walls come tumbling down

by kryptonian

Summary:

“Look how easy you take it. You’re a natural.”

The man’s other hand strokes up and down Eddie’s thigh, steadying him like he’s a skittish, cornered animal. Christ—he’s more than cornered. He’s pinned in place, displayed like a butterfly under glass.

Eddie’s left foot twitches, tugging testily at the leather restraint that’s holding it in place. There’s a little give, but not much. Even if he wanted to, there’s no way he’d be able to get enough leverage to pull himself free if he tried.

He has safeguards in place—an easy out the moment he wants it. But fuck, he doesn’t want it. Eddie wants this. He wants the fingers inside him. He wants the cock he knows will come after.

OR

Eddie in a wall — Czech fantasy glory hole style. Anyone could be on the other side. Anyone.

Notes:

hi. we all have to pretend this doesn't reveal a lot about my porn interests.

uh.

please enjoy

Eddie is not the type of person who allows himself to indulge in joy. 

Though he thinks that when Father Brian told him to allow himself to genuinely experience frivolous joy, the situation Eddie has now imagined himself into was nothing close to what he had in mind.

Still, Eddie’s spent time cataloguing the things that make him feel alive. Some were obvious, others tucked away and forgotten, left to gather dust on the high shelf of his mind.

He finds joy in intimacy. In closeness, in touch, in being wanted—and wanting in return. But the romance he’s chased all his life has never fit. It’s always left him restless, itchy beneath his own skin, suffocating whenever he tried to settle into it.

Even if he won’t name it, he’s always known dating was a performance. A stage. A script written by someone else that he tried to deliver as his own. Sometimes he was convincing. Sometimes the mask slipped, and the people closest to him—Carla, Bobby, Ana, Marisol, Buck—saw right through it.

Buck especially.

Which is the problem.

Buck lives in his house, sleeps by his side, loves him in ways no one else ever has—but maybe not the way Eddie loves him. And that’s fine. Eddie can live with that. He has to.

Because Buck is one of the best things that’s ever happened to him.

But Eddie can’t linger forever in pining. He doesn’t want to stop loving Buck—it doesn’t hurt, not really. Loving Buck is the easiest thing in the world.

But he still wants joy. For himself. He wants to feel good. To touch and be touched. To be wanted, desired—without anyone looking him in the eye.

So he starts looking.

He finds a place.

It takes him two weeks to work up the courage to call. Two weeks more before he finally goes.

 

---

 

What Eddie’s doing now can be labelled as one of the most indulgent things he’s ever done.

The first feeling that settles into Eddie’s body is that he feels exposed. Which, to be fair, he is . Eddie’s stripped down with his bottom half bare and sticking out through a wall while his other half is hidden snug inside a small, wooden box.

He thought the inside would make him feel claustrophobic, but it’s honestly oddly soothing in a way he didn’t expect, the anonymity easing his anxiety.

He can hear shuffling, voices, the faint hum of moans—but he doesn’t have to see anything. It almost feels like a piece of silk tied around his eyes, keeping him hidden from the outside world.

Half of him isn’t hidden at all. Everything below his navel is on display, presented to the open room. His legs are parted in a V, each ankle strapped against the wooden wall, held aloft to keep him open and in place. 

His cock is hard and flushed with heat despite the cool breeze brushing over his bare skin. He’s been hard since before they strapped his legs in. If he’s honest, his dick has been twitching with interest since he started getting dressed and collected his keys to even come here. He had to sit in his car, forehead against the wheel, for a solid five minutes before he could even turn his car on.

He’s exposed, but his ass—

His ass—Christ, his ass is the most exposed of all.

His legs are spread wide, showing off his hole, which has been loosened by his fingers and is slick with lube, laid bare for display.

Eddie’s been here once before—not in this position, but in the building.

A kind older woman had guided him through—showing him the inside of the booth, explaining safewords and safety mechanisms, walking him through the rules and expectations for everyone who participated, whether giving or receiving in whatever capacity they chose. 

There were clear guidelines for all, meant to keep everyone safe and comfortable. The structure of the rules soothed a burning bundle of nerves that was twisting violently in Eddie’s gut. 

The second time he’d walked through the doors, he’d done so with a flush high on his cheeks and a breath caught in his throat. His pulse was thundering, and his palms were damp and slick with sweat.

If he’s honest, his chest is still thumping, his heart thundering inside, and his hands are trembling, sweat-slick and unsure where to rest.

He does exhale now, though. He runs fingers through his hair, tugging a little at the strands, soothed only mildly by the sting of his scalp.

Beneath him, a few inches of leather padding presses cool against his skin. The contrast only sharpens the sensation—his body feels aflame, every inch of his flesh scorching.

Eddie knows that any minute now the doors will open and he’ll be— jesus —available for use. 

His eyes flicker toward the red button to his left, fingers twitching at his side as he considers slamming his fist against it before anything has even begun. 

A sharp panic flares in his chest, but he’s spent a lifetime forcing feelings down, swallowing emotions that threatened to consume him. This is no different—it’s almost easy to tamp it down, to will it into submission inside of him.

No.

He wants this. Needs this.

To help calm his nerves, his hand drifts, fingers wrapping loosely around his dick. There is a little pool of pre-cum pooling on his abdomen, the anticipation of what comes next pulsing through him, and it’d left his cock twitchy, needy and aching.

He lets his hand fists over it, letting a quick, familiar pulse of pleasure wash over him. Suddenly, he hears the turning of a door handle. His breath hitches. 

His hand retreats behind the rubber flaps that separate him from the outer room. 

He doesn’t know where to put them. 

He braces one against the wall above the cutout in the wall and leaves the other buried in his hair. His finger traces over a split in the grain, the pad of it pressing in hard to ground himself in the sensation.

The door opens. Eddie feels like all his senses are heightened—the squeak of the hinges scratching at his bones. 

He’s stuck somewhere between thrilled anticipation and stomach-twisting fear. 

A part of Eddie wishes he were deprived of his hearing, too, alongside his sight. 

He wishes he could sink only into the physical sensation that’s going to be offered to him, unable to focus on anything but the indulgence of it. The pleasure.

The joy.

Footsteps. Chatter. The creak of flooring. 

