Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The air in “The Recess” was thick enough to chew. It tasted of stale beer, the cloying sweetness of cheap cocktail mixers, and the sharp, almost metallic tang of collective desperation. Evan Buckley breathed it in and felt nothing but a profound sense of exhaustion. It settled deep in his bones, a familiar ache that had become as much a part of him as the birthmark over his eye.

He leaned a hip against the sticky surface of the bar, nursing a bottle of beer he had no intention of finishing. The bass from the speakers vibrated up through the soles of his boots, a relentless, synthetic heartbeat for a room full of people pretending to be alive. His eyes, the same blue that once held a boundless well of optimism, scanned the crowd with the detached, analytical gaze of a predator who had long since lost his appetite for the hunt.

It was always the same.

To his left, a cluster of young men, barely old enough to be in here, were living their lives through their phone screens. They preened and posed, muscles straining against designer t-shirts, capturing manufactured moments of joy for an audience that wasn't here. Buck felt a surge of contempt so sharp and sudden it almost made him flinch. He’d been that young once, though his own brand of youthful idiocy had also involved running into burning buildings, not just perfecting a pout for Instagram.

To his right, a group of older men, their faces a roadmap of past disappointments, watched the younger crowd with a hungry, almost predatory nostalgia. They were looking for a night, an hour, a few minutes to feel like the men they used to be. Buck looked away. He was thirty-four, caught in the no-man’s-land between the two, and felt an uncomfortable kinship with both groups that made his skin crawl.

This was a mistake. He should have stayed home.

But the alternative had been the crushing, cavernous silence of his loft. Since leaving the 118—since everyone had left him, one way or another—the silence had become a physical presence, a houseguest that never left. It sat with him at his dinner table, followed him from room to room, and lay beside him in his too-large bed. He’d come home from the academy, the shouts of recruits and the clang of equipment still ringing in his ears, and the quiet had descended like a shroud. He’d eaten a bland chicken breast straight from the container, stared at his own reflection in the dark glass of his floor-to-ceiling windows, and felt the walls begin to close in.

So it had been a choice: the bottle of whiskey on his counter or this. He’d chosen this, telling himself it was the lesser of two evils. At least here, the noise was on the outside.

He pushed off the bar, the decision made. He’d go home, get drunk, and pass out. It was a solid plan. Dependable. He took one last, cursory glance across the pulsating room, a final sweep before his retreat.

And then he saw him.

It was like a camera lens snapping into focus. The rest of the room, with its shifting bodies and flashing lights, blurred into a meaningless backdrop. There, standing near the entrance as if he’d just stepped through a portal from a better, cleaner world, was a man who didn't belong.

He was tall, but built with a solid, compact strength that spoke of discipline. He wasn't overly bulky, not in the way the gym rats who lived on protein powder were. This was the dense, functional muscle of a soldier or an athlete. He was wearing a simple dark shirt that pulled taut across his chest and shoulders, and a pair of jeans that fit him in a way that should have been illegal, accentuating a pair of hips that Buck’s hands already ached to hold.

But it was his face that stopped Buck’s breath in his chest. High cheekbones, a strong jawline with a dust of facial hair, and a full-lipped mouth that looked like it was made for sin. He had the kind of casual, devastating beauty that belonged on a magazine cover, not in a dive bar on a Friday night. He looked lost, his dark eyes scanning the room with a wide, almost innocent apprehension that was so out of place here it was like a beacon.

And he was young. Younger than Buck would have preferred. Early twenties, maybe. A kid.

Buck watched him make his way toward the bar, moving with a purpose that seemed at odds with the uncertainty in his eyes. Every instinct, every newly-formed, self-protective wall Buck had built around his shriveled heart screamed at him to turn around, walk out, and never look back. This was trouble. This was a complication he didn’t need. This was a beautiful, bright thing that he would inevitably tarnish.

But the predator, tired as he was, was still a predator. The sight of this man was like a jolt of electricity to his system, waking up parts of him he’d thought were long dead. The loneliness that had been a dull ache moments before was now a sharp, hollow pang.

He waited, letting the man order a drink, letting him settle. He watched him take a long, nervous pull from his beer bottle.

Fuck it. Just for tonight.

Buck straightened up, his own beer forgotten on the bar. The night, he decided, could be salvaged after all.

***

The noise hit Eddie Díaz first. A wall of sound—thumping bass, the shrill laughter of a woman somewhere to his left, the cacophony of dozens of conversations all happening at once. He took a steadying breath, the air tasting of sweat and something vaguely fruity, and forced his feet to carry him over the threshold. The door swung shut behind him, sealing him in.

He felt like every eye in the place had swiveled to pin him in place, a bug under a microscope. He knew, logically, that it wasn't true. No one cared about the new guy. But the feeling was a physical weight on his shoulders, pressing him down, making the collar of his shirt feel too tight. He kept his gaze fixed on the glowing oasis of the bar at the far end of the room, his objective. Just get there, get a drink, and recalibrate. One mission at a time. It’s what had gotten him through four years in the Army. Surely it could get him through one night in a gay bar.

He was twenty-two years old and felt like a child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes.

