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While Buck talked to the night clerk, Eddie drifted toward the window, watching his reflection move in the dark glass, watching the empty highway beyond. Neon lights from the kitschy old sign illuminated the parking lot—three cars and an ancient yellow pickup truck that looked like a set piece of the motel itself, a little chunk of Americana frozen in time in the middle of the desert.
His ankle ached in a vague, distant way, but he'd been sitting for the better part of ten hours, so he stayed standing. The lobby smelled faintly of coffee and dust, but it was clean enough. For a few minutes he just drifted, spacing out, watching the neon sign on the diner across the parking lot, the windows still illuminated like a lighthouse for weary travelers in need of late-night greasy-spoon fare. A single set of headlights rushed by on the highway beyond without stopping.
He was jolted out of that sleepy meditation by the sound of Buck's voice, pitched louder and higher than it had been a moment ago. "Uh, let me just—hang on, let me go ask him if, uh."
Footsteps hurried back away from the desk. Eddie watched Buck approach in the dark glass and turned when he came up alongside him. "What's up?"
"Uh, nothing." Buck rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulders were tense enough to make Eddie frown; his posture seemed out of place with the easy, comfortable lassitude of the last several hours, before Buck had finally laughed around a yawn and said, okay, I'm calling it, let's find a place to stop off for the night before I fall asleep at the wheel.
He'd seemed charmed by the motel then, relieved that the vacancy sign was still lit. Now, he looked downright antsy.
"Something the matter?" Eddie asked.
"Uh, no," Buck said. He made a weird, wincing face, then said, "It's just, apparently all their available rooms are singles. I asked if they had any cots, but, uh, they don't have any right now, so—I mean, I guess we could just get two rooms, or—"
"What? No," Eddie said. Something in his chest knotted, and then released; he ignored it with the ease of habit. "C'mon. Not like we haven't shared before."
Buck looked at him for a moment, something guarded in his face. "A-are you sure?"
"It's late and my ankle is killing me. Let's just get a room. We can figure it out."
Buck's expression softened a little at that, becoming less opaque. "Do you want me to see if they have some ice?"
"There's an ice bin outside. Probably just buy some once we check in."
"Right," Buck said. He hesitated, then said, "Yeah, okay. I'll, uh, I'll go get us a room."
Eddie nodded, turning back toward the window as Buck went back to the counter. He shifted closer, watching the faint plumes his breath made on the cool glass, listening to the rise and fall of Buck's voice.
He was back a minute later, with a pair of brass keys on clunky blue plastic fobs, both stamped with the number 4.
"We're right over there on the left," Buck said, passing one to Eddie, who took it, running his thumb over the faint indent of the number. "If you wanna—I can grab some ice, bring our stuff in."
"Sure, okay," Eddie said. He smiled, felt it settle into the tired lines of his face. It felt real enough. "Thank you, Buck."
The room was small, wood-paneled, a fascinating 60's era lamp made out of sharp angles and dramatic swooping curves letting off a soft light from the corner of the room. Buck heaved their bags onto the single king bed, then ducked back outside for ice. Eddie sank onto the edge of the mattress and began slowly unlacing his shoes.
Buck was back with the ice by the time he was stripped to his t-shirt and underwear, swollen ankle propped up on the mattress. He watched Buck stutter for a moment in the doorway, then keep moving, pulling the door shut and flipping the deadbolt, tossing his room key and wallet onto the desk.
"Let me grab a towel for this," he said, heading past Eddie into the shoebox bathroom.
While the door was closed, Eddie pulled a pair of gym shorts on, which was the right call, probably, considering how Buck's expression eased when he came back out, yellowing motel towel wrapped around a baggie of ice. Eddie didn't allow himself to think about that: also a practiced habit.
'Where's the rest of it?"
"Bathtub," Buck said. "Figured we could just leave it there so it doesn't melt everywhere, since there's no fridge." He hesitated momentarily, then held the bundle out like an offering. "Here."
"Thanks."
Buck nodded. He watched Eddie settle the impromptu ice pack against his sprained ankle like he was assessing him, and Eddie bit back a reminder that of the two of them, he was the licensed paramedic. Buck did that when he was worried. It wasn't fussing so much as a single-minded focus on fixing the problem, no matter who he pissed off in the process.
In this case, at least, he retreated after a moment, settling against the edge of the desk, absently rolling his shoulders like the road-soreness had settled in there. Eddie wondered if his bad leg ached, too. Probably.
"Should have had your back," Buck said eventually.
Eddie rolled his eyes. "I tripped down a flight of stairs. Not sure it's your fault this time around."
"In full gear."
"Rub it in, why don't you," Eddie groaned, and the tension eased. Buck laughed.
"Totally would have won it if not for that."
