not saying you want me . I just… I know you’re pent up, Eddie. You’re so stressed about not being able to be there with Chris right now. You don’t take care of yourself. Not really.”
Buck’s voice wavers, raw.
“I thought—I just … I wanted to take care of you. God, Eddie, you have no idea how much I want to take care of you.”
Finally, Eddie’s hand moves, sliding along the cut of Buck’s jaw, just like it had that night. Buck’s eyelids flutter. He looks unsure. Eddie’s fingers drift into the short hair at the back of Buck’s head, and he gently, achingly slowly, draws him closer. He leans in too, moving deliberately, giving Buck all the time in the world to stop him.
Buck’s eyes stay wide, breath shallow—but he lets himself be guided. He doesn’t resist.
They meet in the middle, not a kiss—just foreheads pressed together, noses bumping gently. Close. Intimate. Holding steady in that fragile space between knowing and not.
“I wanted it,” Eddie whispers, eyes closed. “I wanted it to be you.”
Buck’s breath hitches. “As… as friends?”
Eddie opens one eye to peek at Buck. “No, Buck, not as friends.”
“Oh. So, you—” Buck begins, but Eddie doesn’t let him finish. He presses their mouths together—soft and honey-sweet. If it’d been during the last half dozen nights, he thinks it would’ve been hungry, needy, lust-driven. It’s not. It’s so tender that it makes the muscles of Eddie’s jaw ache.
Buck melts into it, letting out a soft whine against Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s hand, still cradling the back of Buck’s head, urges him closer, deepens the kiss just slightly.
Buck’s lips part just barely, and Eddie takes the opening, his tongue slipping in slow and sure.
A needy sound fills the space between them, and it takes Eddie a beat to realise it came from him.
He kisses harder, tongue brushing against Buck’s, and Buck responds eagerly, desperately, like he’s trying to memorise every shape and taste of Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie’s lungs start to burn, desperate for oxygen. Eventually, the feeling gets unbearable, and Eddie pulls back, inhaling sharply. His eyes flutter open just in time to watch Buck chase the kiss eagerly, trying to capture Eddie’s mouth in another kiss.
It cracks open something in Eddie’s chest. All the burning desire for the impossible engulfs him.
Buck wants him. Buck needs him .
Eddie reaches for Buck’s hand, curling his fingers gently around it. He slides off the barstool and guides Buck down with him, then brings Buck’s hand to rest at his waist.
“Eddie, are you— are you sure ? I know… I know what happened— it doesn’t have to mean anything if you’re not ready. Or— or if you’re not sure.”
Eddie appreciates it. He does. He lifts the hand he’d just placed and guides it south, pressing it over his half-hard dick. “Feeling pretty sure, Buck.”
Buck rolls his eyes, pressing his hand firmly against it, letting his fingers curl around the shape of Eddie’s cock. It tugs a soft moan out of Eddie.
“I know your dick wants it. But, I mean— do you? Like, are you sure?”
Eddie leans in, ghosting his lips along Buck’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss against it. Buck lowers his head so that Eddie can reach it more easily.
“I want to kiss you, Buck—” He starts, and Buck goes to speak again, but Eddie nips gently at his jaw. “Let me finish.”
Buck exhales, nodding wordlessly.
Eddie lifts a hand, cupping the opposite side of Buck’s face, cradling it with care. “I want to have you.” He presses a kiss to Buck’s mouth. “Want to take care of you.” Another kiss. Then he pauses, resting his forehead against Buck’s cheek.
“Want you to take care of me, too.”
Buck lets out a soft, broken whimper. His fingers tighten around Eddie’s cock, the pressure bringing him closer to full hardness with every passing second. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.
He pulls back just enough to find Buck’s eyes, chasing them until they meet his.
“We on the same page?” Eddie asks.
Buck nods, looking wrecked. Buck’s eyes are wide, his lips parted. Eddie wants to bite him.
“Good.” Eddie nudges him backwards, still holding his face, the other hand finding his hips. After a few steps, Buck bumps against the dining table. Eddie shifts down, pressing both hands to the back of Buck’s thighs before lifting him easily, depositing him on top of the table.