This was it. Los Angeles. Freedom. The new life he had promised himself through long, dust-choked nights in Iraq. The life that was a thousand miles and a world away from El Paso, from his parents’ suffocating expectations and his father’s perpetual look of disappointment. He was living with his Abuela and Tía Pepa, their warm, bustling home a temporary sanctuary, and in a week—well, ten days to be exact—he would be reporting for day one at the LAFD Fire Academy. A real future. His future.

He’d done it. He’d gotten away.

And this… this was supposed to be part of it. The final frontier. Admitting to himself, in the quiet of his own mind, that the reason he’d never really loved Shannon, the reason he’d felt nothing but a vague, clinical detachment during the few times they’d fumbled together, was because he’d been looking at the wrong people all along. He liked men. He was gay. He could finally say the word to himself without a crippling wave of Catholic guilt washing over him.

But saying it and doing something about it were two very different things.

His one and only sexual experience had been a clumsy, passionless ten minutes that felt more like a mechanical chore than anything resembling pleasure. Worse, it had been followed by three weeks of sheer, gut-wrenching terror when Shannon's period was late. The eventual wave of relief wasn't celebratory; it was clarifying. It solidified a desperate need for an escape route from the life everyone in El Paso expected him to lead, and the Army became that escape route. He hadn't been with anyone since, not out of any lingering fear, but out of a profound and simple lack of interest. The idea of being with a woman left him cold, and in the hyper-masculine environment of the military, exploring any other possibility hadn't even felt like an option.

So now, standing in a room full of men who were openly, confidently looking for what he’d spent his life running from, he felt a tremor of that same old fear. He knew what places like this were for. He wasn’t naive. But a stubborn, hopeful part of him, the part that still believed in the promises he’d made to himself, longed for something more. Something meaningful. He wanted to feel what it was like to be looked at with genuine desire, to hold a hand, to have a real first kiss.

He reached the bar, the polished wood cool beneath his suddenly clammy palms. “A beer, please. Whatever’s on tap.”

The bartender, a man with a magnificent beard and bored eyes, wordlessly pulled a pint glass, filled it from the tap, and slid it onto the counter. Eddie wrapped his hand around it, the cold, condensation-slicked glass a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos. He took a long swallow, the bitter liquid doing little to calm the frantic hummingbird wings in his chest. He turned, leaning his back against the bar, and surveyed the room.

It was… a bar. Men were laughing, drinking, dancing. Some were alone, like him, their eyes scanning the crowd. Some were in groups. Some were coupled up, their bodies close, hands possessive. It wasn’t the den of sin his mother’s sermons had promised. It was just… people. And yet, he felt a universe away from all of them.

He took another swig of his beer, chugging half of the glass in one go. He needed to get a grip. For a week, he’d made this same promise to himself, and for a week, he’d found a reason to stay in. His excuses were wearing thin, and his nerve was fraying along with them. In ten days, his life would belong to the LAFD, a relentless cycle of bells and drills and exhaustion. Tonight felt like the last deep breath before the plunge.

He felt a presence beside him before he heard the voice. A shift in the air, the warmth of a large body settling next to him at the bar.

“Do you have a map? Because I’m getting lost in your eyes.”

The voice was a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate right down Eddie’s spine, setting off a pleasant shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. The line was so ridiculous, so profoundly cheesy, that Eddie’s first instinct was to laugh. He turned, a sarcastic, “Does that line ever actually work?” already on his lips.

The words died in his throat.

Standing before him was, without any exaggeration, the most handsome man Eddie had ever seen. He was taller than him by a few inches, broad-shouldered and impossibly muscular. His black t-shirt was stretched to its absolute limit across a chest and biceps that looked like they’d been carved from granite. A mop of dirty blond curls fell across his forehead, and his face… it was all sharp angles and confident lines, but it was his eyes that were the real killer feature. They were blue. Not just blue, but a startling, brilliant shade of sapphire that seemed to hold a galaxy of amusement and intelligence. Above his left eye was a small, reddish birthmark, a tiny imperfection that somehow only made him more striking.

He was older, probably by a decade, and he wore his confidence like a second skin. A slow, devastating smirk was playing on his lips, a look that went straight to Eddie’s dick and made his entire body flush with heat.

Eddie’s mouth went dry. All his plans, all his anxieties, all his hopes for the night, evaporated into a single, primal thought.

I want.

The thought was so loud in Eddie’s head that he was momentarily terrified he’d said it out loud. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic, desperate rhythm that echoed the thumping bass from the bar’s speakers. The man—the impossibly handsome, impossibly blue-eyed man—was still smirking, his gaze knowing and intense, as if he’d heard the thought anyway.

Eddie’s mind, usually so disciplined, was a frantic scramble. He needed to say something. Anything. His planned sarcastic retort was long gone, vaporized by the sheer, overwhelming presence of the man in front of him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The man’s smirk softened into a genuinely amused smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Cat got your tongue?” his voice was still a low rumble, but it was warmer now, less of a pickup line and more of a gentle tease. “Don’t worry, it was a terrible line. My friends tell me I should be banned from speaking to strangers. Name’s Buck.”