"Oh, so it's my fault?"
"Hey, you said it, not me. Dibs on the bathroom."
Eddie looked pointedly at his iced and elevated ankle. Buck grinned at him and headed into the bathroom with his toiletry bag, pulling the door shut but not latching it, so that a thin beam of light striped the worn yellow carpet.
The elderly air conditioner under the window clanked on. In the bathroom, Buck was scrubbing his teeth, humming while he did it. It was a familiar sound, from the bunkroom, from the times—less common now—when Buck slept over at his house. Eddie settled his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
He didn't mean to sleep, didn't sink very far beneath the surface, but he still startled when the weight of the bag lifted off of his ankle. He blinked up at Buck, who was hefting the half-melted bag of ice.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"Didn't mean to fall asleep."
"It's been a long day," Buck conceded. He rewrapped the towel as water dripped down his hand, snaking lazily down his forearm to drip on the carpet. "Bathroom's free," he added, as if it wasn't obvious. Eddie groaned and pushed himself upright.
In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, blinked at his scruffy, bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror. He could hear Buck moving around the room: soft footsteps, the creak of bedsprings. Eddie closed his eyes and breathed, listening to Buck shift around, getting comfortable. There was a prickle at the base of his spine that he ignored, because they were adults and they could share a bed and Eddie was so tired that he'd probably pass out the moment his head hit the pillow, regardless.
Still, he stayed in the bathroom until the sound of movement stopped.
When he pushed the door open, the room was dark. Buck was an unmoving shape on the side of the bed closest to the door. Eddie moved through the room as quietly as he could, though Buck wasn't snoring and therefore was probably not actually asleep. He moved his bag to the foot of the bed where he'd hopefully not trip over it in the middle of the night and sprain something else, lifted the blankets, and gingerly eased himself onto the mattress. Something soft bumped against him when he shifted; Buck had evidently wedged his extra pillow down by his hips, forming a barrier between them.
"Seriously?" Eddie asked, under his breath but not so quietly that Buck wouldn't be able to hear him if he was awake.
Buck didn't answer. He was turned toward the door, away from Eddie, and the only motion was that of his shoulder shifting slightly as he breathed. Eddie thought about grabbing the pillow and tossing it onto the floor, or maybe whacking Buck upside the head with it, but of course he didn't do either of those things. Instead, he put his head back on his own pillow, shifted his weight again, and closed his eyes.
He couldn't sleep. The exhaustion of earlier hadn't fled, but it had changed shape into some buzzing, sharp-edged thing. His eyes kept catching at shadows, the occasional slip of light between the closed curtains as a car sped by outside. Buck was actually asleep now, snoring softly, radiating heat. The pillow between them was crammed against Eddie's hip, not uncomfortable except for the fact that he couldn't stop noticing it.
Finally, he shoved the blankets off of him, sat up, swung his feet over onto the floor. The air was cool, dry, smelling faintly of dust. Buck didn't move. In the dark, Eddie could just barely see the outline of his profile, his sharp nose and open mouth, the soft dark shadows of his eyelashes.
He jammed a hand against his face and stood up, feeling for his room keys on the desk. At the rattle of metal, Buck shifted, his snores pausing, and Eddie stilled, uncertain. He wanted to shake Buck awake almost as much as he wanted to slip out into the darkness like a ghost, unobserved, but in the end the latter impulse won out. He shoved his bare feet into his shoes and stepped outside without lacing them, pulling the door softly shut behind him.
The desert was cold this far past sundown. The diner was finally dark, but the motel lobby spilled a long rectangle of light out across the half-empty parking lot, the neon sign overhead stamped against the night. Out past that small pool of light, stars pricked the black sky. Eddie slouched back against the cool brick wall and sighed.
He didn't know, really, what he'd been expecting. Thirty hours on the road with Buck had sounded like more fun than it had any right to be, and it had been—the kind of casual ease they'd been missing lately, bickering over the radio and whose turn it was to drive, stopping off at every stupid roadside attraction Buck could find, a pocket of space that felt like something he'd left behind when he moved to Texas and never really managed to find again. Like a possibility he wasn't yet ready to name, rising beneath the surface all the same.
At least until Buck shoved that damn pillow between them.
Behind him, the door swung open. Buck stepped out of the room, jamming his hands in his pockets. Eddie was, perhaps, less surprised to see him than he should have been. He could have been quieter. Sneaking around silently was one of the earlier skills he'd cultivated, all the way back in El Paso—before Shannon, before Chris, before the Army, back when it was the only way to get any kind of privacy. He could have been quieter. But there'd been some part of him that had wanted Buck to follow, and now he had, and Eddie should have felt guiltier about that than he did.
