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They’re basically the only people left at the bar when Buck says, out of the blue, “I think Nashville, like, makes you straight.”
Eddie seems amused when he asks, “What?”
“I’m serious,” Buck insists. “I haven’t looked at a single guy since we came here.”
“Sure,” Eddie allows, clearly not getting it. He takes a sip of his beer.
“It’s like,” he continues, on a roll now. “There’s nobody here who’s hot. And available. And a guy. So I’m super not interested.”
“And it makes you feel straight?” Eddie guesses. “I don’t think that’s how it works, bud.”
“I know it’s not,” Buck says. “Bisexuality is, like, nuanced and beautiful, and whatever. I just feel straight as hell right now.”
“You’re wearing a disco ball cowboy hat,” Eddie points out, “that you won from riding a mechanical bull.”
“Straight guys can be flamboyant,” Buck argues, a little chagrined. “Straight guys can ride.”
He laughs. “Okay, straight guy, let’s get you back to your room.”
Eddie always has good ideas. Buck isn’t that drunk, but he lets himself be hauled up, and the two of them Uber back to their hotel together like two linked chains. It’s usual. Buck talks and Eddie lets him, nodding and humming at the right pauses in conversation. If it was anyone else, Buck would think that they were tuning him out. And he could live with that, sure. But it’s Eddie, and Eddie is always listening, and he grins at every ‘mhm’ and ‘that’s crazy’ that he gets, because he knows that in two or three weeks, Eddie will bring up a fact that he’d said so easily that Buck will be unsure whether he really did only say it once.
“Keep talking,” Eddie says, and Buck realizes that he’s been staring a little past him.
“Oh,” Buck says. “Sure.”
He keeps talking in the car, and then they get to the hotel, and he keeps talking in the elevator, and he keeps talking in the hallway as they walk to Buck’s room, still joined.
Eddie lets himself in after Buck, locking the door behind him quietly. Buck doesn’t think about it, because he never does; Eddie in his space is as easy as breathing, as natural as the Earth orbiting the sun. He barely notices that Eddie is still standing at the door, watching Buck, until he pipes up and says, “Hey, what else do you think straight guys do?”
Buck raises his head to look at him, and, finally, realizes that he’s barely moved. “Uh, what?”
“You said you’re feeling straight right now,” Eddie says. “We’re playing pretend. What do you think they do?”
Buck rolls his eyes. “Dude, I thought straight guys were, like, jerking each other off all the time. It’s honestly crazy that I took so long to realize that I’m — ”
“Okay,” Eddie says, and he unbuckles his belt.
“What are you doing?” Buck squeaks, his heart jumping like he got hit by lightning again.
“Straight guy stuff,” Eddie shrugs, wiggling a little to get out of his pants. “It’s fine. Take your pants off.”
He crumples his own pants into his hands and strides over to Buck and Buck thinks, suddenly, that he might be going crazy. He takes his pants off, though, as Eddie comes to stand next to him.
“Sit down,” he instructs next.
“Okay,” Buck agrees, backing himself into his bed, bouncing a little on impact.
Eddie’s standing in front of him, above him, appraising him. He reaches out to tilt Buck’s face up, examining it with neutral eyes, then down towards his hard bulge.
Buck swallows.
“Do you like that?” Eddie asks.
“No,” Buck says, and he knows it must be audible how much he doesn’t mean it.
Eddie lets out a pleased hum at that. “That makes sense. You said you’re straight, right?”
Buck realizes, suddenly, that actually Eddie is crazy. Eddie is having some sort of psychotic break. Eddie has entered a parallel universe where they've swapped sexualities, or maybe Buck has, and it’s going to tear the multiverse apart.
“Yeah,” Buck says, instead of verbalizing any of that. “I’m straight.”
“Well, it’s not weird to jerk off your straight friend. Don’t make it weird, Buck, okay?”
“Okay,” Buck agrees. He doesn’t know what else to do but agree right now, so he lets Eddie kneel between his legs and slide his briefs down. His cock springs up, hard from the attention.
“Damn, you’re big,” Eddie notes, a touch admiring. “Not as big as me, but, y’know. Close.”