He extended a hand. It was large, the knuckles slightly scarred, looking strong enough to crush stone. Eddie looked at it for a second before his own hand moved, as if on autopilot, to meet it. The moment their skin touched, a jolt of electricity shot up Eddie’s arm. Buck’s palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm and sure. He didn’t let go right away, his thumb brushing lightly over Eddie’s knuckles.

“Eddie,” he managed to say, his voice sounding rougher than he’d intended.

“Eddie,” Buck repeated, tasting the name. The sound of it in that low voice did something wild to Eddie’s insides. “It’s good to meet you, Eddie. Even if my methods are questionable.” He finally released his hand, though Eddie could still feel the phantom warmth. “So, what brings you to a place like this on a Friday night? Running from your problems or running towards them?”

The question was direct, but his tone was light, inviting honesty. Eddie found himself giving a small, genuine smile for the first time that night. “A little of both, I guess. Mostly just trying to get my bearings.”

“You’re new to town,” Buck stated, not a question. He leaned a muscular arm against the bar, his body angled towards Eddie, creating a small, intimate space just for the two of them. “I can tell. You have that wide-eyed ‘please don’t mug me’ look that all the fresh arrivals have.”

Eddie let out a surprised laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a trained professional,” Buck said with a wink. His gaze was so focused, so intent, that Eddie felt like he was the only other person in the crowded, noisy room. “So, where’d you arrive from? Let me guess.” He narrowed those brilliant blue eyes, scanning Eddie from head to toe in a way that was both analytical and deeply appreciative. “The posture, the way you hold yourself… you’re military. Recently discharged.”

Eddie’s jaw went slack. “How… how did you know that?”

Buck’s smirk returned, full force. “Told you. Trained professional. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping a little with a hint of self-deprecation, “it takes one to know one. Tried my hand at being a SEAL, a long time ago. Dropped out before the real fun began.”

The revelation was like a key turning in a lock, but it was a more complicated one. Not just a veteran, but someone who had aimed for the best of the best and walked away. It explained the confidence, but also hinted at a deeper story. It created an instant, unspoken bridge between them. “Army,” Eddie supplied, feeling a new wave of ease wash over him.

“Army,” Buck nodded in understanding, a newfound respect in his eyes. “Well, anyone who makes it through that gets a beer on me. Welcome to LA, Eddie.” Before Eddie could protest, Buck had effortlessly caught the bartender’s eye and ordered another pint for Eddie and a bottle for himself.

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie said, though he was touched by the gesture.

“I insist. A welcome-to-the-madness gift,” Buck replied, sliding the fresh, sweating pint glass in front of him. “So, what’s the plan? Now that you’ve escaped the clutches of Uncle Sam.”

“Starting a new job in a week, actually,” Eddie said, deciding to keep it simple. “Training for it, anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Doing what?”

“It’s… physically demanding,” Eddie hedged, suddenly shy about it. “Lots of running.”

Buck laughed, a rich, genuine sound that made Eddie’s stomach flip. “I bet. Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s what you came here for.” His eyes softened for a moment, the playful flirtation giving way to something more sincere. “Everyone comes to LA looking for something. Most of them never find it.”

There was a shadow in his eyes then, a flicker of something old and sad that hadn’t been there before. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but Eddie saw it. It was a crack in the confident, charming façade, a glimpse of the man underneath. And strangely, it made him feel even more drawn to him.

“What about you?” Eddie asked, his curiosity piqued. “What were you looking for when you came here?”

Buck took a long pull from his beer, his eyes fixed on some distant point over Eddie’s shoulder. “A fresh start,” he said quietly. “A family.” He blinked, and the mask was back in place, the charming smirk firmly reinstalled. “I got one, for a while. Now I’m just an instructor. I yell at people half my age and pretend I know what I’m talking about.”

The ease between them was startling. They talked for what felt like hours, the rest of the bar fading into a dull, meaningless roar. They talked about the differences between Army life and the sheer hell of BUD/S, about the insanity of LA traffic, about the best places to get tacos (a topic Buck was surprisingly passionate about). Eddie found himself laughing more than he had in years, leaning into Buck’s space, their knees brushing together. He learned that Buck had a Jeep, a deep love for cheesy action movies, and a sister who he didn’t talk about much. Buck learned that Eddie had a grandmother who made the best food on the planet, a knack for fixing things, and a quiet determination that Buck seemed to find endlessly fascinating.

The physical attraction was a roaring fire between them, a constant, thrumming undercurrent. But this—this easy, immediate connection—was something else entirely. It was what Eddie had been secretly hoping for, a feeling of being seen and understood that he’d never experienced before.

Finally, during a lull in the conversation, Buck turned to him, his expression serious. “Listen, Eddie,” he started, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “I’m enjoying this. Way more than I expected to. But I hate this bar, I hate this music, and I really want to kiss you properly without an audience.”

Eddie’s breath hitched.

“My loft is ten minutes from here,” Buck continued, his blue eyes intense and unwavering. “It’s a lot quieter. And I promise, I’m a much better host than I am a pickup artist.”

There was no hesitation. The fear and anxiety that had plagued Eddie when he’d walked in were gone, replaced by a deep, gut-level certainty. This felt right.