He listens. Waits.

The muscles of Eddie’s jaw are tight, his eyes fluttering closed as he lets his neck gently arch back, his head resting against the leather beneath. 

The first point of contact is sudden, almost sending him jumping out of his skin. It’s a gentle caress of the side of his thigh. It’s a large hand, maybe a similar size to his own, and the fingers and palms are calloused. Working hands.

Eddie can’t see him to know anything past what he can feel.

That’s the point, he guesses, but it’s only now that the anonymity of it really settles in. He could be any age. Any hair colour. Any eye colour. It could be someone he knows. Someone he’s met on a call. Anyone.

Something that should be fear or shame curls in his gut—but even Eddie knows it's something else. Warmth pools in the depths of him, arousal stirring.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice drawls. The accent is low and southern, deep enough to rumble through Eddie’s chest. A broad hand smooths up his thigh, steadying the trembling muscle beneath. “Gladice up front said you’re new. Am I the first to break you in?”

Jesus. Breaking him in . This guy is— popping his cherry .

He’s taken his own fingers inside him, and a few times, a thick, realistic dildo. It’s not often he gets time alone to let himself explore his body, let alone to let someone else do it for him.

His voice snags in his throat, but he manages to push it out. “Yeah.”

The man curses under his breath. Two fingers nudge at his rim, pushing into his hole with ease. His body yields instantly, then tightens around them, clenching even as he wills himself to relax.

“Fuck,” The man murmurs, clicking his tongue. “You’re tight. Gonna have to stretch you out on something real. You want that?”

Something real . 

Eddie breaths come in quick, shallow pants, his eyes squeezing tighter shut as the fingers press deeper inside of him. They move with a confident, practised glide. Like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

Eddie’s never been loud in bed, letting out nothing more than gentle groans and soft, private moans. Nothing has ever felt ripped out of him; nothing has ever felt like someone is shoving a hand down his throat and ripping the noise from deep inside him.

As the man crooks his fingers inside Eddie, a raw sound is torn from him. 

It reverberates off the walls, echoes in his skull, replaying on a loop. The noise is obscene. Desperate. Needy.

He’s never been needy —he’s not—

“There you go, sweet thing. Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Eddie moans again, softer this time, hips rolling down against the fingers working him open, pressing deep as they nudge that sweet spot.

He lets out a soft noise, something close to a murmured uh-huh .

He hadn’t expected this—no foreplay, no gentle touches—but it isn’t unwelcome. It steadies him, eases him into what he already knows is coming. And god—he knows exactly what’s coming.

His brain flickers back to his tour of the building.

I know you’re probably not surprised, but we get a lot of men through here, honey! You’ll probably be sore for a few days. Honestly, we usually recommend only a few hours your first time. Even then, a dozen or so men will probably stop by.

A dozen. Twelve. Twelve men. Twelve cocks. Twelve times someone will grab his hips and take him.

The thought sends a shiver down his spine. Shame flickers at the edges of his mind, but two practised fingers snuff it out. Embarrassment can come later—after he’s gotten what he wants.

Frivolous joy .

“Fuck, fuck—” Eddie breathes out, his nails scratching against the wood as a third finger is pressed inside of him. 

In the distance, he can hear the noise picking up. Men crying out in pleasure, the slap of skin against skin, the slick of bodies sliding together. 

“Look how easy you take it. You’re a natural.”

The man’s other hand strokes up and down Eddie’s thigh, steadying him like he’s a skittish, cornered animal. Christ—he’s more than cornered. He’s pinned in place, displayed like a butterfly under glass.

Eddie’s left foot twitches, tugging testily at the leather restraint that’s holding it in place. There’s a little give, but not much. Even if he wanted to, there’s no way he’d be able to get enough leverage to pull himself free if he tried.

He has safeguards in place—an easy out the moment he wants it. But fuck, he doesn’t want it. Eddie wants this. He wants the fingers inside him. He wants the cock he knows will come after. 

All three fingers are sliding in and out of him with ease; the glide is eased by the excess lube Eddie had used when he’d stretched himself for this. 

Eddie hadn’t intended to say much—hadn’t thought he’d want to but suddenly, the words are spilling out of him before he can stop them, his patience fraying.

“Please, please. It’s enough—” He’s never begged before. Never come close. He didn’t know it’d be like this. He didn’t know he’d be like this. “Fuck me.”

Eddie’s plea is met with a warm, low chuckle, and heat rushes to his cheeks. He drags a hand over his face even though he knows he isn’t being watched. 

The instinct to hide is one that’s difficult to kick.

“Alright, sweetheart. You let me know if it’s too much…” The words are drawn out, languid, as the fingers slip free. He feels emptier now—the warmth and fullness of the fingers retreating and leaving him twitching, trying not to squirm in place.

Eddie exhales, hand swiping away some of the sweat that’s begun beading on his forehead. The tight space itself is a little toasty in contrast to the other room, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the warmth thrumming through him that’s leaving him squirming and sweating.

The fat tip of the man’s cock taps lightly against his hole, teasing.

Eddie’s cock twitches, spilling more pre-cum into the slick pool collecting on his stomach. He’s wet, aching. He doesn’t reach for himself—he’s never managed to finish with just a toy, but this is different. He wants it. He thinks his body will do it.

He wants to come undone from the steady, ruthless push of a cock driving into him, wants to be wrung out by the sharp, overwhelming pleasure of cumming completely untouched.

He can’t linger on the thought of his own cock for too long, because suddenly, for the first time in Eddie’s life, someone else is inside of him.

The cock breaches him, and the stretch is—overwhelming. Searingly so. Not quite painful, but it feels like he’s being split in half even after the thorough preparation. 

A soft, long-buried tender part of Eddie wishes he were on a bed, with someone above him—something to grab onto, to twist his fingers into: sheets, hair, anything. Briefly, just for a second, the vision fills his mind.

A cock pushes into him—both in reality and in the fantasy—but in the fantasy, strong hands pin his thighs down, folding him in half. Warm, dim light cuts across the man’s face, catching the sweat at his temple, deepening the soft pink blotches of a birthmark that’s darkened with exertion.