Buck, suddenly, wants to see Eddie’s dick. Could straight guys want that? They measured dicks all the time, it wouldn’t be so crazy. He needs to know if Eddie was psyching him out or if he really is bigger than Buck; Tommy hadn’t been, neither had Zane. Buck had taken them both despite that.
“I want to see your dick,” Buck says, trying not to beg.
“Straight guys aren’t that desperate for dick,” Eddie admonishes, squeezing him punishingly. He moans, thrusting up a little, and Eddie snickers.
“Y–you get to see mine,” Buck argues.
“I’m being a good friend,” Eddie says simply. “You really need this. See?” And then he squeezes him again. It’s more playful this time, if holding someone’s dick can be that, but it makes Buck react all the same.
“Thank you,” Buck manages.
Eddie smiles. “What are friends for?”
He strokes Buck’s cock more, just studying it. It makes Buck want to squirm but he knows, innately, that Eddie doesn’t want that.
“Can I come?” Buck asks, after what feels like a while. Eddie is barely doing anything special, it’s just the way he’s looking at Buck and his cock that’s driving Buck back and forth to the edge. Again, he asks, “Please, can I come?”
Eddie smiles, carnivorous. “Oh,” he says. “You’re so fucking gay.”
Shit. Buck suddenly keens, thrusting into Eddie’s hand, and his mind goes white-hot blank.
“I knew it,” Eddie crows. “Fuck, you’re so big and you can’t get yourself off. You’re useless.”
“I’m not,” Buck tries. “I’m n–uh–not useless.”
“Sure,” Eddie says, condescending.
“Please,” Buck begs. “I’m not. I’m straight.”
“I don’t believe you,” Eddie tuts. “You basically came when I called you gay.”
“I’m straight,” Buck repeats.
“Do you want to prove it?”
Buck nods. His brain is melting, leaking out of his rock-hard cock.
Eddie stands up and moves Buck a little, manhandling him around until he’s laying on the bed and Buck is sitting between his legs. He’s staring at Buck, propped up on some pillows.
“Get my dick out,” Eddie instructs. Buck eagerly starts toward the waistband of Eddie’s briefs, and Eddie stops him with a laugh. “God, you’re so eager. Listen: get my dick out and finger yourself and ride it. I’ll believe you’re not gay if you don’t like it.”
It makes sense. Slower now, the least desperate that he can manage, Buck reaches for Eddie’s waistband. He’s transfixed by the shape of Eddie’s cock through his briefs and the dark spot marring the grey cotton no matter how much he tries not to be. He throws them off to the side, then looks at Eddie expectantly. Wordlessly, Eddie hands him a little bottle of lube. It’s — Buck’s? Buck can’t think about that, about the idea that Eddie’d gone through his things to figure out where he’d keep his lube. That Eddie knows what clothes he packed and that he keeps his things in hotel drawers and where his lube is. It’s intimate and mortifying in equal measures, it's too much.
Buck just closes his eyes and slicks up two fingers, then three, fingering himself. He misses his prostate, can’t stand to feel any better right now. Eddie, thankfully, lets him get away with this.
When Buck feels thoroughly prepared enough, he looks back to him. Eddie’s staring at him with a muted passion, like there’s something behind the ignorance they’re feigning, him more than Buck. But he beckons for him. Buck straddles his legs, waiting.
“That was easy,” Eddie says, finally, after looking at him a little too long. He looks like he didn’t mean to. “You’re probably loose as a girl.”
Then he lifts Buck up and sinks Buck down onto himself, letting him figure out how to adjust to the sudden intrusion. It makes him jerk, crying out at how much it is, how good it feels. He’d worked to avoid his prostate, but Eddie’s cock squeezes against it, every inch adding to the feeling. He feels like he’s on fire.
He tries to tamp down his moans, thinks he manages to sound a little more like he’s in pain than in pleasure. It’s not untrue, just omissive.
Eddie watches him. “That was easy, huh?”
“Not that big,” Buck snipes, just to say it.
Eddie lets out a shocked laugh, and it seems to even surprise him. “Asshole,” he says, fondly. It’s not in-character for this weird alternate universe Eddie he’s been playing, and the glint of genuineness is gone as soon as it appears. Then he’s back to the neutrality, the impassive staring. “Did you say straight men could ride?”