“Okay,” Eddie said, his voice steady despite the frantic beating of his heart. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

The walk from the bar to Buck’s Jeep was a study in exquisite tension. The cool night air was a welcome shock after the stuffy heat of the bar, but it did nothing to cool the fire simmering under Eddie’s skin. They didn’t speak much, the easy conversation from before replaced by a thick, anticipatory silence. Buck’s hand found the small of Eddie’s back as he guided him through the parking lot, a simple, possessive touch that sent a fresh wave of electricity through him. Every point of contact, from their shoulders brushing to Buck’s fingers grazing his, felt like a brand.

The Jeep was big and black and unapologetically masculine, much like its owner. The inside smelled faintly of leather and something clean, like fresh laundry. Buck started the engine, and the low rumble filled the enclosed space, amplifying the intimacy. As he pulled out onto the street, the city lights of LA blurred past the window, but Eddie barely noticed. His entire focus was on the man beside him.

He watched the way Buck’s large, capable hands handled the steering wheel, the way the muscles in his forearm flexed as he shifted gears. He watched the set of his strong jaw, illuminated by the passing streetlights. The easy-going charmer from the bar was gone, replaced by someone more focused, more intense. The air between them was thick with unspoken promises, and Eddie felt a heady mix of nervousness and a deep, thrilling excitement. He’d never felt anything like this before—this certainty, this pull towards another person that felt as natural and undeniable as gravity.

True to his word, the drive was short. Buck pulled into the underground garage of a large, industrial-looking building that had clearly been converted into lofts. The ride up in the elevator was silent and charged. The space was so small that they were forced to stand close, their shoulders brushing. Eddie could feel the heat radiating from Buck’s body, could smell the faint scent of his beer and something else, something uniquely him—a clean, masculine scent that made Eddie want to lean in and breathe him in.

Buck’s eyes never left his. In the dim, clinical light of the elevator, that brilliant blue gaze was searing, stripping away all of Eddie’s defenses until he felt completely exposed, his want laid bare. By the time the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, Eddie’s heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

Buck’s loft was incredible. It was a massive, open-plan space with high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and huge windows that looked out over the glittering city skyline. It was sparsely but tastefully decorated, with a large, comfortable-looking couch, a modern kitchen, and a staircase leading up to what Eddie assumed was the bedroom. It was clean and organized in a way that spoke to a disciplined mind, but there was an underlying emptiness to it, a lack of personal clutter that hinted at the loneliness Buck had so briefly alluded to.

But Eddie didn't have much time to take it all in.

The moment the heavy metal door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing in the cavernous space, the tenuous thread of control they’d been holding onto snapped.

Buck was on him in an instant. He didn’t say a word, just backed Eddie against the door, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, while the other braced against the cool metal beside his head, caging him in. Buck’s face was inches from his, his expression intense, his blue eyes dark with a hunger that stole the breath from Eddie’s lungs.

“I wasn’t kidding, Eddie,” Buck murmured, his voice a low, rough growl. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you.”

And then he kissed him.

It was nothing like Eddie could have ever imagined. It wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was a claiming. A desperate, soul-stealing kiss that was full of all the pent-up loneliness and frustration they’d both been carrying. Buck’s mouth was hot and skilled, his lips moving against Eddie’s with a devastating combination of force and finesse. He tasted of beer and something uniquely Buck, and Eddie let out a soft, involuntary moan, his body melting against the door.

He fisted his hands in the front of Buck’s shirt, pulling him closer, trying to get his own inexperienced mouth to keep up with the onslaught. Buck seemed to take his eager response as all the permission he needed, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping into Eddie’s mouth to tangle with his own. It was overwhelming and perfect. It was everything.

Buck’s hands began to roam, one sliding from his neck down his back, pressing him impossibly closer until Eddie could feel every hard line of Buck’s body against his. The other hand moved to his hip, gripping him tightly, a silent promise of what was to come. Eddie felt himself growing hard, a dizzying rush of pure, unadulterated lust making his head spin.

When they finally broke apart for air, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. Buck’s pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling in time with Eddie’s.

“Upstairs,” Buck rasped, his voice thick with desire.

Eddie could only nod, his mind a blissful, hazy fog.

He didn’t remember the climb up the stairs, only the firm grip of Buck’s hand around his wrist and the way his pulse thundered in his ears. The loft’s bedroom was spacious, stark, the kind of place that looked lived in but never truly inhabited. None of that mattered, though. The only thing Eddie could see was Buck.

Buck tugged him close, their mouths colliding again, hungrier this time, teeth clashing, tongues tangling. Eddie groaned into it, his knees weak as Buck walked him backward until the back of his thighs hit the bed. A gentle but insistent push had him sitting, looking up at Buck like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Take this off,” Buck ordered, voice low, nodding to Eddie’s shirt. His hands, though, were already there, working the buttons open with an impatience that made Eddie’s cock twitch. Buck didn’t even bother finishing neatly—just yanked the fabric apart, buttons scattering somewhere onto the floor, before shoving the shirt off Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie barely had the chance to breathe before Buck was on him again, mouths fusing, Buck’s big hands roaming over his chest, his abs, every inch like he was committing him to memory.