"Hey," Buck said. He let the door fall shut, bouncing slightly when it caught on the open deadbolt, and settled against the wall on the far side of it, not looking at Eddie. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Guess not," Eddie said. "You?"
"Uh, yeah," Buck said quietly. "Same."
"Sorry if I woke you up."
"It's okay."
Eddie scoffed faintly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Buck shift his weight, tucking his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he'd pulled on before coming outside. For such a big guy, he always ran cold.
"Should be able to make LA by tomorrow afternoon," he remarked after a little while.
"Assuming you don't get distracted by another tourist trap and drag me around to see some giant cement space capsule in a field."
Buck laughed, ducking his head. "Okay, but it was pretty cool, admit it."
"Not cool enough to drive ten miles out of our way," Eddie said, but he could feel the smile pulling at his mouth. It was always hard to stay properly irritated with Buck when Buck was right in front of him, with his big blue eyes and wide smile, dragging Eddie into stupid adventures.
"Agree to disagree," Buck said easily. "How's your ankle?"
"I'll live. Not looking forward to being benched for the next week, but…"
"You really think Chim's gonna bench you?"
"You don't?"
"Yeah, I guess it makes you a 'liability in the field'," Buck said, with audible finger quotes, a sarcastic edge that was slightly sharper than it needed to be. "We all know how he feels about those."
"I'm not hiding anything from him."
"No, I know," Buck said, softer. "Sorry. I just…"
"Yeah," Eddie said quickly, before he could finish. "It's fine. I'll catch up on paperwork. Maybe my reading list."
"Karen's still trying to get you to join her book group?"
"Not that I have time for it, but yeah."
"Might be good for you."
"You still trying to manage my social life?" Eddie asked, glancing at Buck. He meant it as a joke, but that, too, came out with a sharp edge he felt helpless to blunt. "Didn't work out so hot last time."
Buck took a quick breath, like he was about to say something, then let it out. Eddie looked over at him, but he was facing the highway, expression unreadable in the dark. Finally, he glanced back with a wry smile. "Yeah, sorry. I'll back off."
That's not what I meant, Eddie didn't say, because then Buck would ask what he did mean, and he didn't have an answer. Not one that he could put into words, anyway. Just one more misstep in a friendship that never used to have them, one more way they kept missing each other. Or Eddie kept missing Buck, anyway, and for the first time Buck wasn't reaching out to steady him, step in, and fix whatever had cracked in between them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buck glance at him, but for a long time neither of them spoke. Then Buck shifted his weight, straightening, glancing back toward the door, and said, "Guess I should—"
"Why'd you put the pillow between us?" Eddie asked abruptly. It wasn't what he'd meant to say. He'd meant to say something normal and responsible like, Yeah, it's late, we should both get to bed, but his mouth seemed to have developed a mind of its own.
"What?"
"I—forget it."
Buck breathed out a sigh. For a moment he was silent, like he was trying to weigh his words, which was so unlike him that Eddie wanted to reach out and—shake him, maybe, just to rattle them loose. Finally he said, "I'm trying not to make things weird."
"So instead you're playing middle school games?"
"Eddie," Buck sighed. "Come on."
"I just don't get it. We've shared before."
"Yeah, but that was before…" Buck trailed off, shook his head.
Eddie knew what he meant. Of course he did. But he couldn't help the instinct to keep poking at a sore spot, trying to get a reaction. What reaction, he didn't know. Just something. Anything that wasn't Buck standing here in the dark with the door between him and Eddie, carefully portioning out his words. "Before what?"
Buck laughed, a wry, dry, tired little sound, and turned his head away. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You remember that fight we had after Bobby's funeral?"
"Jesus. Really, now?"
"I'm just asking if you remember."
Eddie sighed deeply, feeling childish and annoyed at the feeling. "Yeah, I remember."
It wasn't like they fought often enough for any instance of it to slip his mind, though he didn't say that. The thing that was always buried beneath the surface of their friendship, the way it had begun to shift in the past year into something that made him stumble at unexpected moments, that wasn't a fight. Sometimes Eddie wished it was. Fighting, he was good at. Winning fights, even. It was what came after that always left him floundering.
Buck nodded, still not looking at him. "I got too close to it. The—you know, whatever it is, I was—I think I was making it into something it's not. Expecting things that I—anyway, I-I'm trying not to do that anymore."
"Is that what you think that was?" Eddie asked. There was a terrible ache in the back of his throat. "You getting too close?"
"Yeah? I—honestly, Eddie, I don't know. I'm just trying not to…"
"Trying not to what?"
"I don't know. It doesn't matter."
"Seems like maybe it does."
