Archive of Our Own

The shift had been a brutal double, the kind that left Buck's body aching in ways that went beyond the physical —muscles knotted like ropes in his back and thighs from hauling gear through smoke-choked buildings, his skin sticky with layers of sweat that had dried into a salty crust under his LAFD t-shirt. 

He'd bolted from the station without even changing, the urgency not born from any pressing plans, but from the raw need to escape the chaos, to get back to his loft where he could finally unwind. 

All he craved was to pop open one of those ice-cold beers waiting in the fridge, let the fizz hit his tongue like a reward, then strip down for a long, steaming shower where the hot water could pound away the grime and tension, maybe even linger under the spray with his hand wrapped around his cock for a quick release before crashing into bed. 

He had a full 24 hours off, but it felt like he'd need a damn week to recover from the adrenaline-fueled night of back-to-back calls—rescuing a family from a car wreck, battling a warehouse blaze that had singed the hairs on his arms.

Out of sheer habit, Buck swung by the mailbox cluster in the apartment building's lobby, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry bees. 

He nodded curtly to Mrs. Ramirez from 2B, who was juggling her groceries and flashing him that familiar, appreciative smile —the one that always lingered a beat too long on his frame— and exchanged a quick "Hey, man" with Jake from across the hall, who clapped him on the shoulder with a knowing grin about the rough shift. 

Buck's fingers, still calloused from gripping hoses and tools, rifled through the stack of mail he'd pulled from his slot: a utility invoice with its stark red "due soon" stamp, another from his cell provider nagging about data overage, a glossy flyer for some local pizza joint promising half-off deals, and yet another bill for his gym membership that he swore he'd set to autopay.

Then, tucked amid the mundane pile, was a plain white envelope that stood out like a whisper in a storm —no return address, no postage stamp affixed, just a single initial scrawled in elegant, looping handwriting on the front.

E.

It wasn't sealed properly; the flap hung slightly open, as if inviting a peek, the paper thick and creamy, the kind that felt expensive under his thumb, not the cheap stuff from the post office. 

Buck's building wasn't huge —maybe 20 units— and he'd made a point of knowing his neighbors since moving in a year ago, partly out of his friendly nature, partly because his job had taught him the value of community in a crisis. 

Only two folks here shared that initial: himself, Evan, and Eddie Diaz, the hotshot paramedic who'd transferred to the B-shift at the 118 a couple of months back. 

By some cosmic joke —or maybe fate— Eddie had snagged the apartment right above Buck's, complete with his kid, Christopher, this bright-eyed boy with cerebral palsy who could light up a room with his infectious laugh and had Buck wrapped around his little finger from their first hallway encounter.

They weren't exactly strangers. 

Beyond the shared initial, their paths crossed in the firehouse grind —overlapping shifts where they'd trade gear in the apparatus bay, their gloved hands brushing with electric sparks that Buck always chalked up to static, locker room banter laced with risqué jokes about bad dates or gym mishaps, Eddie's deep chuckle rumbling in a way that sent unwelcome heat pooling in Buck's gut, and those stolen glances that stretched just a fraction too long, like when Buck caught Eddie stripping off his turnout coat, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest and abs, sweat-slicked and golden under the harsh lights. 

Eddie was all compact muscle, ex-Army discipline etched into every movement, with those soulful brown eyes that could pin you in place and a smile that flashed white against his stubbled jaw. 

But it was nothing more than camaraderie, right? Firefighters bonded like that —intense, physical work bred a certain intimacy. 

Or so Buck told himself during those late-night showers back home, when his mind replayed the flex of Eddie's biceps or the way his uniform pants hugged his ass, leading his hand to stroke himself to a guilty climax under the water, imagining what it might feel like to pin the other man against the tiles.

But it really wasn't anything more than that.

"The mail got mixed up again," Buck muttered under his breath, the envelope's weight feeling heavier in his palm as he headed for the stairs, bypassing the elevator because his legs needed the burn to shake off the fatigue. 

The building's mail system was notoriously sloppy —the carrier was new and overwhelmed, often shoving letters into the wrong slots, like the time Buck got Mrs. Ramirez's medical bill and had to awkwardly slide it under her door. 

In his head, the decent move was clear: drop this off at Eddie's place on the way up, maybe knock if the light was on, share a quick laugh about the mix-up over a beer if Chris was already in school. 