Something twists tight in Eddie’s chest, his eyes flutter close as he lets himself sink into it. The cock is sheathed fully inside him, and he feels like he’s being broken open, pulled apart at the joints. 

The vision blurs, static-y at the edges, his brain struggling to think of anything while his body adjusts to the sensation.

The man’s cock is a similar size to the toy Eddie uses, but the feeling of someone inside of him is—it’s different. Fuck, it’s so different. 

Another soft noise claws itself out of his throat as it slides back out, the feeling forcing the air out of his lungs, forcing an exhale of a breath he hadn’t even meant to hold. 

The man had taken his sweet time making sure Eddie was ready, but now that he’s inside of him properly, it appears his patience has worn thin. Rough hands abandon his thighs, gripping onto the sides of his hips instead as he sinks in again, carving a hole inside of him the size of his cock. 

Eddie’s ankles pull at the restraints, tugging at the buttery leather, not to escape, but just in instinct. The pleasure is overwhelming, all-consuming. 

Is sex supposed to feel like this ?

“Jesus, honey, you’re sucking me in.” The fingers grip tighter on his hips, pressing him down, holding him in place.

“God,” Eddie curses out. His eyes flutter open, and they try to focus upward for a moment, lids blinking a few times till his vision clears. 

Thumbs press into his hipbone as the man thrusts into him, shallow to begin, but within a few thrusts, he’s pressing deeper, fucking harder, filling Eddie in ways he’s never been filled before. 

His teeth sink into the plush of his bottom lip, trying to muffle the litany of noises that try to escape him. It’s ineffective—the harder he’s fucked, the more sound is forced out of him, scraping his throat as it’s dragged from him. 

At some point, a hand slips behind his head, bracing against the wood as the thrusts drive in deep. There’s no real way to hold onto anything; he’s left helpless—fingers scrambling for purchase and coming up empty. 

Pleasure pulses through him with every thrust, the man’s hips pistoning to fuck in deep, slamming inside of Eddie.

“I—” He tries to speak, but a whine cuts him off, the dick sinking into him again. The pleasure is unending, overwhelming. His body is alight with euphoria, adjusted to the stretch and being guided closer and closer to being completely unravelled. 

“Sweetheart,” The man grunts out, grinding in deep. “Can I slap this pretty ass? Would you like that?”

No one has ever done that to him. He tries to think through the haze enough to process whether it’s something he wants, but his thighs are quaking, and his brain is plunged into a fog it’s never been in before—instead, he just nods.

By the third movement of his head, he realises he’s out of sight. He whines, forced to communicate verbally when all he wants to do is surrender to the relentless feeling of the cock bullying itself inside of him. He’s never felt like this. Nothing has ever come close.

“Yeah,” He forces out, more a sigh than a word. “Hit me.”

Something akin to a growl can be heard from the outer room, and Eddie shudders. A hand is planted on his stomach, fingers splayed out. He catches a glimpse of it through the rubber flaps. It’s a tan hand, tips appearing as calloused as they felt on his thighs and pushing inside of him—there’s a faded line around his ring finger. 

He doesn’t have time to study it for long.

A thumb brushes across the ridges of his abdomen before it presses down, it keeps him in place—as if he could go anywhere, even if he wanted to. His ankles tug at the restraints, a reminder of how stuck he is. Eddie’s cock twitches, thrilled.

The man slams into him, murmuring something under his breath that Eddie can’t even catch. He’s riding Eddie’s ass like his life depends on it, fucking into him like it’s the first time he’s ever felt wet, tight heat around him. 

Suddenly—sharpness.

Heat and sting blooms across Eddie’s ass cheek, the flesh swatted from the side by the man's other hand. The sensation is narrow, but like a flower, it unravels and blossoms across the skin, petals unfurling, the sensation scorching him. He cries out, spine arching—then, before he can react further—the hand comes down again on the same side, right over the same spot.

If Eddie could look, he’d be sure he’d see the outline of the man's hand there. He wonders how he must look to anyone looking on—a pair of parted thighs, an ass split open on a thick cock, taking hit after hit and whining for more.

Pleasure burns in Eddie’s gut, coiling and twisting inside of him. He’s not close to cumming—but he’s not far away either. His thighs quiver, shaking where they hang in the air, his toes curling as the cock sinks in deep.

The man's hips piston at a punishing pace, Eddie’s walls clenching and spasming around him, Eddie’s body dragging him back in every time he slides out. 

He spanks him again.

Again.

Again .

Tears prick in Eddie’s eyes—fat, hot droplets lining along the rims of his eyes, threatening to spill over.

“The way your ass jiggles—Jesus, sweet thing. You’re so pretty. So fuck—” A groan slices through his sentence, the hand pressed over Eddie’s stomach shifting—the fingers curl, nails dragging over the length of Eddie’s abdomen, leaving burning, stinging welts behind. He plunges in deep one last time, spilling pulse after pulse of warmth inside of Eddie.

Eddie squirms, trying to grind back against the thick cock filling him out—needs more, more cock, more cum, more something —

The hand on his stomach disappears, tapping his hip twice as he pulls out. “God, you’re fun, honey.”

Then, the body is gone. The warmth is gone.

Eddie’s dripping—spend sliding thick from his hole, the muscle fluttering to hold it in, only to feel it trail warm across his skin anyway.

He sighs, forcing the tension out of his taut muscles the best he can, relaxing against the leather. There’s maybe a minute that passes—barely even—before he hears footsteps again.

Two fingers slip between his cheeks, gathering the mess and pushing it back inside.

“Damn, baby, you come with your own lube, huh?” The new man chuckles. His voice is younger, his fingers slimmer but longer than the first. They pump into him a few times, spreading slickness deep inside of him.

Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, head arching and throat bared as he presses back against it.

“Jesus—someone did a number on you.” Another hand presses against his skin, smoothing over the sting of where the repeated impacts had been. A thumb traces over the burning flesh, pressing in on the marked skin until Eddie lets out a soft, keening noise. He desperately wants to know what his ass looks like, how much the marks have lingered.

He wants more. Needs more. His ass a canvas, the sharp strike of a hand the brush, each pulsing flush and mark the masterpiece left behind.