When Buck pulled back to strip his own shirt off, Eddie’s breath caught. Broad chest, shoulders that seemed carved from stone, muscles shifting under smooth, tanned skin—it was everything he’d imagined and more. Eddie reached out without thinking, fingertips brushing over Buck’s pecs, feeling the hard planes and the warmth radiating from him. Buck caught his wrist, smirking as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had.

“Is this okay?” Buck asked, his voice low, as his hands settled on Eddie’s belt. Eddie nodded vigorously, breath hitching as Buck unbuckled it, the metallic click loud in the quiet room. In a swift motion, Buck made quick work of his jeans, tugging them down over his hips. His boxers didn’t stand a chance either, and suddenly he was bare, his cock flushed and aching, the cool air making him hiss.

“Fuck, look at you,” Buck murmured, eyes dark and hungry as they roved over him. He leaned down, pressing Eddie back onto the mattress, kissing him with bruising intensity before trailing his mouth lower, down his throat, over his collarbone, sucking a mark just above his chest. Eddie gasped, his hands scrambling to hold onto something, anything, before Buck kept moving lower.

By the time Buck’s mouth reached his cock, Eddie was trembling. One hot, wet swipe of Buck’s tongue up the length had him nearly coming undone. He’d never felt anything like it. When Buck took him deep into his mouth, Eddie cried out, hands clutching the sheets, hips jerking helplessly. Buck held him down easily, strong hands gripping his thighs, keeping him exactly where he wanted him.

“Oh my—fuck, Buck—” Eddie’s voice was wrecked, high and desperate, his body arching off the bed. Every flick of Buck’s tongue, every pull of his lips, sent sparks shooting through him. It was obscene, the wet sounds filling the room, Eddie’s own needy moans spilling out unrestrained.

Buck pulled off with a wet pop, his lips glistening, his grin sinful. “Not yet. You’re not coming until I say so.”

Eddie groaned, nodding, too far gone to argue. He watched through hazy eyes as Buck reached for the nightstand, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. His cock throbbed at the sight—at the reality of it. This was happening.

Buck slicked his fingers, climbing back onto the bed between Eddie’s spread legs. He leaned in to kiss him again, slow this time, grounding, while his hand slid lower. The first press of Buck’s finger had Eddie gasping into his mouth, his body instinctively clenching.

“Relax,” Buck murmured, his lips brushing Eddie’s as he spoke. “I’ve got you.”

Eddie nodded, forcing himself to breathe as Buck eased the finger inside. It felt strange, sharp at first, the stretch making him tense, but not unbearable—especially with Buck kissing him through it, whispering little encouragements, steadying him with every movement. Buck slowed, circling his thumb in soothing patterns on Eddie’s hip until he felt him ease, then pressed just a little deeper. Eddie gasped, body clenching tight around him, and Buck groaned low, forehead pressed to his. “So tight,” he murmured, careful, patient. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

When Buck added a second finger, Eddie’s breath stuttered, his chest rising fast, his nails digging into Buck’s shoulders. Buck took his time, stretching him gently, pulling out, sliding back in, coaxing his body to open up. The burn made Eddie whimper, but every kiss, every murmur of praise melted the edge, leaving him trembling but hungry for more. By the time Buck worked in a third finger, Eddie was a wreck, sweat beading on his skin, clutching at Buck like he was the only thing keeping him grounded. Each slow push left him moaning into Buck’s mouth, hips rolling helplessly, caught between the sting of the stretch and the overwhelming need building inside him.

“Good boy,” Buck praised, his voice rough with desire. “Taking me so well.”

The words sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine, his cock leaking against his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive, this wanted. And then Buck was pulling his fingers out, tearing open the condom, rolling it down his thick cock that made Eddie’s eyes widen in awe and a touch of fear.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathed, voice almost reverent.

Buck smirked, settling between his legs, lining himself up. “Don’t worry. I’ll go slow.”

And he did. The first push was agonizingly careful, Buck’s big hands holding Eddie’s hips steady as he breached him inch by inch. Eddie’s gasp was swallowed by Buck’s kiss, his body clenching around the intrusion, a sharp sting making his eyes squeeze shut. He whimpered against Buck’s mouth, the sound raw, almost pained. Buck hushed him gently, kissing him through it, murmuring against his lips: “Easy, I’ve got you… breathe, Eddie. Just breathe for me.” He held still, letting Eddie adjust, stroking his side with soothing hands until some of the tension eased. It still hurt—a deep burn that made Eddie shake—but underneath it was something else, something that made his chest tighten and his cock throb. The stretch was overwhelming, filling, consuming, and with Buck whispering reassurances and shushing every whimper, it felt like surrendering to something bigger than himself.

When Buck was finally seated all the way in, both of them were panting, sweat starting to bead along their temples. Buck held still, giving Eddie time, pressing kisses along his jaw, his neck. “Tell me when,” he whispered.

Eddie swallowed hard, nodding, his hands clutching at Buck’s shoulders like a lifeline. “Move,” he rasped. “Please, Buck. Move.”

And Buck did. Slow at first, gentle, rocking into him with a rhythm that had Eddie moaning loud, unashamed, the sound bouncing off the loft’s walls. Each thrust built on the last, deeper, harder, Buck’s control razor-sharp even as his own groans filled Eddie’s ears.