But curiosity gnawed at him, sharp and insistent, fueled by the envelope's oddities —the elegant script that didn't match any junk mail, the lack of a stamp suggesting it had been hand-delivered or slipped in deliberately, the way the flap wasn't glued shut, almost like an invitation. 

What if it was for him? Or what if it was something important for Eddie, and peeking could save hassle?

"Yeah, maybe it's not for him— better to check, right?" Buck rationalized to the empty stairwell, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as he paused on the landing between their floors, the dim bulb overhead casting long shadows. 

His pulse ticked up, a familiar thrill akin to sizing up a fire scene, and before decency could win out, he eased the flap open wider, pulling out the sheaf of papers inside. 

Some were crumpled at the edges, as if written in haste and reconsidered; others pristine, like final drafts. 

But the handwriting —firm, precise loops and slashes— was unmistakably Eddie's, the same script Buck had scanned on countless incident reports, where Eddie's details were always meticulous, down to the last vital sign.

Heart thudding now, Buck unfolded the top sheet without giving himself a chance to back out, his eyes skimming the opening lines —and then freezing, breath hitching like he'd taken a punch to the solar plexus.

Evan,

I don't know if I'll ever muster the balls to hand this over, so I'm scribbling it down knowing it'll stay buried in my drawer, unread by you. This is just my fucked-up therapy, a way to bleed out the poison before it consumes me whole.

I think about you constantly, like a goddamn addiction I can't shake.

At the station, grinding through calls. On the drive home, stuck in traffic. Even when I'm with Chris, helping him with homework or tucking him in —your face flashes in my mind, those blue eyes piercing right through me.

But fuck, it's worst when I'm alone in bed, sheets tangled around my legs, cock already half-hard just from picturing you. 

I wrap my fist around myself, stroking slow at first, then frantic, pretending it's your hand, your mouth. You.

I always imagine it's you touching me.

I imagine you shoving me up against the locker room wall —yeah, that foggy glass partition— right after shift, when we're both reeking of smoke and sweat. 

You, crushing your lips to mine, tongue invading, stealing my breath until I'm gasping, then you force me down to my knees, unzipping those jeans to free that massive cock I've glimpsed in the showers. 

You, fucking my mouth deep, hands fisted in my hair, using me like your personal slut until you flood my throat with your hot cum, leaving me choking on the salty, musky taste of you, marking me inside out.

I imagine those long, thick fingers of yours —calloused, strong enough to lift me if you wanted— probing my hole, slick with lube or spit, stretching me open inch by inch. You'd whisper filthy praises, "Such a good boy, taking me so well," as I rock back onto them, begging for more, my own dick leaking pre-cum onto the sheets.

Then I imagine you flipping me over, slamming that fat cock into me —raw, relentless, pounding so hard the bed frame rattles, making me moan and whimper like a bitch in heat, sounds I've never let escape before. Fucking me until my ass is raw and bruised, until I can't sit without wincing, until the whole station knows I've been claimed, walking bow-legged from your rough handling.

Then, as I imagine, I also desire. And God, it burns.

I desire your full lips sucking bruises into my neck, your strong arms pinning me down, your rough hands mapping every inch of my body. 

I desire your broad chest pressed to mine, sweat-slick and heaving; that soft belly you gripe about but drives me wild, perfect for biting and licking. 

I desire your powerful thighs bracketing me, narrow hips snapping forward, and that thick, veined cock splitting me open, filling me until I'm ruined for anyone else.

I ache to wear your marks —hickeys blooming on my throat for the world to see, fingerprints bruised into my hips, bite marks on my inner thighs where only you'd know to look. 

I'd trace them in the mirror, jerking off to the memory, wishing you'd come back and do it all over again, even if it's just once.

God, Evan, I want everything I shouldn't want from you.

The forbidden. The filth. Everything.

Desperately and completely yours, Eddie.

 

Buck let out a strangled gasp, his throat dry as sandpaper, re-reading the letter three, four times to sear every word into his brain, each one landing like a stroke along his skin. 

His heart hammered wildly in his temples and echoed in his groin, a flush creeping up his neck to burn his cheeks, while his cock throbbed insistently, swelling thick and heavy against the confines of his jeans, the zipper biting into his hardening length like sweet torture.

The explicitness hit him like a wave —Eddie's raw confessions painting vivid, pornographic scenes that had Buck's mind reeling, his body responding with a surge of heat, pre-cum dampening his boxers as he shifted uncomfortably on the stairs.