Buck sighed, shaking his head. Didn't speak. In his peripheral vision, Eddie could see his hands shift, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt before tucking back into his pockets again. The silence between them had a weight that Eddie couldn't describe, heavy with something he didn't know how to say. I miss you, maybe, but that was insane. Buck was right next to him. Tomorrow promised ten hours of driving together, just the two of them, and then back to work, twenty-four hour shifts in the same station, the same rig, the same bunk room. There was nothing to miss.
"We should." He cleared his throat; the sound of his own voice had startled him. Buck turned to look at him and Eddie didn't look back. "We should probably go back to bed. Try to get some sleep."
Buck sighed, his posture slumping. "Yeah."
I miss you, Eddie thought again, and didn't say. He followed Buck into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. With the curtains closed, it was nearly pitch black inside. Buck was no more than a broad-shouldered shape moving through the room, and Eddie watched from the door as he kicked his shoes off and tossed his hoodie toward the bottom of the bed before sinking down onto the mattress, which creaked beneath his weight.
He couldn't see if Buck turned to him, couldn't read the expression on his face when he said, "You coming?"
"Yeah," Eddie said, clearing his throat. He tossed his room key in the direction of the night stand, heard it slide off onto the carpeted floor with a muffled clink, and sank down on the bed, pulling the covers over himself. Buck was already underneath them, silent and still, radiating heat.
The pillow was nowhere to be found. When Eddie shifted, his foot bumped Buck's bare, hairy shin. He breathed in sharply and felt Buck shift next to him. There was a space, in the silence, where he could have said something; where Buck could have. Neither of them spoke.
Eddie moved again. He told himself he was just settling in, and maybe there was some truth to that, the indent of Buck's body in the mattress creating a sort of inevitable gravity, drawing Eddie in. His knee bumped Buck's again, and he left it there. He shifted onto his back, then onto his side again, letting his hand fall on the body-warm sheets between them.
Through it all, Buck held still. Didn't shift away from Eddie, didn't move closer. Didn't grab the pillow and shove it between them again. Didn't reach out.
Eddie shifted again. His hand, resting between them, slid on the sheets, and his knuckles landed at Buck's hip, at the bare strip of warm skin where his t-shirt had ridden up slightly.
Buck was very still. He wasn't holding his breath—Eddie could hear his faint inhales and exhales, slow in a way that seemed deliberate—but there was a tension to him that felt almost like he was.
"Sorry," Eddie murmured.
"It's okay," Buck murmured back, voice raspy and low, sending an inexplicable shiver through Eddie. He shifted closer, toward Buck's radiant warmth; his hand settled on Buck's body, just above his hip, palm flattening, fingers slipping up under the hem of his shirt. Buck exhaled hard, muscles jumping beneath Eddie's palm.
And he still didn't move away.
Eddie slid his hand up, incrementally, under Buck's shirt. Warm skin, the faint rasp of body hair. Thick muscle under an insulating layer of fat. The faint tremor of him. His chest was rising and falling, faster now. Eddie understood it as a reaction to him but didn't allow himself to connect the pieces. It felt easier like this, in the dark unfamiliar space, in the shared warmth under the covers, his legs tangling with Buck's as he moved closer, his palm flattening over Buck's heart, feeling the way it was racing. Eddie shifted up on one elbow, looked down at him. His eyes were wide open, lashes fluttering, blurry in the darkness. His lips were parted, faintly wet like he'd been chewing at them. Eddie brushed his thumb over them, feeling the faint stickiness of spit. Buck's hot breath shuddered against his skin.
"Eddie," he breathed, and he didn't sound confused at all. Wary, maybe. The way he'd been wary, for months, watching Eddie like he could predict Eddie's next move better than Eddie himself could.
Usually, it kind of pissed him off. Now, it sparked something sharp and competitive that was less anger than it was challenge, the urge to do something Buck wouldn't expect.
He pressed down harder, and his fingers slipped into Buck's open mouth. Sudden shocking heat, the slickness of his tongue and the sharp edges of his teeth. Buck didn't jerk his head to the side or roll away; instead, he closed his lips around Eddie's fingers and sucked.
A strange, broken noise escaped Eddie. He clutched at Buck's jaw, pushing his fingers deeper, and Buck let him do it, shifting now against him, restless. Eddie felt electrified, heat rushing beneath his skin, pooling in his groin. He was starting to get hard, pressed against Buck's hip, his fingers in Buck's mouth, just letting Buck—letting him—
He ripped his hand away, breathing fast. Buck stared up at him, wide-eyed in the dark. His mouth was wet. Eddie's fingers were wet. He wanted to wipe them on the sheets, he wanted to shove them back into Buck's mouth, he wanted—he felt insane, and Buck was just staring at him, his breath coming fast too, chest heaving, and Eddie ducked his head, all static, and kissed him.