“You gonna fuck me or just fondle me, man?” Eddie says, ignoring the way his voice trembles. 

“Pushy,” The guy murmurs, clicking his tongue. The fingers slide out of him, the mess wiped off on Eddie’s inner thigh. Rude.

He hears the clinking of a belt and the rustling of fabric. The tip of the guy’s cock taps a few times at Eddie’s hole, teasing the muscle as it flutters. 

After a beat, he sinks inside. 

Almost in sync, harmonious groans are pushed out of both of them.

“Fuck—tight slut.” The man grunts out, hand snapping to Eddie’s hip to grip at the flesh, the softness of his skin yielding under the firm fingers as they press into him. He hopes they bruise. Fuck, he wants to come out of this flushed, bruised and aching.

Eddie runs a hand through damp strands of hair, tugging at them to ground himself as the guy fucks in with slow, shallow thrusts. 

Eddie’s body is slick with sweat, heat radiating off him, dripping down his spine, beading at his temples, smearing across his thighs. He feels delirious—dizzy and aglow with the scorch of pleasure.

The man ruts into him rough and fast, chasing his own release.

He doesn’t take his time, doesn’t seem concerned about whether or not Eddie is enjoying it, which is fine, because it just makes Eddie feel hot under the collar in a way he never has before. He feels like a toy—nothing more than a fleshlight tucked into a wall to be used and fucked. The disregard sets Eddie on fire, makes him feel wanted—desired. Needed in the basest of levels.

His cock twitches on his stomach, pre-cum leaking from his tip and smearing along his abdomen with every thrust as his body is jolted with the movement of it.

He aches to touch himself, to stroke in time with the brutal thrusts, but he holds back. He wants to be taken over the edge like this—ruined without his own hand in the mix, spent just from being railed within an inch of his life.

Or from someone else’s hand, at least. But this guy seems disinterested in that—only interested in the tight, messy heat of Eddie’s hole.

This guy doesn’t last as long as the first—chasing pleasure at a brutal pace, hand flexing on Eddie’s hip as he buries himself inside over and over. He’s not even talking to him, barely acknowledging the moans that drag themselves out of Eddie’s throat.

Eddie can barely hear them, lost in the sensation, his hips moving of their own volition to fuck back against it, desperate to be filled over and over.

He cums inside Eddie the same as the last, nails biting into the skin of Eddie’s hip as he does so. He gasps, grunting almost animalistically as he ruts into him shallowly, his cock pulsing almost endlessly inside of Eddie.

“Take it—take all of it, slut. This is what you’re good for— Fuck .”

Eddie feels dizzy. Desperate.

The feeling of getting fucked and filled is intoxicating. He doesn’t know how he’s lived thirty-something years without it.

As the guy slides out, he imagines that figure again—broad shoulders and the soft outline of curls visible through his blurry vision. He wonders how much the figure would cum, if he could press it back inside Eddie, desperate to keep it inside of him, to claim him from the inside out. If he’d treat every inch of Eddie as unmarked and begging to be owned, kept, claimed.

He is. He wants to be kept. To be cherished. To be loved.

He’s so hungry for it, the core of him starving for the tenderness of being wanted and loved in that way.

Eddie's never had it, he thinks. Not because he was never offered—but because he couldn’t take it. Wouldn’t. Thinks maybe he’s not built to have it.

He doesn’t deserve it.

The spiral is cut short. Another set of hands. Another voice.

“Hi, sugar.” This one is syrupy sweet, edging on something close to a coo as he slides a finger through the mess smeared across Eddie’s stomach. “Look at you. Such a pretty thing, ain’t you? Bet you’ve got an even prettier face.”

Eddie laughs breathily, hips shifting, adjusting for comfort. “Don’t think anyone’s ever called me pretty before today.”

The now slick finger trails along the length of Eddie’s dick, featherlight. “No? Ain’t that a shame. Prettiest ass I’ve seen in these walls. Is this your first time here?”

The finger dips lower, sliding over Eddie’s balls, pressing gently just behind them.

Eddie’s muscles seize, and his hole throbs at the pressure.

“Ye–Yeah,” He nods, forgetting once again he’s invisible to peering eyes. “First time being fucked too.”

“Jeez,” A laugh echoes, soft and awed. His voice is gravelly but sweet—the word drawled out and saccharine in tone. “Big day for you, sugar.”

Understatement of the century. Eddie feels the finger drift lower, pressing teasingly at his loosened, pliant hole.

“So responsive. How many loads in here, doll?”

Eddie wants to push back. To take more. He holds himself in place, closing his eyes tight as the finger glides deeper, exploring the insides of him.

“Uh—” He swallows, his adams apple bobbing as he does so. “Two.”

“Ha—guess that’ll make me lucky number three,” The finger curves, pressing against the sweet spot inside of him and massaging in soft, small circles.

Eddie chokes out a moan, his spine bowed like a drawn bowstring, pulled taut and trembling on the verge of snapping. He whines at the persistent pleasure, his hips trying to twist away from the insistence of it as if to escape it.

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t run from it."

Fuck.

Fuck .

Eddie whimpers, a sweet, needy little noise that only makes him flush darker with embarrassment. Humiliation settles on his tongue, weighing heavy.

The finger vanishes and is replaced quickly by a cock—slimmer than the last but still thick enough to make Eddie gasp and writhe as it bullies its way inside his tender hole. 

As the man bottoms out, buried to the hilt inside Eddie’s warm, willing body—he sighs, content like one does after the first sip of a cool drink on a warm day. “God, nothing like a pretty, sloppy hole to slide into—” He drags his cock out before slamming back inside, jolting Eddie’s body inside the box with the force of it.

A hand snaps to the wall next to Eddie to brace himself.

“All loose and used up, aren’t you? Such a sweet toy, Sugar.”

He’s not— Jesus . Why is his dick harder? 

“Perfect little cumdump.” He murmurs, fucking into him. “Born to be a fucktoy. Can feel how messy you are inside.”

Eddie whimpers, hand snapping over his mouth as the guy pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in with every single thrust. He makes Eddie feel every inch of it as it fills him, punching the air out of his lungs every time it pistons inside of him.