It was everything—raw, consuming, perfect. Eddie’s world narrowed to the feel of Buck inside him, the sweat-slicked heat of their bodies, the way Buck’s voice broke when Eddie clenched around him. This wasn’t just sex. It was a revelation.

But Buck wasn’t done. He shifted Eddie easily, rolling him onto his side, one leg hitched up over Buck’s arm, opening him wide. The angle changed everything, Buck driving deeper, hitting spots Eddie never knew existed. Eddie clawed at the sheets, at Buck’s arm, his moans spilling unchecked.

“Fuck, Buck—oh, God—”

“That’s it,” Buck groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, his thrusts unrelenting. “Take it. You’re perfect.”

Eddie could barely think, his body lit up from the inside out. Every stroke made his vision blur, his toes curl, his chest rise and fall in frantic rhythm. Buck kissed him hard, swallowing every sound, before dragging him upright, chest to chest, Eddie straddling his lap now. Buck’s strength lifted him effortlessly, guiding his hips up and down his cock.

Eddie gasped, overwhelmed by the new position, but Buck’s hands steadied him, one gripping his ass, the other guiding his rhythm. “Ride me,” Buck demanded, voice husky, and Eddie obeyed, his body moving without thought, chasing the fire coursing through him.

He bounced in Buck’s lap, head thrown back, sweat dripping down his spine. Buck latched onto his neck, sucking marks that would bloom dark by morning, every bite a brand that screamed mine. Eddie’s hands fisted in Buck’s hair, tugging, grounding himself against the storm of sensation.

“Fuck—you feel so good,” Buck growled, his hips snapping up to meet Eddie’s. “So fucking tight.”

Eddie whined, the sound raw and needy, his cock trapped between them, leaking against their stomachs with every thrust. “I’m close—Buck, I—”

“Not yet.” Buck bit the words out, his control wavering but unbroken. He flipped Eddie easily, pressing him down on his stomach, hauling his hips up. The new angle had Eddie crying out, his arms buckling under the intensity. Buck drove into him harder, faster now, the room filled with the sharp sound of skin on skin, the wet slide of sweat and lube.

Eddie was gone, undone, his voice hoarse from shouting Buck’s name like a prayer. His cock rubbed against the sheets with every thrust, sparks firing down his spine, until he was sobbing with the need to let go.

“Come for me,” Buck finally ordered, thrusting deep, grinding against that spot that shattered Eddie’s control. Eddie came with a strangled cry, his body convulsing, his release soaking the sheets beneath him. His muscles clenched around Buck, dragging a guttural groan from his throat.

Buck followed, his rhythm faltering, then breaking as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into the condom with a low, wrecked moan against Eddie’s shoulder.

They collapsed together, sweat-slick and trembling, the loft filled with the sound of their ragged breaths. For a long moment, neither spoke, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. Eddie’s body hummed with exhaustion and something deeper—a bone-deep certainty that nothing would ever be the same.

Buck kissed the back of his neck, soft, almost tender. “You okay?” he murmured, checking in, his hand pressing possessively along Eddie’s side. Eddie let out a shaky laugh, nodding against the pillow, still catching his breath. “Yeah,” he rasped, voice hoarse but craving more. Buck smirked, pressing another kiss to him before slowly rolling off. He stood, walking to the bathroom, giving Eddie a perfect view of his muscled back and ass. Buck returned with a washcloth, kneeling beside Eddie to gently clean him up, his hands lingering over his skin in teasing caresses.

Once Eddie was cleaned, they collapsed back onto the mattress, limbs tangled, exchanging lazy, heated kisses. Buck’s hands began to wander again, teasing Eddie’s ass, fingers brushing his rim lightly. Eddie moaned into Buck’s mouth, wanton and needy, pressing himself closer. Only when Eddie was writhing and trembling under his touch did Buck finally slide back on top, cock throbbing, hands gripping his hips as he started the second, slower, more deliberate round of fucking, the night far from over.

***

Eddie surfaced from sleep slowly, like a diver ascending from the deep. He was floating in a warm, comfortable haze, his body heavy and boneless in a way he’d never experienced. The bed was a cloud of soft sheets and a mattress that seemed to cradle every inch of him. The pillow beneath his head smelled incredible—a mix of clean laundry and the faint, musky scent of the man whose bed he was in. Buck.

His name was a soft sigh in Eddie’s mind, and with it came the memories.

They weren’t a clear, linear narrative, but a series of brilliant, sensory flashes. The scrape of Buck’s stubble against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. The low, guttural growl in his ear as he’d pushed inside him for the first time. The shocking, breathtaking feeling of being filled so completely. The strength in Buck’s hands as they gripped his hips, setting a relentless, perfect rhythm. The dizzying sight of Buck’s face above him, flushed with exertion, his blue eyes dark and wild with pleasure.

A low moan escaped Eddie’s lips, the sound swallowed by the quiet of the room. He shifted, and a dull, pleasant ache deep in his muscles and between his legs made itself known. He was sore, yes, in places he hadn’t even known could be sore, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was a satisfying, physical reminder of the night, a brand of pleasure left on his body. He felt thoroughly, completely, and incandescently fucked. Below the sheets, his overused cock gave a valiant, twitching attempt at getting hard again at the mere memory of Buck’s mouth.