Buck came alive beneath him, all at once. His hand came up to catch Eddie's chin, lips parting to turn the kiss slick and dirty. His stubble scraped at the corners of Eddie's mouth, so undeniably male, so undeniably Buck that Eddie could barely breathe. He clutched at him, not gentle, hands in his hair, biting at his mouth and swallowing the groan that got him. His leg had slipped between Buck's, knee braced on the bed, and he could feel the solid weight of Buck's cock against his hip.
"Eddie," Buck breathed again, and Eddie shook his head and kissed him, hard. Buck shuddered, arching beneath him, his hands landing on Eddie's hips to hold him in place. And that was good, that was fucking great, way better than talking.
"Jesus," Buck breathed, the next time they parted. He slid a palm up Eddie's back, then flipped them over, a neat little move, obviously practiced. Eddie's back hit the mattress hard enough to bounce, and Buck kissed him again, braced above him in the darkness, then slid down.
Eddie let out a noise, shocked and inarticulate, and Buck paused somewhere near his belly button, mouthing at the skin there, fingers hooked in the waistband of his sleep shorts.
"This what you wanted?" he asked. There was that edge again, that sharpness. The kiss he dropped on Eddie's bare hip was unspeakably tender, though. His hands were heavy and huge, holding Eddie in place. He didn't move.
"Yeah," Eddie breathed, though he hadn't known, in any real way, that this was what he wanted until it was happening. Until Buck's mouth was on him, his hands, the familiar strangeness of his body in this context. "Come on, come on—"
Buck made a noise, a low scoff, softer than before. "I got you, it's okay."
Eddie was going to retort, but before he could, Buck was shuffling off of the bed to land on the floor between Eddie's spread legs, yanking his shorts down as he went, baring him suddenly to the night air.
"Your knee," Eddie managed. "It's—"
"I'm not worried about my fucking knee, Eddie," Buck retorted, and shoved his face into Eddie's crotch. Eddie let his head fall back on the mattress with a strangled noise as Buck bit lightly at the inside of his thigh, stubble scraping, before ducking his head lower, pushing Eddie's thighs farther apart to mouth at his balls, a strange and shivery and weirdly delicate sensation. Eddie was making noise, probably embarrassing noises, but he didn't have the wherewithal to stop himself. He could hear Buck panting, the wet sound of his mouth on Eddie's skin over the ticking of the air conditioner. The rasp of cloth, Buck's t-shirt against his inner thighs, Eddie's body against the sheets. The choked noise Eddie let out when Buck finally shifted up to slide his lips around Eddie's cock.
He didn't fuck around with it, just took Eddie to the root in a single hot slide, his throat working as he swallowed. Eddie squirmed, gasping; his hands found Buck's hair, the edge of his jaw, his shoulder, which was flexing rhymically as he bobbed his head, and it registered a moment later that he was jerking himself off, that some of those wet slick sounds were Buck touching himself as he sucked Eddie off.
"Fuck," Eddie breathed, shifting up on his elbows, peering down in the darkness to the shape of Buck wedged between his legs, the brief shine of light reflecting on his eyes, his wet lips around Eddie's cock as another set of headlights slid past outside. His shoulder flexing, his hand obscured in the darkness.
Buck made a low noise and took Eddie deeper, then another one when Eddie threaded his fingers through his messy curls, feeling them catch. Buck grabbed at his thigh with his free hand, like he was bracing himself, or maybe just hanging on, and Eddie twisted his fingers until he was gripping Buck's hair in a tight fist, then pushed him down.
Buck moaned, low and shuddery, and let him do it, taking Eddie's cock until it was shoved down his throat, into that impossibly tight, slick space, spasming around him. His arm was moving frantically now, a fast desperate rhythm, and the thought that lit Eddie up was, he likes this, he likes this, he likes this—
His hips moved, fucking into Buck's mouth in quick tight motions, the sounds of them moving together obscene in the dark. Eddie was breathing through his mouth, panting moans and half swallowed curses, the edges of consonants, Buck's face shoved between his thighs, choking on him, taking everything Eddie could give him and moaning like he was desperate for more.
When Buck came it was with a high, tight noise, his body shuddering between Eddie's legs before going lax, and it was that realization that pushed Eddie over the edge a moment later, gripping Buck tight with both hands as he thrust up sharply and came with a choked shout.
For a moment, there was nothing but wave upon wave of pleasure. Then it subsided, and Eddie was left half sprawled on a motel bed, shorts shoved around his ankles, his best friend still kneeling between his open legs.
His hand was still in Buck's hair, gripping tight, holding him down. He let go, flexing his fingers, which ached, and cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry."
Buck pulled off, leaving Eddie wet and bare as he swiped a hand over his face. Cloth shifted. Probably, he was wiping his hand. Because he'd just made himself come while sucking Eddie's dick. That was a thing that had just happened.