A hand moves to his ass, spreading it to the side and kneading the soft, tender flesh of it. Another hand appears, spreading the other cheek to the side as well, giving the guy a better view of Eddie’s pink, flushed hole stretched around his cock.

Eddie feels exposed—displayed in a way he’s never been before, like the most private parts of him are set up beneath a magnifying glass. Eddie can’t see the man's face, but he can feel the burning of his gaze.

The hand at his ass squeezes once. “C’mon, asked you a question.”

Eddie doesn’t even remember. He scrapes through his recent thoughts, fighting to latch onto one that sounds anything like a question.

Then, he finds it. Grabs onto it with trembling hands.

All loose and used up, aren’t you?

His hand lifts from his mouth, wiping away some of the sweat pooling in his philtrum. 

“Fuck—yeah, yes,” Eddie answers, huffing a breath. “I’m loose—fucked out. Please. Move. Fucking move—”

“Greedy little thing—stuffed full of two loads and you’re still beggin’ for more cock,” He complies, though, sliding his cock out of where it’d been steadily pressing inside of Eddie. He pushes back in, rolling his hips and fucking it back into him. “Such a slut for it. You a cum slut, honey?”

Eddie makes a noise of affirmation, but he’s not sure it’s decipherable as anything more than some sort of mix between a hum and a whine.

The dick is slicked with the previous men’s cum, sloppier and messing Eddie up inside in ways that feel dirty—downright filthy, if he’s honest. The noise the two of them are making is obscene, both the sliding of slick skin against skin, but the wet, squelching noises of the cock fucking into his ruined hole.

The filthy sounds of their bodies are only emphasised by the desperate, choked-out noises that are escaping Eddie.

He lets go of Eddie’s ass cheeks, letting them press together again and grabs onto his hips with both hands, one on each side. Thumbs dance over his hip bones as he fucks into Eddie’s writing body, pressing in so deep it feels like he’s trying to fuse them.

This man is older, Eddie thinks—can only see the glimpse of his hands as they slide over Eddie’s flank. Judging by the creasing of skin, he must have at least twenty years on Eddie.

Eddie realises quickly that he doesn’t care. Or if he does, it’s not in the way he expected. He likes that it’s an older man using him now—fucking into his sloppy, needy body as Eddie pants and whines for him.

“You wanna cum, sugar?” The man huffs out, fucking into the heat of him with more vigour. “Want me to jerk off that pretty dick of yours? You wanna cum with a big, thick cock stuffed in this tight little ass?”

Eddie does. Or he wants to dip his own hand down and drag his hand over it, fisting his cock till he’s making a mess—his cock aches for it, desperate and pulsing, helplessly leaking against his stomach. 

“N-No,” He murmurs before swallowing. “No. Wanna—just want you to fuck me. Just fuck me.”

The man growls, seizing Eddie’s hips in a tighter grip, pulling him back hard and pressing Eddie’s ass flush against his hips. It tugs at the restraints, pulling at the muscles of Eddie’s thighs. “Such a good slut, aren’t ya?”

One of the hands holding him disappears before the cock pulls out of him completely.

Eddie feels like screaming. Crying.

Thinks he might actually be crying.

He’s suddenly empty—twitching and trembling.

“No, no, no—"

A hand smoothes over his thigh, a gentle shushing hitting his ears. “Just havin’ my fun, don’t worry. I’ll fuck you.”

Then the hand lifts before coming down hard on Eddie’s ass. 

It’s a more direct hit than the others have been; the attention focused solely on it, rather than the guy also paying attention to fucking his dick inside of Eddie.

Eddie’s nails drag over the wood of the inside of the box, fingers stinging as he does so.

“Fuck, fuck—” Eddie whines out, the pain soothed by a hand caressing at the slapped skin. 

The massage of the flesh doesn’t last long. A dozen more hits land.

One on each cheek. Another on the left. 

“Look at that ass. Flushed nice and red for me. You were made for this.”

A hand braces against the back of Eddie’s calf, pinning him harder in place before three are swatted against each thigh. 

Eddie cries out. Screams. Not in displeasure—far from it. 

“Yeah, scream for it. There you go.”

He can feel it fully now—hot, unwavering lines of tears streaking down from the corners of his eyes along his temples, lost in the mess of his hair.

Desperation claws at his skin, leaving hot red welts in its wake. He’s burning. Aching.

Another smack. Another .

Please, please, please —

“ Please, please, please— ” Oh, that’s out loud. He’s begging. “Fuck me, fuck me— please, please– ”

The next hits come cruller, each harder than the next. Filth murmured sweetly between each hit: The first.

“Greedy hole. Can’t get enough of this, can you?”

The second hit.

“You’re a dirty slut, sugar. Don’t stop beggin’.”

The last.

“Gonna make you so red you can’t sit right for days. Gonna be limping like a whore—”

One last and final. Eddie sobs through it, his cock drooling against his stomach.

He feels possessed by the hungry desire inside of him—like a puppet having his strings pulled, control completely lost of his voice, his limbs, his entire body. 

“Please, please, please —” He’s sobbing now, openly weeping and whining.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” The hand glides soothingly over the burning flesh again, squeezing it casually as he goes. “So fuckin’ pretty. So good. Gonna give you exactly what you need.”

He doesn’t ease his cock back in—just pushes it inside Eddie’s shaking body. As his hips collide with Eddie’s ass, it burns. Stings.

He grinds in deep, Eddie’s body clutching around him, dragging him in.

“Thank—” he swallows, still crying. He sniffles, exhaling. “Thank you. Fuck, fuck me— fuck me .”

He can’t believe that it’s his voice. His words. 

He pumps his cock into Eddie, over and over, as more blubbering nonsense spills from Eddie’s lips. Whispers of gratitude, choked off moans and once, just once— “ Buck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck —”

The slip-up goes unnoticed. The man has no reason to notice, the name lost between a litany of other desperate, sweet noises. 

Eddie notices. Feels it heavy on his tongue, weighing down the wet muscle and leaving him silent for a beat. 

A hand slides through the mess on his stomach, smearing pre-cum up to tweak at his nipple. Eddie jolts, a moan torn out of him.

“There you are, sugar. You get lost in that head of yours?”