Buck gasps as he’s lifted, legs spreading instinctively once he’s settled onto the wooden top. Eddie slots himself between them, hand finding Buck’s face again. He can’t spend a single second not touching him; he thinks he might die if he tries.
“Buck, that first night—” Eddie says softly, tracing his thumb along Buck’s cheekbone, “what were you thinking about? What… what were you dreaming about?”
Buck leans in, but Eddie stops him with a gentle hand.
“Thought you wanted to kiss me,” Buck tries, eyes flicking down to Eddie’s mouth, lingering.
“I do,” Eddie murmurs. “After you tell me. C’mon, you can do that, can’t you?”
“I—” Buck falters, then exhales sharply. “You came out of the shower that night all… dripping wet. Forgot your clothes. The towel was riding so low on your hips. I wanted to fucking—” His gaze stays fixed on Eddie’s mouth. “I was dreaming about kissing you. Pressing you up against the wall and kissing you until you were whining.”
Eddie’s breath hitches, but he stays still.
“I… I wanted to suck your dick,” Buck admits, voice rough. “That’s what I was thinking about. Grinding against you. Is that what you want to hear? That I wanted your dick in my mouth so bad I was grinding against you, barely even awake?”
Eddie’s hand falters where it’s placed against Buck’s chest, holding him back. Buck leans in further, their faces just an inch or two apart.
“I wanted it so bad, Eddie. I could feel it against me. You were so fucking hard. Felt it every night since. I can’t stop thinking about what it’d taste like. What it’d feel like in my mouth. I …” He trails off, eyes flickering between Eddie’s mouth and eyes.
“Can I kiss you now? Eddie, I did what you asked. Wanna kiss you so bad.” He pauses, pressing his nose against Eddie’s cheek, brushing their lips together featherlight. He’s desperate . “Eddie, please .”
Eddie feels Buck’s hand find his waist, it drifts down until it reaches the hem of Eddie’s– Buck’s shirt— and slides underneath it. He feels Buck’s hand against the bare skin of his side and crumbles.
I’ll give you anything you want , the voice in Eddie’s mind offers, I’d follow you straight into Hell if you asked me to .
Eddie doesn’t say it. Can’t. He kisses him instead.
He feels Buck smiling against his mouth, but he can’t linger on the thought for too long, because Buck nips at Eddie’s bottom lip, a gasp escaping him.
Buck deepens the kiss, tries to take control of it, tries to drag every noise he can out of Eddie. Eddie is helpless to stop him at first, can’t do anything but moan into Buck’s mouth and pull him closer, hold him there. He wishes he could fucking crawl inside of Buck and stay there forever.
Buck’s legs hook around Eddie’s, trying to tug him in closer, to get him as near as possible. Eddie pulls back, ducking his head before Buck can complain and presses soft kisses against his cheek.
He slides a hand between them, pressing his hand over Buck’s crotch. He’s hard already, which doesn’t surprise Eddie, but he’s wet too. Not wearing underwear, Eddie assumes, judging by the fact that he can feel it leaking into the fabric.
“Last night—” Eddie starts, and Buck whines, bucking his hips up into the touch. Eddie chuckles. “Last night, you were grinding against me, and I…”
Buck doesn’t say anything at first, waiting for Eddie to continue. When the silence stretches, he tightens his grip on Eddie’s side.
“No, tell me. What?” His voice has a whiny edge, needy and urgent. “I was grinding against you and…?”
“Wanted us to be naked. Thought about you…” Eddie trails off again, huffing out a breath. He ducks his head and presses it into the crook of Buck’s neck. “About you fucking me.” He mumbles, barely audible.
Buck must hear it, though, he figures, because his whole body shivers and the dick underneath Eddie’s hand twitches.
Then, just as quietly. “Thought about fucking you too. I don’t— I don’t know what you want. I just wanted it. Wanted more.” He squeezes his hand over the outline of Buck’s cock. “I wanted this. I can have it, right?”
Buck’s hips grind upwards into Eddie’s hand, breath coming out in uneven pants. “Eddie, fuck, you can have whatever you want. I-I mean that. Whenever you want it. Fucking…” He rolls his hips again, desperately seeking more friction. Eddie caves, rubbing his hand over the length through Buck’s sweatpants.