It takes Buck a minute to remember what he was talking about; the bar. Eddie’d remembered Buck’s petulant argument. “Yeah,” Buck nods.
“Show me.” Eddie slaps him at the crease of his waist and his thigh. “It won’t be gay unless you like it.”
Buck might be able to do that. He doesn’t really like riding, it doesn’t get him off the way other things do. He needs to show Eddie, needs to prove it. That he’s straight. Or that he’s good. Both, maybe.
He lifts himself up, thighs burning with the effort, and lowers himself down slower. Eddie grunts, tells him to hurry up. He tries his best, finds a rhythm, and it kind of works. It’s okay if he hits his prostate, because then he can get himself off. It’s okay if he doesn’t, because then he doesn’t like it. He hits it more than he doesn’t, though, which is good for his pleasure and bad for his clarity of mind, because he’s suddenly wondering why he’s not getting off. The angle is right but it’s not enough.
He’s slowing down and Eddie, who is watching him like a shark, asks, “What’s wrong?”
It’s an out, but Buck doesn’t take it. He replies, “Nothing.”
Eddie looks at him, looks at Buck’s hard cock. “Are you not getting off on this?”
“No.” It’s both true and not true, depending on how literally you mean it.
“It’s not enough, huh?” Eddie coos, baiting him. He lifts a hand to Buck’s cheek. “Is it not enough?”
In a moment of weakness, Buck whimpers and answers, “No.”
He regrets it instantly when Eddie smiles at him. “What do you need?” he asks, his tone moving back towards mean.
“I just,” Buck says. “I just want to get fucked.”
“I knew it,” Eddie smiles. “You want to get fucked. You’re not straight at all.”
“I’m not straight,” Buck admits, a little broken by the truth. “I want you. I, I want you to fuck me.”
“You can’t even ride.” Eddie is gleeful, like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “You're fucking lazy too.” He thrusts up and Buck cries out a little at it.
“I don’t know how you thought you’d be able to fuck any girl,” he continues, thrusting up twice more to watch Buck writhe. “Maybe you would want her, but neither of you would be able to do the work. God, that’s so embarrassing.”
Buck is on fucking fire right now, hot and humiliated.
“Don’t be mean,” he pleads, because he loves it and he hates it and he doesn’t think he can take any more of it without coming untouched right now. “I told you the truth.”
“I’ll be mean if I want, sweetheart. Dumb, lazy whores don’t get to tell real men what to do.”
Buck whines. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Please, I will. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “You can’t help it. You just want me.”
“I do.”
Eddie laughs meanly. “You’re so easy.”
Buck comes. Everything was anticipation, and it feels like he’s being cut up, but it happens. When he can hear anything at all, he hears himself whimpering, “I’m sorry,” again and again into the air, head tilted back and arms weakly supporting him. If Eddie wasn’t holding him by the waist, he might’ve tipped over.
“I want to get off,” Eddie says.
Buck nods.
Eddie turns him over, not even taking him off his cock. Buck lets himself be moved, face pressed down into his unmade bed. It’s soaked with Eddie’s sweat and Buck huffs it in without thinking much of it.
“You like how I smell, huh? You always did my laundry. I should’ve known. Were you sniffing my underwear?”
Buck wasn’t but the idea is intoxicating, and he can’t reply anyway. He just moans.
Eddie doesn’t say much of substance after that, just rocks into Buck hard and fast and holds his face down and pulls his hips up, using him like a toy and treating him like an object. It gets Buck off like nothing else.
“Peacocking around like that for those bachelorettes, like you want what they could give you,” Eddie says into his ear, suddenly. He thrusts hard, all-in. “When you're such a fucking faggot.” Then Eddie comes.
It hits Buck all in an instant, the feeling and the words, the fact that he was on the verge anyways and only said that for him, he said that for Buck, and he makes a little, desperate noise and comes again.
It's fuzzy after that, nothing in Buck's mind but the white hotel sheets in front of him and the movement of Eddie behind him. He's only snapped out of it when Eddie laughs; not the condescending, humiliating thing he'd been letting out at Buck’s expense, but a genuine giggle.
“Dude, we ruined the sheets.”
Buck groans. “Go sleep in your own bed.”