Eddie couldn’t explain if he wanted to. He just moans, arching into the touch. “I’m—” He swallows, snuffing out the thoughts, the feelings, the Buck of it all. “I’m good. Fuck, do that again. Please.”

He doesn’t know when he got this polite .

The man obliges, tugging his nipple until the sting makes Eddie whine and keen, cock slapping wetly against his own stomach as he leans into it.

“Good boy, sound so sweet when you’re hurtin’. ”

The guy drags his hand down Eddie’s sternum, then down his stomach, pausing just above his cock.

It’s so close. So close. Eddie can feel the warmth of it. His cock twitches—pleading for the touch.

The hand disappears, sliding down to his flank again, gripping at the flesh there.

“God, listen to that hole, honey. You’re dripping around me. Used— fuck , you’re perfect—”

Eddie’s hips are captured between two solid hands, holding him steady as the man sets a dizzying pace. He fucks into him, each thrust getting faster and sloppier in rhythm. 

“Gonna fill you up, sugar. Pump another load in—” He groans, pace increasing once more. “This sloppy fuckin’—” Nails dig into Eddie’s hips on either side, crescent indentations left in their wake. “Slutty hole —”

He fucks into him like he’s a ragdoll—skin slapping obscenely against skin. Eddie gasps, throat working uselessly around the sounds he can’t hold in.

“Just another cock using this cunt,” He huffs, panting. “Such a messy little cumdump—begging for my fuckin’ load —”

The man hurtles over the edge, cock jerking and pulsing inside of Eddie, pistoning in and out of him messily as he empties his load inside of Eddie’s body. The warmth of it blazes through him, pulsing magma-hot in his insides, Eddie’s hole clenching around him to milk him of every drop.

“Greedy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you? Wringing me dry. Fuck . Thought it was your first time.”

Finally, the thrusts come to a pause. He presses in deep, panting heavily. When Eddie rolls his hips back just once, the man growls, pinning his hips down harder. 

Eddie slides a hand down, pressing at his stomach—the cock is so deep in him, he can’t feel it, but god—he feels full. Beyond full. Bursting at the seams. 

The grip on his sides loosens, the man sliding back to let his cock slip loose. The head catches on Eddie’s hole as it drags out, cum following behind it, spilling slowly from him. 

Eddie can’t breathe. Can’t think. 

“Look at that. Can’t even hold it in.” He thumbs at the mess, smearing it over Eddie’s rim before pushing just a little back inside.

Eddie gasps, tilting his head back and gasping for breath. 

Rough hands rub over Eddie’s stinging thighs and then over his ass before settling there, grabbing at the soft globes of it and spreading his cheeks, exposing his hole again.

Eddie still finds the brain power to feel embarrassed about it—a blush creeping along his cheeks and across the tips of his ears. 

“God, if I don’t see you here again, it’ll be a damn shame,” The man murmurs—almost as if he’s talking to Eddie’s ass and not him. Jesus Christ.

The hands disappear, leaving Eddie’s body abandoned, warm and aching. 

“Take it easy, sugar.”

Then, he’s gone. Just like the others.

Eddie wipes at his eyes and then lets his hand slide over the length of his face. The taste is salt-slick as it grazes over his lips.

He’s not sure how much more he can take. His body is sore—used up and tender like a bruised fruit. He wonders how many hits he could take another day, how desperate he’d get from a dozen more.

His chest heaves, rising and falling with each breath, scraping through him. His skin is buzzing, not just where he’s been touched and hit, but all over. A hum of pleasure a thin layer across the entirety of his body.

He manages to steady himself—just enough to stop feeling like he’s unravelling, the stitches of him feeling less like they’re being tugged loose one by one.

Eddie hears the sound of shoes—not heavy, sneakers maybe, and then he feels a hand settle at the side of his thigh, smoothing over where he knows his mole is.

“Hey,” The voice is soft, sweet— familiar . “This is kinda shaped like a heart.”

Eddie’s chest seizes. His stomach plummets.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His head tilts to the side, eyes lasering in on the green button—the easy out. He stares at it, the pear-toned colour searing into Eddie’s brain. 

Eddie’s hand lifts. Hovers. Fingers twitching.

“Fuck, look at you,” The hand drifts lower, thumb tracing over Eddie’s reddened skin, the pad of it traversing through the soft, dark of Eddie’s leg hair. It pauses at his ass, squeezing the meat of it, pulling it to the side to get a better look. “You need a second? Or can I just—”

Eddie thinks he might have a panic attack. Or throw up.

“Hey, you okay in there?” The voice is gentle, suddenly laced with concern as it releases Eddie’s cheek. 

What the fuck does he do? What the fuck is he doing? What the fuck —

“Mhm,” He hums, adjusting his hip. He reaches through the rubber flaps, finding the wrist and dragging it to his own hip. The fingers curl around it reflexively, thumb sweeping over the soft skin.

“Not a talker?” The concern has eased from his voice. Eddie’s an idiot. He’s a fucking idiot. The whole point is anonymity, but Eddie knows who is standing on the other side of the hole. He knows whose hand is touching him. 

He knows. He knows. He knows .

“That’s okay, you just lie there and look pretty. I’ll take care of you.” He says, squeezing Eddie’s hip just once. “I already came once, might take me a bit to cum again. You can take it, can’t you?”

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

“Mhm.” 

The other hand grabs at Eddie’s thigh, squishing the muscle, letting it yield under his grip. 

Eddie lets out a breathy noise, shuddering. This is insane.

He’s being insane.

He has to say something. Should. He’s his friend. His best friend.

Even if this is what Eddie wants from him, it’s not—

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The head of a warm, thick cock drags the back of Eddie’s thigh, smearing pre-cum in it’s wake. He slides it over the hole a few times, not pressing in, just teaching the tip along the messy space between Eddie’s thighs. 

“Can I tell you something?” He says, pushing the tip against Eddie’s rim. He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. “I kinda like it more when it’s messy like this. Sometimes, I like to cum inside someone a couple times and then eat it out—” The head pops through, pushing inside of him. “Marathon sex is crazy, man.”

Jesus Christ. Eddie imagines him crouching down, eating the mess out of Eddie’s loosened hole, making him sob and squirm with sensitivity. He imagines him licking his own cum out of Eddie before grabbing Eddie by the jaw and spitting it into his open, willing mouth.