“Even if I’m asleep—actually asleep—I-I don’t care,” Buck continues, voice wrecked. “I just want you to have me. Fuck me. Ride me. Anything . Please, Eddie.”
Eddie shudders, lifting his hand and sliding it past his waistband. He traces his fingers just above where Buck’s cock starts, knuckles pressing against the trimmed hair there.
“Buck,” Eddie exhales, breathing hot against Buck’s shoulder.
“I liked it. I-I liked you using me to get off. God, Eddie. I wanna make you feel good. I want you to take what you want. What you need.” Buck keeps going . Eddie wraps his hand around Buck’s dick, dragging a keening noise out of Buck, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down. “I thought about it, too. About-about fucking you. I … would you let me?”
Eddie tries to speak. Can’t. It’s so fucking overwhelming. He nods against Buck’s neck, sliding his hand up the length, collecting the excessive pre-cum Buck is leaking and using it to slick the shaft of Buck’s dick.
“I opened my eyes last night, after you put my hand on your dick. God , Eddie—” Buck stops then, right as Eddie’s hand sets a slow, aching pace of jerking up and down over Buck’s dick. Eddie brings his other hand between them, pulling Buck’s sweatpants down and tucking them underneath his balls.
“No, don’t stop. You opened your eyes and you what? You watched me?”
Buck lets out a moan, hips rolling upwards, chasing the feeling. “I … I couldn’t watch. Looked for just a second. Your ass , Eddie. Eddie, baby, fuck —”
The baby catches Eddie off guard, feels like a pan has been smacked across his head, leaving his ears ringing. He speeds his hand up. “Say that again.”
“Eddie–” Buck starts, and the grip around his dick tightens. Eddie shakes his head, lifting it to press a kiss against the side of Buck’s neck.
“Other one.” Eddie nudges.
“Jesus Christ. Baby . Your ass was driving me insane. I had to close my eyes so I didn’t cum the second I saw you pressing back against me. Needed you s-so bad, baby. I wanted—”
Eddie cuts him off with an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, his hand moving faster. The feeling isn’t dissimilar from jerking himself off, but the angle is different. And the feeling— fuck , the feeling—of someone else in his hand is nothing like touching himself.
It’s warm, heavy, slick, and hard. It’s Buck. Eddie’s losing his fucking mind.
“You were… pulling away. Yesterday,” Buck pants, voice catching. “I thought you were gonna stop. I couldn’t— I didn’t want it to end. I needed it. I needed you . Please—”
Buck’s nails dig into Eddie’s side, his other hand lifting to tangle into the hair at the back of Eddie’s head. He tugs it, gripping tightly. Eddie whimpers.
“Eddie, I’m gonna—” He tugs harder at the hair, pulling Eddie out from where he’d been hiding against his neck. Eddie only gets a second to take Buck in—his mouth is spit-slick and parted, cheeks flushed pink, birthmark flushed red, and there’s barely a ring of blue visible around how wide his pupils are blown—before Buck kisses him.
The kiss is sloppy, but Eddie loves it, loves how desperate Buck is for him, loves that he gets to know what Buck tastes like, loves —
Eddie leans back just enough to pull away from the kiss, drawing a soft whine from Buck. His eyes are shut tight.
“No,” Eddie murmurs. “I want to see you.”
His hand doesn’t slow—if anything, it quickens. His other hand lifts to Buck’s chin, holding it steady.
“Eyes open, bud,” he says gently. “Or I mean… I could stop—”
Buck’s eyes fly open, desperate. “No, no—Eddie, Eddie, please—”
Eddie can’t help the low groan that leaves him, rough and reverent, like Buck’s begging is something holy. He never thought he’d get to see it, he never thought he’d get to have Buck like this—bare, needy, beautiful.
“That’s it,” Eddie breathes. “Good boy.”
Buck trembles, thighs flexing where they’re bracketing Eddie’s hips, gripping painfully tight on the strands of Eddie’s hair in his hand.
“Eddie, baby , fuck, fuck, fuck —”
He’s so close—Eddie can feel it in the way Buck’s whole body’s gone taut, every muscle drawn tight.
“Wanna see you come apart for me. Just like this.”