"It's okay," he said a moment later, and the raw, wrecked sound of his voice sent another hot thrill through Eddie.
"We should—c'mon, get back up here."
Buck made a noise under his breath: a scoff, maybe a sigh. But he let Eddie pull him back up onto the bed, flopping onto the mattress next to him. The space seemed suddenly too small, too hot, as Eddie pulled his shorts back up, flushing at the feeling of cloth on wet skin. His whole body still sang with the aftershocks.
"Eddie," Buck said carefully, and Eddie flinched hard enough that he had to feel it. He sighed, flipping the blanket up to cover them both, then said, "Okay."
It was quiet, almost resigned. Like he'd really expected nothing different.
"Look," Eddie said defensively, with no idea of what words should come next. "Can we just—"
"Yeah," Buck said, fast, like he was afraid of hearing it. "It's fine."
"We should get some sleep."
"Yeah," Buck said again.
Eddie opened his mouth, then shut it again. His body still felt suffused with warmth, the zinging aftermath of pleasure. It had been a while, and a lot longer since he'd gotten off with anything other than his own hand. It felt insane, almost impossible, that he'd given up his year and a half of semi-intentional celibacy on Buck, in a hotel room halfway through New Mexico.
Did that really just happen? he thought about saying out loud. Did you really get on your knees and put your mouth on me, did that happen or was it just a dream? And if it was a dream, what does that say about me?
He didn't speak. Buck shifted, let out a quiet sigh, and said nothing. Eddie kicked at the blanket a little, muttered, "Sorry."
"It's okay," Buck said. He was so warm, and Eddie could feel the shift of his chest as he breathed, the faint indent of his body in the mattress, like gravity. It would be so easy to roll in close, to sling a leg over Buck's body, to let Buck hold him. He would, Eddie was sure of it. He'd just let Eddie come in his mouth. He'd hold him while he slept.
Eddie didn't move. Neither did Buck. The air conditioner ticked quietly, and the occasional car sped past on the highway outside, and eventually, without meaning to, Eddie slept.
He woke to bright sunlight and the sound of the shower running. For a moment, he floated in a half-asleep haze, lazy and comfortable, well-rested for a change. His ankle ached, but it was distant; he'd have to get Buck to get some more ice for it before he hit the road. That last bag must have melted in the bathtub where they left it…
Eddie opened his eyes. The bathtub. The shower was running; pipes clanking faintly, the smell of steam and soap. The sheets next to him were rumpled, and there was a pillow on the floor. Probably the same one that Buck had shoved between them last night.
Eddie sat up slowly. In the daylight, it felt somehow both more dreamlike and more real. There was a faint tenderness on his inner thigh where Buck had rubbed his face, kneeling on the floor between Eddie's legs. It was real. The little patch of redness on his skin when he shoved the leg of his shorts out of the way was real. Buck had kissed him, had knelt between his thighs and sucked him off in the dark, let Eddie hold him down, let him—
"Jesus," Eddie said out loud, and winced at the sound of his own voice. He pressed his fingers to that little patch of reddened skin and felt a faint buzzy flicker of arousal, just from that. More than a year without sex, barely bothering to jerk off half the time, and now he was chubbing up in his shorts just at the memory of it.
The shower clicked off. Eddie froze. He listened to Buck shuffle around the room, not humming under his breath this time. In a few minutes, he'd come back out into the room, and it wasn't like Eddie could pretend to be asleep until he left; they still had ten hours of driving left to do. Ten hours in a car together. Ten hours of looking at Buck's face in profile and trying not to remember the sound he made when he came. The way his mouth had felt, the way he touched Eddie and let Eddie touch him.
Buck was always the one who made them talk about these things, but he hadn't done it last night, and he hadn't stuck around and waited for Eddie to wake up, and Eddie knew, he knew that if Buck came out of the bathroom fully dressed and asking what was for breakfast, Eddie would say that there was a diner just across the street and they might as well do that, and they'd eat pancakes or waffles or whatever specialty omelette the place served and then they'd get back on the highway and Eddie would sit in the passenger seat for ten hours with a red mark from Buck's stubble on his inner thigh and not fucking talk about it.
He was already in motion before he was conscious of the decision to move. Out of bed, fast enough that his sprained ankle nearly collapsed under his weight before he caught himself, and wouldn't that be embarrassing, but he recovered, crossed the room, knocked on the bathroom door.
The shuffling inside stopped. After a pause that felt about an eon long but was realistically only a few seconds, Buck said, "Yeah?"
"Can I come in?"
Another, longer pause, and then Buck said, "Uh, yeah, sure, man," and unlocked the door.