The figure isn’t cast in shadows anymore in Eddie’s mind. It’s high definition, bright and blinding. The curls are light, falling over his forehead just above a set of piercing, soft blue eyes. The birthmark above and below his brow is cherry-bright, popping against the pale of his skin. His lips are curled up into a crooked, boyish grin as he licks away a bead of sweat from his top lip. 

Broad shoulders—familiar ones Eddie’s bumped against dozens of times—lead down to strong arms, plush with endless curves of muscle. Familiar tattoos trace across his torso, greyed art painted into the skin. Eddie has thought about tracing them himself—with fingers, tongue, even bites.

There’s the plush of his stomach, soft and littered with light blonde hairs. Down to his legs, planted wide on either side of Eddie’s hips in his mind, a long-healed scar runs along the left one.

The figure is there. Real. 

The figure is here. Touching him. Pushing inside of him, panting shallow canine-like breaths. Eddie wonders what it’d feel like against his neck, his face buried in the crook of it. 

The man is big—maybe the biggest Eddie’s had all day. The stretch is searing, his hole raw and used. 

“Jesus,” The man— Buck exhales. “You’re still so tight. Tell me if it hurts, yeah?”

He’s so sweet. Even now. Eddie knew he’d be like this. Eddie knew, given the chance, given the want, Buck would take care of him. 

Eddie hums affirmatively. Tears prick in his eyes—he doesn’t try to stop them as they overflow, sliding down the sides of his face. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this .

Buck’s cock nestles deep inside of him, buried to the hilt. 

His own dick jerks, forgotten, still aching and hard.

A beat passes, a respectable amount of time for Eddie to have adjusted, before Buck slides out before delving back in, gliding his cock deep inside of him. 

“God, you’re pretty,” Buck murmurs, hand abandoning Eddie’s side to trace over his thigh, thumb catching over the mole. “My friend—”

Eddie stares at the button.

“He’s got a mark like this. Crazy coincidence.”

Buck laughs. 

Eddie wants to sob. Shame spikes hot in his chest, souring every buzzing pulse of pleasure. He cries silently, closing his eyes and letting Buck pump into him. Long, pale fingers wrap around Eddie’s dick. 

It betrays him—throbbing at the contact. 

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers under his breath, shuddering. Hates how much he wants it. Needs it.

“Yeah? You all pent up, baby?” Buck’s thumb presses into the mole, his cock brushing over the sweet spot inside of Eddie. “You wanna cum on my cock? Or you just wanna take it?”

Eddie wants to kiss him. He wants him so badly. 

His mouth opens. Closes.

He’s a coward .

Self-disgust coils tight in his gut.

He hates himself. Always has. Does now more than ever. He thrusts up into the hand, Buck’s cock dragging slightly out of him as he does so. His hand lowers, wrapping around Buck’s and gliding it over his length, pulling the foreskin back and forth for a few pumps.

“Yeah, there you go. I got it. I’ll make you cum,” Buck exhales, squeezing a little tighter as Eddie’s hand disappears back into the box. His cock pulses in Buck’s grip. Guilt and desire twist together so tightly that Eddie can’t even tell them apart. 

“So good for me. Fuck.”

Buck’s hand twists on the upstroke, curving tight over the sensitive head of Eddie’s cock. His hips move steadily.

Eddie wants it. Wants him. Buck doesn’t care who is on the other side of the hole. That’s the whole point. Eddie knows that.

It doesn’t matter who he is. Just that he’s a willing, pretty hole to be taken.

But it’s just—it’s not—

Buck thrusts into him, suddenly rougher, something edging on brutal.

Eddie moans—shame breaking through the sound as his body clenches down, his back arching. “Fuck, Buck—”

The hand stills. Buck’s hips do too.

Buck is frozen. Stock still. 

Eddie’s blood runs cold. He thinks his chest might cave in. He wants the floor to open up, wants to disappear before Buck can look at him, before the betrayal can really settle in.

Then, after a beat, tentatively: “...E-Eddie?”

Eddie’s pulse stutters. He can’t breathe. Can’t move. Fingers twitching helplessly at his sides. 

“Say it again,” Buck whispers. His voice cracked, but not twinged with anger; instead, twisted with something close to wonder and awe. “Eddie, say my name.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, lifting up his heavy, sluggish body up till he’s propped up on his elbows. His hand lifts, fist coiled tight and hovering over the button.

“Hey,” Buck’s hand is still wrapped around his cock. It squeezes once, warm and gentle. His other hand slides through the partition, gliding over Eddie’s side, squeezing the flesh there too. “You’re here? It’s—”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ,” Buck laughs, breathless and disbelieving. “Can I—”

Eddie waits. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. Hand hovering in midair. “Can I fuck you, Eddie? Please?”

What ?

Eddie’s eyes snap open, staring down at the hand softly resting at his side. His throat feels tight, burning with bile.

“You can say no. I’ll stop. We can forget—”

Buck’s insane. Eddie might be insane, but Buck is crazier. Jesus Christ.

“I knew it was you, Buck.” He’s surprised at how steady his voice comes out. “I knew and I let you.”

The hand around his cock pumps over it a few times, making Eddie shudder and whine. 

“Yeah, and you wanted it. You wanted me.” A pause. The hand freezes again. Buck’s thumb circles the head before dipping into the slit, gliding through the wetness there. “You—You wanted me, didn’t you?”

Eddie thinks maybe he is dreaming.

A pause. Just a second. Eddie’s entire life is on the line. Their whole friendship, too. It’s on the edge of ruin, teetering there, threatening to spill over.

Eddie inhales. Exhales.

“Yeah.”

Buck moans, hips shifting and grinding into Eddie. “Let me do what I said. Let me take care of you. You—” Buck exhales a shaking laugh. “Let me have you. Please. I’ll beg, Eddie, I’ll—”

He strokes his hand over Eddie’s dick, rutting into Eddie’s ass in short, deep movements. “Please, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you cum. I’ll make you cum harder than you ever have. I promise. I swear. Eddie, please—”

They must sound insane to anyone nearby. Beyond crazed.