Buck gasps, hips jerking helplessly into Eddie’s hand. He’s riding the edge, so close but struggling to tip over the edge. “I—fuck, Eddie, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Eddie’s grip stays steady, coaxing, relentless. “You’re right there, baby. Give it to me.”
And Buck does.
Eddie is torn.
Part of him wants nothing more than to watch Buck’s face crumple—completely fall apart from the sheer pleasure rushing through him—only to be pieced back together by Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s voice, guiding him gently through it.
The other part just wants to watch—to finally see Buck’s cock when he cums. He can picture it: pulse after pulse after pulse. Six nights straight of waking to the dark stain on Buck’s sleep pants, and he knows it’s going to happen again.
He knows it.
But he’s weak—for Buck’s big blue eyes, fluttering, struggling to stay open; for the way Buck’s lips tremble, parted and wet.
Buck cums, in hot, long pulses onto Eddie's hand and frankly, up his wrist too. Eddie just watches, one hand still cupping Buck’s face while the other works him through it.
He’s so beautiful like this.
"That's it." He exhales, and then, unable to stop himself, "You're beautiful. Just like that. So pretty, sweetheart."
Somehow, that final praise makes Buck’s cock jump again—a last, shuddering pulse milked from his flushed, aching length. Eddie finally lets himself look. Watches as it slides down the side of Buck's dick.
He's been holding himself back from looking for so long, for Buck's sake, for his own sanity's sake, but now- his gaze lingers. It's so insanely hot.
Eddie's brain can't quite process how much enjoyment he's getting just from staring at Buck's dick. The haunted feeling doesn't fully go away, the ghosts hide in the corners of Eddie's brain, shame and self-hatred just out of reach, but always there, but— Buck is beautiful. It's distracting. All-consuming.
Eddie's eyes trace up Buck's body, over the small rolls of his stomach that he can see through his shirt where it’s clinging to him, the soft, plush curve of his chest, the flush that goes all the way up Buck's neck, slicked with sweat then—
Buck's face. Eyes closed now, mouth ajar, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip before retreating inside. Eddie watches him, rapt, completely transfixed. Eddie’s dick is aching in his briefs, but he can't bring himself to care about it past noticing the sensation of it pressing against his underwear.
"Holy fuck," Buck exhales. "What the fuck. God."
He’s panting like he just ran ten miles. Eddie realises his hand is still gripping Buck’s jaw, and he eases it, cupping Buck’s cheek instead. Then he leans in, resting their sweaty foreheads together.
Buck's chest is heaving with every breath, and Eddie… Eddie did that to him. Eddie made him cum. Eddie made him feel so good that he's still trembling and twitching with aftershocks.
It's so different without the layers of clothing between them.
Eddie exhales, shoulders slumping. Finally, he pulls his hand away from Buck’s cock. It hasn’t even gone soft yet, and that thought burrows deep in Eddie’s mind—one to unpack later. Could Buck keep going? How many times could Eddie make him come before his body gave out? Before the oversensitivity overtook him?
Buck, exhausted, like he'd previously only been held up by his want, collapses against Eddie. Eddie catches him easily, instinctively, wrapping one arm around Buck and letting Buck press his face flat into the crook of Eddie's throat.
Eddie holds his cum-covered hand awkwardly behind Buck, watching it slide slick down his wrist. There’s so much.
Eddie, curious, brings his hand closer and licks at a drop that's sliding down his wrist.
The taste is about what he expected: a little bitter and a lot salty. Eddie wants Buck to cum straight on his tongue next time. He wants it straight from the source. He wants to taste it, wants to swallow Buck down and keep it inside of him.
Buck must hear the sound of his throat working, because he shifts, pulling back just enough to glance between Eddie’s hand and his mouth. His eyes land on Eddie’s bottom lip and widen just a little.
"Did you just—"
Eddie's cheeks flush bright pink, and god, he knows they do, because Buck's mouth tugs into an excited grin.
Eddie drops the hand and smears most of the cum onto his pants (which he'll regret later when he's doing laundry) before pressing his mouth against Buck's.