Eddie pushed it open. The room was full of steam, the smell of cheap motel soap and Buck's shampoo. Buck had a towel wrapped around his hips, his skin rosy from the shower, a rivulet of water running down between his shoulder blades from his wet hair. Eddie wanted to trace it with his tongue, the desire so sudden and sharp that it felt almost violent.
In the mirror, Buck met his eyes. He'd sounded normal a moment ago, but his expression was wary, almost anxious. "Do you, um, you need the bathroom, or—?"
Eddie shook his head. Words piled on his tongue, stalled there. "I—no."
"Okay," Buck said. He was still watching Eddie in the mirror, his hips canted slightly away from the countertop, his thighs barely contained by the tiny motel towel.
"Can I just," Eddie said, and reached out, like his hand belonged to someone else, to touch Buck's bare side. He felt as much as heard the sharp breath Buck took, but he didn't twist out of Eddie's hands, didn't slap him away. "I just want to," and then he stopped, fingers flexing on Buck's skin.
Buck was getting hard. He could see it, easy; the thin towel hid nothing, and Eddie sank down to his knees with barely a thought to do it. The tile floor was cool beneath him. Buck's thighs were warm under his hands. Buck made a sharp little noise above him, and Eddie looked up to meet his eyes for real this time, not in the mirror.
"Shit," he breathed, tilting his head back. One big hand gripped the edge of the sink base tightly enough that his knuckles went white; the other went to the knot just barely holding the towel on.
"I want," Eddie said, and stalled out again. The words felt too huge, too monumental to speak, even on his knees like this in clear invitation. He licked his lips and watched Buck's eyes go dark. "Please."
"Jesus," Buck breathed. "Eddie, I—" He shook his head. Hesitated, then undid the knot, letting the towel drop. His cock sprang free, stiff and red, shiny at the head, and Eddie's mind went mercifully, beautifully blank.
He leaned forward and ran his tongue over the head of Buck's cock, collecting salt. Clean skin, the faint taste of soap, the bitterness of precome leaking on his tongue. Buck swore again, threaded a hand through his hair, fingers gentle and trembling, and Eddie did it again.
"Fuck," Buck breathed, "you're so—"
Eddie hummed, taking him deeper. Feeling the stretch of his lips, the weight of Buck's cock on his tongue, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth, then starting to drip down his chin as he tried to figure out a rhythm. Buck's hand was heavy on the back of his head, not grabbing or pulling the way Eddie had last night, not shoving him down, just holding him. Touching him, as Eddie bobbed his head, working up speed and confidence with every stuttered little sound that escaped Buck, with every abortive thrust of his hips, with the fine tremor of his hands like he was trying so hard not to be too rough. It was sweet, in the way that Buck always was. Careful. Eddie wanted to make him break.
He sank down deeper, until the thick head of Buck's cock hit the back of his throat, making him gag. Buck swore sharply, fingers clenching and then releasing, and Eddie reached up to grab his hand, clenching his fingers until they gripped a fistful of his hair, and sank down until he was gagging again, eyes watering, chin slick with drool, no thought in his head other than this, just this. He could have stayed there for days. Forever. This was a thing he'd never considered, glanced off even fantasizing about, the same invisible force field that contained all of his desires, but now that he had it he felt greedy enough to gorge himself, helpless to stop.
"Eddie—Eddie, I'm, I'm gonna—" Buck gasped, fingers tightening, and Eddie could feel it, the way Buck's cock was starting to thicken, pulsing on his tongue, Buck's thighs trembling under his palms, Buck's voice cracking as his hips jerked and Eddie shoved himself closer, holding Buck inside him and against him as he came.
He choked on it, a little, and that lit him up too, a sensory overwhelm that felt beyond pleasure. Buck moaned his name, his hips stuttering, his hands still so fucking gentle on Eddie.
He sagged back against the counter when it was over, staring down at Eddie, breathing like he'd just been sprinting. Eddie sat back on his heels, absently flexing his sore jaw, and flushed when he met Buck's eyes.
"Jesus," Buck breathed again. His eyes dropped to Eddie's mouth, then between his legs, where he was so hard that the fabric of his gym shorts strained over his cock, going slick and wet at the head. "I—come here, come here," and that was good, Buck making the call, because Eddie might just have stayed there forever. But Buck's hands were on him, pulling him up, and then Buck's mouth was on his, and Eddie jolted into the kiss, moaning.
It was messy, frantic, no finesse to it, Buck's hands on his face, Buck's tongue in his mouth, Buck's body against him. He kissed Eddie again, then pushed him back gently, hands on his hips, and turned him to face the mirror.
Eddie shivered, full-bodied, at the sight of them: Buck's hands on his hips, Buck's head ducking down to mouth kisses up the side of his throat. His own face, his mouth wet and red, color high in his cheeks.