He cracked an eye open. The light filtering into the loft was soft and grey, the gentle light of early morning. He was in a large bed in the upper part of the loft, the sheets a tangled mess around his naked body.

And he was alone.

A cold knot of anxiety instantly formed in his stomach, chasing away the warm, pleasant haze. This was it. The part he’d been dreading. The awkward morning after. He’d have to gather his clothes, which were probably scattered all over the loft, and do the walk of shame while Buck either pretended to be busy or, worse, watched him with polite indifference. The thought made his cheeks burn. He’d been so stupid, so swept up in the moment. He should have just gone home.

He was just about to force his aching body to sit up when he heard a soft noise from downstairs. A moment later, the scent of coffee drifted up, rich and inviting.

Footsteps padded on the stairs, and Eddie’s heart gave a nervous lurch. He squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep, bracing himself for the inevitable, "Hey, I’ve got to get going, so…"

But the words never came. Instead, he felt the mattress dip beside him. A warm, calloused hand came to rest gently on his shoulder.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice was a low, morning-rough rumble, completely devoid of awkwardness. It was soft. Gentle. “You awake?”

Eddie risked opening his eyes again. Buck was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a worn t-shirt. His blond curls were a chaotic mess, and he was looking down at Eddie with a small, tender smile. He was holding two steaming mugs of coffee.

“I made coffee,” Buck said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if they hadn’t spent the entire night doing deliciously filthy things to each other. “Figured you might need some.”

Eddie could only stare, his brain struggling to reconcile this warm, domestic man with the raw, dominant force of nature from the night before. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling the sheet up to cover his lap. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” His voice was hoarse.

Buck passed him a mug, his fingers brushing against Eddie’s. “I’m also making pancakes. Or, well, I’m about to. You a pancake guy?”

“I… yeah. I am,” Eddie said, completely bewildered. He took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and perfect. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be real.

“Good,” Buck said, his smile widening. He stood up. “Bathroom’s through that door. There’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet if you want one. Take your time. I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

And with that, he turned and went back downstairs, leaving Eddie alone in the quiet loft, the warm coffee mug in his hands and his mind reeling.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in his clothes from the night before, Eddie came downstairs to find Buck standing at the stove, flipping pancakes like a seasoned pro. The table was set for two. It was the most surreal and, strangely, the most comfortable he had felt in his entire life.

They ate in easy silence for a few minutes before Buck spoke. “So,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes were watching Eddie carefully. “Looks like you survived your first real night out in LA.”

Eddie let out a small laugh. “Barely. You tried to kill me, I think.”

Buck’s smirk was instantaneous and devastating. “You seemed to be enjoying it.”

“I’m not complaining,” Eddie admitted, a hot blush creeping up his neck. He looked down at his plate, suddenly shy. “It was… that was my first time. With a guy.”

He risked a glance up. Buck’s expression wasn’t shocked or mocking. It was soft, his gaze full of a warmth that made Eddie’s heart ache.

“I figured,” Buck said quietly. “You were incredible, Eddie.”

And just like that, the last of Eddie’s anxiety melted away, replaced by a deep, glowing warmth. This man, this stranger, had not only given him a night of unbelievable pleasure but was now giving him a morning of unexpected kindness. It was everything he hadn’t even known he was starving for.

***

The easy warmth of the morning carried over into the drive. Buck’s Jeep was rugged and utilitarian on the outside, but the inside was comfortable, clean, and smelled faintly of him. With the windows down, the cool morning air rushed in, carrying the scent of exhaust fumes and blooming jasmine, a uniquely LA combination. Eddie found he didn’t mind it. He felt… light. Lighter than he had in years.

He watched Buck out of the corner of his eye. The older man drove with a relaxed, one-handed confidence, his other arm resting on the open window. The morning sun caught in his blond curls, turning them to gold, and highlighted the strong line of his jaw. He’d thrown on a pair of aviator sunglasses, but Eddie could still see the smile playing on his lips. He looked happy. Content. The sight sent a ridiculous, hopeful flutter through Eddie’s chest.

“So,” Buck said, his voice easily audible over the rush of the wind, breaking the comfortable silence. “You never really said. What made you pick LA? Most guys getting out of the service head back home or go somewhere quiet. This place is… a lot.”

The question was simple, but the answer felt complicated. “Honestly? I think that’s why I picked it,” Eddie said after a moment. “I wanted the opposite of quiet. I wanted a place so big and loud I could just… disappear into it. Start over where no one knows me.”

Buck nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the road, but Eddie knew he was listening intently. “I get that,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “Sometimes you have to burn it all down to start fresh. Was it like that for you?”

The question was insightful, and far more serious than the easy flirting at the bar. “Yeah. It was,” Eddie admitted. “My whole life was planned out for me back in Texas. The wife, the kids, the respectable job. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the life I wanted. Coming here, starting over… it’s the first thing I’ve ever really done just for me.”

He hadn’t meant to be so honest, but it felt easy with Buck. Natural.

Buck was silent for a long moment, just the rush of the wind and the hum of the engine filling the space between them. When he finally spoke, his words were laced with a genuine, almost wistful admiration. “That takes guts, Eddie. A lot of people talk about doing that, but not many actually do. To just pack up and bet on yourself like that… that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the sun. “It’s terrifying, but it feels right.”