“ Eddie .”

Buck keeps saying his name like it’s the sweetest thing that’s ever graced his tongue.

Eddie’s helpless to do anything but surrender—not to Buck, but to himself. To his desire. His want. His love.

“Fuck me,” He murmurs, nodding. “Fuck me, Buck.” Louder this time.

A relieved noise escapes Buck, echoing through the wooden box and into Eddie’s skull.

Eddie's hand drops, drifting lower and pressing over Buck’s hand at his side, squeezing it tight.

Buck’s grip loosens on Eddie’s side, shifting so he can thread their fingers together.

“God, Eddie.” His hips roll forward, steady and deep inside of him. The sound that escapes Buck is need and relief twirled together, exhaled through a parted mouth.

Eddie arches, his body opening, taking him in with ease. He bites into his bottom lip, muffling the raw noises threatening to escape him.

“You feel so good,” Buck groans, forehead bumping against the wood with a soft thud. His voice is shaking. His hand is too. “You’re so good, you’re—”

Eddie’s teeth release his lip, a ragged sound tearing free. His cock jerks in Buck’s fist, wet and dripping. He hates how fast he’s unravelling—the moment won’t last as long as he wants, as long as he needs.

Buck pumps him harder, thumb working over the slit, every stroke coaxing Eddie closer and closer to collapse. “You’re close, aren’t you? Fuck, how many guys have fucked you, Eddie?”

Eddie doesn’t know how to answer both questions at once. He just moans, pushing back against Buck’s thrusts, meeting him in the middle.

The hand squeezes his cock. “C’mon, Eddie. How many?”

Eddie blushes. Flushed bright and pink.

“I—You’re the fourth.” He manages, the syllables strangled as they reach the air.

Buck growls—possessive and low. He grips Eddie’s hand tighter, pinning it in place and working his hips faster, fucking into Eddie’s trembling body. “But you’re only gonna cum for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna cum all over my hand, Eddie. Gonna lose it all while you’re stuffed full of my dick.”

Jesus Christ.

Eddie’s head tilts backward, Buck’s name on his lips—over, and over, and over again—reverent and wrecked. Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut, his body bucking into the touch.

“Fuck, I’m— Buck, Buck, Buck —” It’s the only word he knows. The only one that makes sense.

“You’re gonna cum for me, Eddie. Just me. You’re so perfect, so pretty—God, you sound so pretty like this. Split open on my cock. Crying. I could keep you here for hours, fuck you over and over while you sob—”

Eddie chokes out a cry, his orgasm tearing through him like a bullet through flesh. It cuts through him, a through and through. He spills over Buck’s hand, just like Buck said he would. His body clenches tight around the cock buried inside him, tight enough that Buck groans deep, losing his rhythm as he fucks Eddie through his release.

“There you go. So good, Eddie, so, so good , you feel so—”

The last pulse of cum has barely left his cock when Buck follows after him, thrusting deep—hips stuttering as he floods him, spilling what feels like endlessly inside of him. His forehead thumps against the wall again, breath ragged and Eddie’s name spilling sweetly out of him on an exhale.

Eddie can’t move. Guilt is simmering just below his skin. Doesn’t know what this means. Doesn’t know—

Buck squeezes his hand.

Grounding him. Dragging him out of the panic.

“God, Eddie—” He laughs, breathless. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

Eddie’s chest aches. His eyes sting with a fresh wave of tears. He’s not sure if he ever even stopped crying, the sensation so consistent it blended in with everything else. 

“Buck, I gotta—I’m gonna hit the button. They’re gonna let me out. Just—can you wait outside? Please?”

He squeezes Eddie’s hand one last time before letting go, his hand cupping the side of Eddie’s calf as he presses a kiss to the inside of it, his cock softening and slipping out of Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah—I’ll find your car. Just—” Buck swallows. “This isn’t—it’s—it means something, right?”

Eddie could deny it. Cut this off. Beg Buck to forget it ever happened. A selfish, repressed part of him wants to. Begs to. It’s scary.

He’s terrified.

He shakes his head, glad he’s out of view so Buck can’t see him crying. “Yeah, Buck. It means something.”

Buck leans in again, pressing one last kiss to Eddie's leg, like a promise sealed with his mouth. “Okay. I’ll be waiting.

And then he’s gone.

Eddie sags against the leather beneath him, head resting against the bottom of the box. He takes a second, pulse hammering, guilt still gnawing at the edges of him, but relief is there too—hope, maybe.

He lifts his hand. Presses the button with a closed fist.

Suddenly, a woman is there. Gladice. She smiles at him, sweet and unaware. “Had enough, dear?”

Eddie nods, shuffling backwards as she offers out a hand, easing him out of the confined space. She hands him a plastic bag of his clothes from a chair to the side.

“Take your time. I hope you had fun!” She says, spinning on her heels and stalking back toward her little booth at the front of the room. He dresses in the private space, taking a beat to wipe at his face, smoothing his hair over.

He steps outside. He feels wrecked. Probably looks it too.

And then—

“Eddie.”

Buck’s there. Right there. Leaning against the boot of Eddie’s truck, in a pair of loose jeans and a soft white shirt clinging just enough to show the shape of his soft chest underneath. Damp curls lie a little flat against his forehead.

Seeing him makes the scared, skittish part of Eddie—the part that wants to run—flare up. But before it can take over, Buck pushes off the truck and strides toward him.

Buck cups Eddie’s face with both hands, leaning in close. “Hi.”

Eddie’s eyes burn again, but he blinks it away quickly. Melts into the touch. Doesn’t remember the last time someone held him this softly. This tenderly.

“Hey,” He whispers.

Buck’s eyes are glistening under the moonlight. He doesn’t blink the tears away, unashamed. Eddie leans in, kissing away one that slides down his cheek before dropping his head down to Buck’s shoulder, exhaling. Buck’s hands are dislodged, one moving to stroke up and down Eddie’s back while the other buries itself in chestnut hair.

“Take me home.” He murmurs, fingers finding Buck’s waist. “Please.”

Notes:

hi!

this is one of the most obscene things i've written in my life! yippie!

let me know what you think :p

love cj

find me on twitter @flowerfo0l