"Look at you," Buck breathed, and it was the wonder in his voice that kept Eddie from flinching, from fleeing—that kept him still, as Buck hooked his chin over his shoulder to meet Eddie's eyes in the mirror. "God, Eddie—"
Eddie turned his head to kiss the next words off of his lips, but he didn't stop Buck from pushing his shorts down and taking him in hand. Eddie shuddered into his grip, unable to look straight at his reflection, unable to look away: Buck's red cheeks and intent eyes on him in the mirror, Buck's hand on his cock, immediately finding a fast, relentless pace. Buck's other hand pushed up under his loose shirt to grope at his chest, pinching a nipple lightly, then harder when Eddie gasped.
Eddie couldn't look away. He'd never just looked at himself like this—sex had always been a performance of sorts, but not one that was for his benefit. He'd never imagined he could look like this, arching up against Buck, mouth open, eyes heavy-lidded, working his cock into Buck's fist as Buck pulled him closer. He could feel Buck, too, half-hard, still sticky with spit and come, against his bare ass.
Eddie ground back against him, and Buck cursed quietly in his ear, shuddering, his hand tightening, and it broke all at once: Eddie came with a choked moan, pulsing over Buck's fingers as Buck let out a desperate little noise and tucked his face into Eddie's throat.
The comedown was slow this time, lassitude sweeping through him as he sagged back against Buck's body, trusting him to take his weight. He could feel his heart racing, Buck's chest heaving against his back.
Eddie took a breath, then another, then laughed breathlessly. In the mirror, he watched Buck's chin lift. Their eyes met. Buck's smile was wary, but it eased at whatever he saw in Eddie's face.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing, nothing," Eddie said, but he turned in Buck's arms this time to look him in the eye before leaning in for a kiss.
"I, uh, I gotta be honest, after last night I kind of thought we were going to pretend it didn't happen," Buck said at the diner some time later.
He'd gotten the specialty omelette that Eddie had predicted—some complicated thing involving feta and spinach and maybe mushrooms, Eddie wasn't sure. Eddie was drizzing syrup over a stack of pancakes. Two cups of coffee steamed on the table between them, milky for Buck, black for Eddie. A familiar comfortable breakfast scene, other than the fact that Eddie had pressed his calf against Buck's under the table and not moved away. The noise of the morning rush clattered around them, but here, tucked in a corner booth by the big front window, it felt like they were in a pocket of stillness, just the two of them.
"Thought about it," Eddie admitted, wry.
Buck scoffed laughter, ducking his head. "I didn't know you, uh—I didn't know."
"I barely even knew," Eddie said, though it must have been obvious. "You remember what you said last night, about that fight we had way back?"
Buck looked up at him. His eyes were clear, thoughtful. "Uh, yeah. I remember."
"I was scared to talk to you. Knew you'd see through me. You always do."
"I don't know about that."
"You do. And there was too much shit I couldn't think about."
"What, uh." Buck hesitated, pushing a piece of spinach across his plate. "What about now?"
"I don't." He took a breath, looked up. Buck was watching him again, the sunlight in his hair, softening the edges of his jaw. He was beautiful, and it wasn't the first time Eddie'd had that thought. He'd always just—pushed it away. Told himself it was something other than what it was. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen. I don't know what—I don't know what we do, how this all plays out, but I want to try. If you do."
"Eddie," Buck said, so warm that Eddie could barely stand it. "I—of course I do."
"Okay." He let out a breath, then laughed, a little stupid, a little giddy. "Okay. Good. We should—we should probably hit the road soon, so we can get home—"
"Oh yeah, by the way, I had a thought about that," Buck said, slipping easily into it along with him. There'd be more to talk about, Eddie knew. Ten hours of driving to do it. Ten hours to freak out and let Buck talk him down again, probably, and then Los Angeles at the end of it, a life on the brink of change, if he could let it. But now, in this moment, in a roadside diner in the middle of nowhere, Buck knocked their legs together and grinned conspiratorially across the table at him. "So, there's this museum I wanted to check out—"
"We are not," Eddie groaned through his sudden laughter. "We're not taking another twenty mile detour—"
"Okay, but listen, get this. It was once a hideout for Billy the Kid. Billy the Kid, Eddie! Come on. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."
"You're a once in a lifetime opportunity," Eddie retorted nonsensically, and Buck blushed, sudden and beautiful. Eddie wanted to kiss him. He couldn't bring himself to do it in front of this many people, not yet, but he wanted to, and Buck must have read it in his face, because he laughed out loud, delighted. "No more tourist traps. Come on."
"I'll talk you into it," Buck said, still blushing, full of easy confidence, and Eddie knew deep down that he was right.