“Yeah,” Buck said softly. “It usually does.”

The rest of the drive was filled with comfortable silences. When Eddie directed him onto Pepa’s street, a quiet, tree-lined road of well-kept single-story houses, a pang of regret hit him. He didn’t want it to end.

Buck pulled the Jeep to a smooth stop in front of a cheerful yellow house with a porch swing and an immaculate rose garden. The engine idled, a low rumble in the sudden quiet. The morning was over. Reality was back.

“This is me,” Eddie said, his voice suddenly a little tight.

“It’s nice,” Buck said, looking at the house. “Looks peaceful.”

“It is,” Eddie agreed. He needed to say something. Do something. The thought of just getting out and walking away, of this perfect night and morning becoming nothing more than a memory, was unbearable. He took a breath. “Hey, so… I had a really good time, Buck.”

“Me too, Eddie,” Buck said, turning to face him fully. He took off his sunglasses, and his blue eyes were sincere. “A really good time.”

“I was wondering if… maybe I could get your number?” Eddie’s heart was pounding. “Or I could give you mine? If you wanted to, you know. Do this again sometime.”

Buck’s face broke into a slow, brilliant smile that lit up his entire face. It was the smile of the confident man from the bar, but without any of the practiced charm. This was real. “I’d like that very much,” he said.

He pulled out his phone, and Eddie rattled off his number, watching as Buck saved the contact under Eddie. The simple act felt monumental.

“There,” Buck said, pocketing his phone. “Now I have you.”

The air in the Jeep was thick with unspoken things. Buck leaned across the center console, and Eddie met him halfway. The kiss was nothing like the frantic, desperate kisses of the night before. It was slow, deep, and shockingly tender. It tasted of coffee and maple syrup and the promise of something more. It was a kiss that said, This isn’t over.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless.

“I’ll text you,” Buck murmured, his forehead resting against Eddie’s.

“Okay,” Eddie breathed.

He finally pulled away, his body humming with a hopeful energy. He got out of the Jeep, gave Buck one last, dazzling smile, and walked up the path to the yellow house, feeling like he was floating. He didn’t look back, but he could feel Buck’s eyes on him the entire way.

Buck watched him go. He watched until the front door opened and Eddie disappeared inside, swallowed by the warm, welcoming light of home.

The click of the door shutting seemed to echo, vibrating in the sudden silence of the Jeep.

Buck sat there for a long moment, the engine idling, a low rumble beneath his boots. The space Eddie had occupied just seconds ago felt like a gaping, hollow wound. The lingering scent of Buck’s shower gel mixed with the faint, clean musk of Eddie’s skin hung in the air, a sensory ghost that made Buck’s chest ache.

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he eased the car away from the curb.

As he drove down the quiet, tree-lined street, the familiar demons started to wake up. They whispered from the backseat, cold and insidious. He’s twenty-two, Evan. He’s a kid. You’re a washed-up instructor with a trail of wreckage behind you. You’re going to ruin him.

He saw the cheerful yellow house in his rearview mirror. Eddie had a future. He was brave enough to start over. He was hopeful. Buck was thirty-four, estranged from the only family he had left, driving back to a glass box that felt more like a display case than a home.

Let him go, the voice in his head hissed. It’s the only decent thing you can do. Don't drag him down with you.

Buck reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the contact he’d just saved. Eddie.

He could delete it. Right now. He could toss the phone on the seat, drive back to his loft, drink enough whiskey to drown the memory of those dark eyes and that trusting smile, and let Eddie Díaz be a perfect, untouched memory. It was the safe choice. The noble choice.

But then he thought of the way Eddie had looked at him across the table this morning—like Buck was someone worth being around. He thought of the way Eddie had shivered under his touch, the way he’d trusted Buck with his body, with his first time.

For the first time in years, the silence in Buck’s head wasn’t deafening. It was filled with the echo of Eddie’s laugh.

"Fuck being noble," Buck whispered to the empty car.

He was tired of being the one who stepped back. He was tired of the silence. Maybe he was broken. Maybe he was a mess. But for twelve hours, he hadn’t felt like a failure. He had felt like a man.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, terrifying rhythm that felt dangerously like hope. Before he could talk himself out of it, before the self-loathing could snatch the phone from his hand, he tapped out a message.

[To: Eddie]
Just so you know, I make pretty good waffles too. For next time 😉

He hit send before he could breathe.

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Buck’s breath hitched in his throat, the red light of the intersection blurring slightly in his vision.

[From: Eddie]
Is that a promise? 

A smile broke across Buck’s face—not the practiced smirk from the bar, but something real, something that had been on his face since the moment he woke up this morning. Something that reached the crinkles by his eyes. The crushing weight on his chest lightened, just a fraction.

[To: Eddie]
Count on it 😏

Buck tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, but in real life, it didn't land with a dull thud of finality. It sat there, the screen still glowing, a lifeline tethering him to something good.

He put the Jeep in gear and turned onto the main road. He was still going back to an empty loft. He was still thirty-four and lonely. But as he merged into the LA traffic, the radio playing softly, Evan Buckley didn't feel entirely alone.