He realises only as he pushes his tongue into Buck's mouth, that Buck is going to be able to taste himself on Eddie's mouth. He goes to pull back, but Buck moans directly into Eddie's mouth. One of Buck's hands moves to press Eddie deeper into the kiss, pulling him in by the back of his head. Buck licks into his mouth, like he's trying to lick the taste out of it, consume every part of it.
Eddie lets him. Eddie wants to keep the taste, wants to keep every drop of Buck that he's earned, but Buck is hungry for it, for the taste of his load that's lingering in Eddie's mouth, and Eddie is … pliant. Sweet. Lets him take it back.
It's okay. He'll get more later. He will. They'll do this again. There's no doubt in his mind. He wants it, and Buck will give it to him.
Fuck. Isn't that something?
He wants something, and he can have it, no questions asked. Okay, knowing Buck, some questions will be asked, but Eddie—
He smiles into the kiss.
After a minute or two, Buck pulls back, gasping for breath again. "Sorry, sorry, you're just… you're- Eddie, you're so hot. I feel like I'm losing my mind."
Eddie gets it.
He thinks he lost his mind six nights ago, when he woke up covered in cum with his best friend curled against him. He hasn’t had a grip on sanity since the moment he opened his eyes and saw Buck’s face lying inches from his own.
No one has ever made him feel this crazy before. Nothing has ever made him feel this insane. Out of his mind. He’s always been good at keeping himself centred, grounded, collected—but with Buck, he feels so much that his body takes over before his brain can catch up.
With Shannon, he was nervous and thrilled; they’d just been teenagers, after all. The potential of firsts—first kisses, first touches, first love—had excited him. He tried. He wanted it. He tried to want it.
But no matter how hard he tried, the feelings never quite lined up with the stories his friends told about their girlfriends. They’d talk and talk and talk, and Eddie would sit there, haunted by a hollowness he couldn’t explain.
He tried to fill it, tried to pretend.
She was nice. She was good. He loved her.
Even when things were bad when he was far away, and then when they got worse when he was close by, he loved her. When they got back together, when he wanted to try again, again, again, to make it feel right, he did love her. She was easy to love.
She was Chris’ mom. His best friend. It should have been enough.
He told himself that every day: it should’ve been enough. He should’ve been in love with her.
He just thinks now, maybe, he loved her, just not in the way he was supposed to. Not in the way that his parents expected him to, not in the way that the world told him he would. She loved him too, and he wonders, just briefly, if she loved him in the way she was expected to. Or did she feel it too? That sense of trying to jam puzzle pieces that didn’t fit, holding tight to each other, each with a foot already out the door.
They were best friends. Co-parents. They were trying.
But it was never … it was never like this. He thinks maybe both of them were always one foot out the door, but gripping onto each other's hands so tight, trying to make it stick for Chris' sake, for their own sake. Because the disappointment and judgment from Eddie’s parents lingered, heavy and constant, long after he’d crossed the border and left Texas behind.
And then—she was gone.
And all he had left was her ghost. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
He still doesn't know.
He couldn't love her like he was supposed to when she was alive. It feels cruel to admit that once she's dead, like he's dishonouring her memory.
But she … Shannon loved him. In what way, he doesn't know, but she did. Even in their worst fights, she loved him. She wanted him not to be held down by his parents' expectations of him; she wanted him to be free, to be loved, to be good. She didn't want a provider; she didn't want him to be the man of the house; she just wanted Eddie.
He couldn't give that to her. But—
But it's different with Buck, and it feels… It's different. It's so different. He could, he thinks. He could give himself to Buck.
He thinks maybe he did years ago. It’s okay, he’s catching up now. It’s okay.
Eddie inhales. He loved Shannon. She loved him.
She'd forgive him for moving on. If anything, she'd probably roll her eyes at him apologising for it in the first place.
Eddie exhales, leaning forward to press a kiss against Buck's cheek.
The affection feels easy, but he feels so full of it, like if he tried to hold it back, he'd be a dam bursting at the seams, cracks crawling up his skin as he tried to hold all the love in.
So, he doesn't. He peppers a half dozen kisses against Buck's cheek and then just rests himself there after, while Buck lets out a breathy, flustered laugh.
"Yeah. Me too." Eddie finally answers.