Desperate for more, he flipped through the other pages: shorter notes scrawled in the margins, like "Your smile today —killed me. Had to jack off in the bathroom thinking of it on my cock," and "Dreamed of you bending me over the engine, fucking me while the alarms blare." 

Then the drawings —Eddie's artistic talent on full, filthy display, rendered with precise lines and shading that made them leap off the page. One showed Buck pinning Eddie against a wall, pants around ankles, Eddie on his knees with Buck's dick down his throat, eyes locked in submission.

Another had them on a sofa, Buck's fingers buried knuckles-deep while Eddie arched wantonly.

A third in bed, tangled limbs and open mouths, Eddie riding Buck reverse-cowboy, muscles taut, cum streaking their skin. Then the shower scene, water cascading over their bodies, Buck's cock buried deep in Eddie's ass, Eddie's head thrown back in ecstasy.

It wasn't just any mistake. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe.

It was a revelation, a Pandora's box of desire spilled into Buck's hands from the man just one floor up, probably still sleeping or nursing a coffee, oblivious that his deepest, dirtiest secrets were exposed. 

Buck's mind raced —wrong hands or right? The fire in his belly said right, the ache in his cock screaming for action.

This time, curiosity hadn't killed the cat; it had ignited a blaze that demanded to be fed. 

Buck shoved the papers back into the envelope, his hands trembling with adrenaline —the same rush that hit him before breaching a burning structure— and bounded up the final stairs, chest heaving. 

At Eddie's door, he pounded three sharp knocks, knuckles white against the wood, ready to dive into whatever inferno awaited.

The door swung open after what felt like an eternity —though Buck knew it had only been seconds since his insistent knocks— and there stood Eddie, framed in the soft glow of the hallway light spilling into his dimly lit apartment. 

His dark hair was a tousled mess, sticking up in wild spikes from what must have been a restless nap on the couch, and his chocolate-brown eyes blinked groggily at first, heavy-lidded with the remnants of sleep. 

But the moment they focused on Buck —standing there like a storm about to break, chest heaving from the sprint up the stairs, cheeks flushed not just from exertion but from the filthy heat churning in his veins— those eyes snapped wide open, alertness crashing in like a siren.

"Buck? Hey, man, is everything okay?" Eddie's voice came out rough and gravelly, thickened by sleep, as he rubbed a hand over his face, knuckles scraping against the stubble shadowing his strong jaw. 

He leaned against the doorframe casually at first, but Buck could see the subtle shift —the way his posture straightened just a fraction, like his body sensed the charged air between them before his mind caught up. 

Eddie was dressed down for a lazy morning, in that threadbare gray tank top that hugged his sculpted torso like it was painted on, the thin fabric clinging to the ridges of his pecs and the faint trail of dark hair disappearing below the neckline. It showcased those incredibly toned arms, biceps flexing unconsciously as he gripped the door, veins standing out like invitations under his golden skin. 

And those sweatpants —god, those loose gray ones that rode low on his narrow hips, the waistband dipping just enough to reveal a tantalizing strip of tanned, taut abdomen, the kind of skin Buck had fantasized about a thousand times: licking the salt from it after a shift, biting into the V of his hips until Eddie begged for more.

Buck's mouth went dry, his gaze raking over Eddie like he was starving, cataloging every detail —the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone from the warm apartment air, the way his bare feet shifted on the cool tile floor, toes curling slightly as if bracing for impact. 

In his mind, Buck was already undressing him further, imagining peeling that tank up to expose the firm planes of his chest, nipples hardening under his tongue, or yanking those sweats down to free what he now knew Eddie craved to offer. 

The envelope burned in his hand like a live wire, its contents fueling the fire that had Buck's cock straining painfully against his zipper, pre-cum already soaking through his boxers from the stairwell read-through.

Without a word —because what the fuck could he say that wouldn't come out as a growl?— Buck lifted his hand, the envelope dangling between his fingers like damning evidence. 

Eddie's eyes dropped to it instantly, recognition flashing like lightning, and then the color leeched from his face, leaving him pale and stricken before a furious blush exploded across his cheeks, creeping down his neck to stain that exposed strip of skin. 

It was mesmerizing, that rush of red, making Buck's fingers itch to trace it, to feel the heat under his palms, to press his lips there and suck until the flush turned to bruises. 