“I like how you think, Buckley,” Eddie says. Buck can hear the smile in his voice. “Shower and change before we go, though. I don't need the hotel staff to see you this, uh. Nasty.”
Buck cranes his head to look at Eddie. “You want me to sleep in your room?”
Eddie looks good after sex, pink and ruffled, like he had a good workout and not at all like he just fucked the imaginary heterosexuality out of his best friend. He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to sleep in your own cum? Come on, if you shower, I'll even take care of your sheets.”
“I'm okay,” Buck maintains, but the sight of Eddie looking very, very hot after sex is making him more sure that he looks like a crazy mess, covered in tears and sweat and cum and torn apart and bitten up and not okay at all.
“Don't be a martyr,” Eddie says, and pulls him up easily. Buck’s wobbly on his legs, but Eddie steads him with a hand on his waist. “Go, there's a shower chair.”
“There's never a shower chair.”
“I asked the staff to put one in yours when we checked in,” Eddie says. “When you went to figure out when breakfast closed. Now stop arguing and go, or I’ll clean you up myself.”
Buck relents, toddling over to the bathroom and finding that there is, in fact, a shower chair slid sneakily between the toilet and the wall. He hates the way it sends a rush of heat through him. He uses it and showers as quickly as he can and emerges from the bathroom warm pink and clean, relishing the ache of sex now that it subsides.
Eddie’s sitting on his naked bed, scrolling on his phone. He looks up to smile at Buck.
“My turn now, buddy,” he says, gently. “Sit down, I’ll just be a sec. I’ve got less of a mess on me.”
Buck rolls his eyes but he does sit down where Eddie had been after he gets up, still mindlessly toweling his hair dry. He doesn’t think about what just happened and he doesn’t know that he can right now.
When Eddie returns fresh, Buck stands up. He’s less wobbly now but he plays up the shake in his step as he meets him by the door. It earns him a raised brow, but Eddie holds out a steady hand for him anyway. Buck lets himself be guided towards Eddie’s room, trusting that Eddie will take care of him, even just to walk him down the hallway.
They’re in bed as soon as they make their way into the room, the only detours being them taking off their shoes and Eddie shucking his outer layers for a breezier set of pajamas. Buck watches him undress perched on the side of his bed, and Eddie catches him looking. Neither of them are embarrassed in the slightest; Eddie only smiles lazily and, jokingly, twirls his discarded t-shirt around a finger. Buck’s cock twitches sympathetically, though he knows he won’t be able to get it up. Then, Eddie is in bed, pulling Buck down with him, hands roving gently over the breadth of him and pressing them together like parentheses.
It’s warm. Eddie is always warm.
When he feels his senses and his sensibilities return to him, when he needs to know more than he needs to be held, Buck looks back at Eddie. His eyes are open and he's looking at Buck guilelessly, and Buck thinks he might be crossing a line he’ll never be able to recover from, but he needs to know. Quietly, he asks, “Do straight guys kiss?”
“No,” Eddie says and leans forward to meet his lips with Buck’s.
It’s gentle and sweet and unhurried, passion mild from the sex they’d had but still there.
When they part, Buck feels light-headed. “You’re not straight,” he realizes.
Eddie furrows his brow. “Buck, I called you a slur while fucking you,” he says, affronted. “Did you think I was seriously being homophobic? While fucking you?”
“I don’t know!” Buck defends instantly; it’s petulant, not pillow talk in the slightest. “I just thought you got, like, a pass. From your gay friends.”
“I don’t have gay friends,” Eddie says, then amends, "I don't have gay friends who say faggot."
“You were friends with Tommy. You’re friends with Josh,” Buck says. Then he suddenly asks, “Fuck, did they make you realize — ?”
“I hate Tommy and I don’t like Josh and I realized I like you because of you,” Eddie says flatly.
“Oh,” Buck says. He’s smiling, suddenly, so giddy he can’t help it. “Please, uh, please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Eddie promises, then headbumps Buck to face away from him, shifting so that they’re pressed together just a little tighter. “I want you too, I want you more than anything. But I want to talk about this tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to sleep with you.”
They fall asleep, just like that, and it's good. It's really good. Eddie really does always have good ideas.