A silence fills the space between them, but it's not uncomfortable, not tense. Eddie, if he weren't standing and leaning into Buck, who is still propped up on his dining room table, could fall asleep like this.
Then, he feels Buck shift, mouth opening and then closing like he wants to say something. Eddie doesn't push. He just waits.
"I thought…" Buck begins, but hesitates. Eddie can feel him tense. He pulls away, but not before he can press one more kiss against the side of Buck's face.
"What?"
"I thought — that I could only ever have you like that. That I-I wasn't allowed to ask for more." Buck doesn't specify what like that is; he knows Eddie will fill in the blanks. They're on the same page now. "I wanted so much more, Eddie. I want you. Can I—"
Buck lifts a hand, holding Eddie's cheek. "I can have it, right? You?"
He remembers then, an argument with Shannon, where she'd yelled that she just wanted him to have her back. That she just needed him.
He hadn’t understood what she meant back then.
Didn’t know he wasn’t all in. Didn’t know why something always felt off, why he was always halfway gone, even when he cared so deeply for her.
He knows now. He was always one foot out the door.
But when he takes stock of himself now—of his body, his heart, the steady way he’s breathing with Buck so close—his feet are planted side by side.
He’s all in.
“Yeah, Buck,” he says, voice steady.
And it’s the easiest promise he’s ever made.
Buck can have him, all of him.
And Eddie? Eddie can have Buck.
“I—I know it’s a lot to ask—” Buck pauses, brow furrowing like he’d expected to have to plead, to beg. But then something shifts. A surprised, almost disbelieving smile spreads across his face. “Yeah? You know I mean like… romantically, right?”
Eddie laughs gently, nodding his head. "Yeah. I know what you meant."
“And I can have it?” Buck still sounds unsure, like he can’t quite believe what he’s being offered.
Eddie doesn’t really feel like he’s offering that much, but Buck’s smile says otherwise. And Eddie can’t bring himself to argue with that kind of joy. "It being me?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"That easy?" The words are so quiet, barely words and more a breath. He wonders how many times Buck has wanted and been let down. He seems so scared to trust that this is true, that it's real. Eddie knows he’s used to being left behind.
Eddie exhales, gaze dropping. “I mean… It’s not going to be that easy.”
He thinks about everything he still needs to work through—all the baggage, the fear, the self-doubt. He’s going to have to fight through all of it to be someone Buck can have, can love. But he will. Because it’s worth it.
“And I’ve gotta tell Chris,” he adds, voice quieter. “But I want to. I want—”
His voice catches for a moment. Then he meets Buck’s eyes again.
"Me?" Buck cuts him off, and Eddie swears he sees a little sparkle in Buck's eye.
"Yeah." It's the easiest question Eddie's ever answered.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"We'll figure it out. We'll— we'll tell Chris. We can work it out."
Eddie grins, tilting his head a little. "That easy?"
Buck rolls his eyes, nudging their noses together. "Yeah, that easy."
Eddie feels like he can't breathe; joy is filling him up from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.
He's so full of it that he can't even feel the shame, for once, in his fucking life, he can't feel it.
The weight that’s pressed against his spine since he was a kid—the pressure, the fear, the expectations—it’s all pushed to the edges of him. Still there, maybe always there, but drowned out by this.
By Buck.
By joy.
When he stares into Buck's eyes, he just sees the same joy he feels pulsing through him, then something else flickers across his face. A sudden shock, a jolt, like a thought, has surprised Buck so deeply.
"We can never tell anyone how we got together." He says suddenly, his voice very serious.
Eddie snorts, then loses it entirely, dropping his head to Buck’s neck, laughter spilling out of him in waves.
"God, we can't— Eddie, this is serious. People are going to ask, and I'm gonna think about you grinding on me in bed and—"
Eddie is still laughing. Bubbling joy spilling out of his mouth and into the hollow of Buck's collarbone.
Buck tries to hold it together, but his voice cracks with laughter, too. “I feel like you’re not grasping how serious this is. What are we gonna say? That we confessed our feelings while you were jerking me off? Do you wanna tell Bobby that? Because I don’t. Eddie—stop laughing —”
“We’ll say it was the proximity,” Eddie says, grinning. “That we were just so close we couldn’t ignore it anymore. Woke up one morning and I just knew I loved you. Had to tell you. Maybe mention the part where you told your sister there was a fire.”