Eddie looked mortified, utterly exposed, like a secret he'd buried deep had been dragged into the harsh light, and Buck had to clench his free hand into a fist to resist the urge to close the distance right then, to capture that blushing skin with his mouth and taste the embarrassment turning to need.

"T-That... Y-You..." Eddie stammered, his voice cracking, no longer just hoarse from sleep but laced with raw panic as he swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing enticingly in his throat. 

He took an instinctive step back into the apartment, his hand fumbling to the doorframe for support, eyes darting from the envelope to Buck's face like he was searching for an escape route. 

"Y-You weren't supposed to see that— fuck, Buck, that's... that's personal. Private. I-I didn't mean for it to... How did you even get it?"

Buck didn't answer right away, savoring the way Eddie's composure unraveled, the confident paramedic reduced to this flustered mess. 

It was intoxicating, feeding the dominance surging through him, the same rush he got leading a rescue but twisted with filthy intent. 

He took a deliberate step forward, crossing the threshold uninvited, and Eddie mirrored him with another retreat, but there was no real resistance —just a wide-eyed hesitation that made Buck's blood pound hotter. 

With a casual kick, Buck nudged the door shut behind him, the click of the latch echoing like a starting gun, and he let his work duffel thud to the floor beside it, forgotten. 

The apartment smelled like Eddie —clean soap from a recent shower, mingled with the faint, musky undertone of male sweat from whatever he'd been doing before dozing off, maybe pacing as he wrestled with the very desires now exposed. 

Chris's toys were scattered in the living room beyond, a reminder of the domestic life Eddie balanced with his job, but the kid must have been already in school, leaving them alone in this charged bubble.

"I know it was personal," Buck said slowly, his voice low and deliberate, like velvet over steel, as he advanced another step. 

Eddie didn't back away this time, frozen in place, and Buck's lips curved into a predatory smile at the victory. 

They were close now —too close— the heat radiating off Eddie's body mingling with Buck's, their breaths syncing in the heavy silence. 

Buck could see the rapid rise and fall of Eddie's chest under that clinging tank, nipples pebbling against the fabric, and god, he wanted to pinch them, twist until Eddie whined. 

"But it ended up in my mailbox. Mixed up with my shit. And yeah, I read it. All of it."

Eddie swallowed again, audibly, his throat working as his eyes flickered down to the envelope, then back up, avoiding Buck's gaze like it burned. 

The air between them thickened, pregnant with unspoken tension, the kind that had simmered in stolen glances at the station, in accidental brushes during gear handoffs. 

Buck's free hand itched to touch, and he gave in, letting his fingers trail lightly up Eddie's arm —starting at the wrist, tracing the corded muscles, feeling the goosebumps erupt under his touch. Eddie flinched at the contact, a sharp inhale escaping him, his head tipping back slightly as if the simple stroke had undone him, eyes narrowing to slits in what looked like a mix of shock and surrender.

"Fuck, Buck," Eddie whispered, his voice trembling, still laced with that embarrassment but cracking at the edges with something deeper, hungrier. 

He finally met Buck's eyes, and there it was —the panic swirling with doubt, but undercut by a blazing passion, a desperate longing that mirrored the words in those letters, begging for this to be real. 

"W-What... what do you think? About it? I mean, shit, I never meant for you to know. It was just... stuff in my head. Stupid fantasies I scribbled down to get them out. You must think I'm a freak or something."

Buck's heart thudded wildly, his cock twitching at the vulnerability in Eddie's tone —the way he shifted on his feet, like he was torn between bolting and leaning in. 

In his mind, Buck replayed the letters: the raw confessions, the drawings of them tangled in ecstasy, Eddie's hand flying over paper as he poured out his desires, probably stroking himself afterward to the thought of Buck doing exactly this. It made Buck harder, the ache bordering on pain, and he licked his lips slowly, watching Eddie's gaze drop to the motion, pupils dilating. 

"I think you're a fantastic writer," Buck murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, laced with teasing heat. "Those words? They painted pictures that got me rock hard on the stairs. And the drawings —fuck, Eddie, you're an artist. The way you sketched us... me buried balls-deep in you against the bathroom tiles, your legs wrapped around me, cum dripping down your thighs. If you'll let me, I want to make every single one of those fantasies real. Right here. Right now."

Eddie let out a low, guttural moan, his eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat as if the words had punched straight to his core, his body swaying closer despite himself. 

"Buck... God, you don't know what you're saying. This was just... fantasy. Bullshit I shouldn't have put on paper. I mean, we're coworkers, neighbors, almost friends… What if this fucks everything up? I-I didn't think you'd... want that. Want me like that."

"But you did write it," Buck countered, pressing forward until their bodies brushed —chest to chest, the friction sending sparks through him as he felt the hard line of Eddie's erection nudge against his thigh, hot and insistent through the thin sweatpants. 

A triumphant smile spread across Buck's face, and he shifted his leg deliberately, grinding it against that bulge, feeling Eddie twitch and harden further. 

"And now I know everything. I can see it all in my head —you shoved against the locker room wall, me kissing you until you can't breathe, until you're gasping for air. Then forcing you to your knees, fucking that pretty mouth until I come down your throat, making you swallow every drop of my seed. Opening you up with my fingers, telling you how good you take them, how tight and hot you are. Then slamming my thick cock into you, hard and rough, making you scream sounds you've never made, fucking you until you can't walk straight, until everyone at the station knows you've been wrecked by me."

Buck recited the letter's words verbatim, his voice a filthy caress, watching them light Eddie up from the inside —his breaths coming in short pants now, the embarrassment fading as desire took over, his hands shooting out to grip Buck's arms, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise, nails biting through the sweaty t-shirt as a desperate gasp tore from his lips.

"D-Do you want that? R-Really?" Eddie asked, his voice still shaky but gaining a rough edge, his eyes searching Buck's with a mix of hope and heat, hips canting forward involuntarily to chase more friction against Buck's thigh. "Because if you're just messing with me... fuck, Buck, I've wanted this for months. Jerking off to the thought of you owning me, marking me up. But say the word, and I'll burn that—"

"Yes," Buck interrupted him with a grunt, the sound primal as he surged closer, their bodies aligning perfectly, his own hard cock pressing back against Eddie's hip in a promise of mutual ruin. 

He leaned in, lips hovering a breath away from Eddie's, so close he could taste the mint on his breath from toothpaste, feel the tremor in the air. 

"I want everything you wrote, Eddie. I want to mark you— suck bruises into your neck, bite your thighs until you're begging. Make you mine, so every time you look in the mirror, you remember who fucked you senseless."

Their lips crashed together in a fierce, hungry kiss, all the pent-up tension exploding like a backdraft.

No tentative brush —this was raw, desperate, Eddie's initial shyness evaporating as he groaned deep into Buck's mouth, tongue sliding in to tangle and claim. 

His hands yanked at Buck's t-shirt, tugging it up to expose skin, palms roaming greedily over Buck's sweat-damp abs, nails scraping in a way that made Buck hiss with pleasure. 

Eddie's hips rolled forward in a slow, filthy grind, his throbbing erection —hot and insistent, straining against the soft fabric of his sweatpants— rubbing desperately against the solid muscle of Buck's thigh like he was in heat, chasing friction with shameless abandon. 

The movement pulled a series of needy whimpers from deep in Eddie's throat, vibrations that Buck swallowed down eagerly during their kiss, his tongue plunging deeper to claim every sound, every taste. 

Buck's own hands finally released the crumpled envelope —it fluttered forgotten to the floor like discarded evidence— as he fisted them into Eddie's thick, messy hair, tugging just hard enough to angle his head for better access, their bodies pressing tighter together in a heated promise of the depravity to come. 

God, Eddie felt perfect against him —compact and strong, yet yielding in ways that made Buck's cock twitch with anticipation, leaking more pre-cum into his boxers from the sheer intensity of finally having this man unraveling under his touch.

Buck's mind raced, a whirlwind of filthy thoughts fueled by those letters: Eddie on his knees in the drawings, mouth stretched wide around Buck's cock, eyes pleading for more; the confessions of jerking off alone, imagining Buck using him like a toy. 

It wasn't just fantasy anymore —this was real, Eddie grinding against him like he couldn't help it, his body betraying every secret desire. 

Buck wanted to wreck him, to make him beg and break, to leave him marked and spent so that every shift at the station, every glance in the locker room, would remind Eddie who owned him now.

With a rumble low in his throat, Buck broke the kiss just enough to maneuver them, his hands gripping Eddie's hips possessively as he pushed him backward through the dimly lit living room. 