Buck stills. Frozen.
Silence lingers for a beat. Then, Buck's voice, quiet and vulnerable: "You love me?"
Eddie pulls back, confused for a moment. He’d thought that was obvious. But then—he knows Buck.
Buck, who never assumes. Who is a stray who learned to survive on scraps and expects so little for himself.
Eddie cups Buck’s face in both hands, smoothing a thumb over his cheek.
"Evan," Eddie's voice is steady, eyes focused intently on Buck's. He watches Buck's breath catch at the name. "I love you. I loved you before, maybe—" Eddie swallows, nerves prickling along his skin. "The whole time. I didn't know. I wasn't ready."
Buck exhales, and something in him loosens. He looks more at ease than Eddie has ever seen him. Like he’s finally been given something he never truly believed he’d get, which is so silly, because it's just Eddie, his love.
He's just Eddie.
"You know I—" Buck tries, eyes welled up with tears, big, wet droplets threatening to spill over his lash line and down his cheeks. "Me too." A pause. "No, I mean… You too. I love you too. It's the easiest thing in the world, Eddie. I couldn't- I don't think I could stop even if I wanted to."
Eddie gets that. Doesn't know how to feel it, how to take it in, but he understands.
"I don't want you to stop."
"I won't." Buck sounds so sure. So certain. Buck has seen him at some of his lowest moments, after Shannon, during their time apart during the lawsuit, god—
"Say it again," Eddie says, intending it as a request, but it sounds a lot more like a demand than he means for it to.
Buck giggles, leaning in close. "I love you. Eddie, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you —" He starts saying it so fast that the words blend, but Eddie cuts him off, pressing their mouths together again.
When they pull apart, Buck is grinning widely.
"I do have one more request, though."
Eddie tilts his head, waiting for Buck to continue.
"I've been thinking about sucking your dick for a week straight, man." Buck says, a whiney edge to his voice. "And I can feel how hard you are still."
Eddie rolls his eyes. He'd honestly forgotten about it. He glances down between them, and right next to the cum stain on his thigh, Eddie's dick is still straining against his jeans.
"You don't have to—"
"Eddie, if I don't get your dick in my mouth in the next five minutes, I'm going to die."
It's a little dramatic.
Eddie rolls his eyes again, pulling back a little, one hand resting against Buck's sternum to steady him. Buck slips off the table and looks like he's seconds away from dropping to his knees. Eddie shakes his head, "No, no, not here . Bed. We're going to bed."
Buck looks like he's going to argue—but then he slides his hand between them, groping Eddie's dick through his jeans. Eddie groans, body tensing. Before he can do anything, Buck lets go and grins, wicked and bright.
"Okay," he says, stepping to the side out of Eddie’s space, "Race you there."
Eddie blinks. This fucking idiot. This fucking idiot he’s in love with.
And Eddie cannot let him win.
They both take off, sprinting to the stairs. Buck’s ahead—of course he is, he fucking cheated —but Eddie’s right on his tail, even as Buck bounds up two steps at a time. At the top, Eddie slips past him with a well-timed shoulder and throws himself backward onto the bed, grinning in victory.
Buck huffs a breath, looking only a little annoyed and mildly betrayed. "No, you— I just came . It's unfair."
"You grabbed my dick right before taking off!"
Buck gestures wildly. "Post orgasm bliss is way more of a handicap in a race than a measly dick grab, Eddie."
"No, no. I won — even though you tried to cheat."
Buck narrows his eyes at Eddie, then crawls onto the bed on top of him, caging Eddie in with a hand on either side of his head.
Eddie's eyes go wide.
"Okay. You won." Buck concedes, and even if he doesn't say it, Eddie can hear the silent this time . "You want your prize?"
Eddie nods a little dumbly, big brown eyes blown wide.
He watches, breath caught in his throat, as Buck moves down the bed, moving closer and closer to Eddie's dick and— he looks so beautiful like this.
Eddie tips his head back into the blankets, exhaling a soft, shaky breath as joy pulses through him like a second heartbeat.