Eddie's back hit the cool glass door leading to the balcony with a soft thud, the pane rattling slightly under the impact, and Buck pressed in immediately, pinning him there with the full weight of his body. 

Their tongues tangled in an urgent, sloppy dance —wet and demanding, exploring each other's mouths like they'd been starving for this for months. 

Eddie's taste was intoxicating, a sweet mix of the caramel latte he'd probably sipped earlier —Buck remembered him nursing one during their last overlapping shift, that casual chat in the break room where their knees had brushed under the table— and the raw, pent-up desire simmering between them, salty with the faint hint of sweat from Eddie's nap. 

It was addictive, making Buck's head spin, his cock aching harder as he imagined that mouth wrapped around him soon.

Eager for more, Buck nipped at Eddie's lower lip, biting down with just enough pressure to sting, drawing out a deep, guttural groan that vibrated straight through Buck's chest and down to his groin. 

Eddie arched against him, his hands clutching at Buck's back, nails digging into the damp fabric of his t-shirt as if anchoring himself against the onslaught.

"Fuck, Buck," Eddie gasped when Buck pulled back slightly, his voice rough and breathless, eyes half-lidded with lust but still flickering with that lingering trace of embarrassment from earlier. "That... that feels so good. I've been thinking about this —about you— for so damn long.”

"Maybe it's not the locker room glass," Buck whispered huskily, breaking the kiss but hovering his lips over Eddie's, their breaths mingling hot and fast, his voice rough with the desire clawing at him from the inside. "But this balcony's close enough— anyone could look up and see us if they tried. Now take your clothes off, Eddie. Let me see what I've been missing."

Buck stepped back a fraction, just enough to give Eddie space, his eyes raking over him hungrily as Eddie obeyed with trembling hands. 

The gray tank came off first, peeled up slowly to reveal that toned torso Buck had ogled in the showers —sun-kissed skin glowing under the apartment's warm lamp light, a fine dusting of dark hair trailing from his chest down to his navel, muscles rippling with each shaky breath. 

Eddie's nipples hardened in the cooler air, begging for attention, and Buck's mouth watered at the sight, imagining sucking them until Eddie cried out.

Not one to be outdone, Buck grabbed his own sweaty t-shirt by the back collar and hauled it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside to land in a heap near the envelope, the fabric whispering against the floor. His chest heaved, broad and defined from years of hauling gear and training, a light sheen of sweat from the shift still clinging to his skin. 

He toed off his boots clumsily, then went for his jeans, the metallic clink of the button and zipper echoing unnaturally loud in the quiet space —emphasized by their heavy breathing— before he shoved them down along with his boxers, kicking them away. 

Buck stood there in all his naked glory, tall, muscled frame on full display, his cock springing free —long and thick, veins pulsing along the shaft, the tip glistening with pre-cum, the flushed glans as red and prominent as the birthmark above his eye, curving slightly upward in a way that promised to hit all the right spots.

Eddie let out a low, guttural moan at the sight, his eyes widening, locked on Buck's erection like it was a revelation —his own sweatpants tenting obscenely now, a dark spot of pre-cum blooming at the tip, one hand absently palming himself through the fabric. 

"Jesus, Buck... you're even bigger than I imagined,” Eddie rasped, his voice hoarse, swallowing hard as his hands hovered at his waistband, “Fuck, I drew you like this, but seeing it... touching it..." 

His voice trailed off into a needy whine, cheeks flushing anew, but this time with desire rather than shame.

Without another word, Buck closed the distance again, pressing his naked body against Eddie's still half-clothed one, his hard cock rubbing slickly against the firm ridges of Eddie's abs, smearing pre-cum across that tantalizing trail of hair like a claim. 

Buck's hands roamed greedily, exploring every inch of Eddie's torso —the smooth, warm texture of his skin contrasting with the coarse roughness of his chest hair that tickled Buck's palms, nipples pebbling as Buck brushed thumbs over them teasingly, how his muscles tensed and quivered beneath Buck's calloused fingers as he traced the lines of old scars from Army days and firehouse mishaps, stories Buck had heard in passing but now wanted to lick and worship.

Dipping his head, Buck latched onto Eddie's neck, sucking hard at the pulse point, teeth grazing before biting down to leave a deep red mark —a hickey that would bloom purple by shift time, visible above his collar, letting everyone at the 118 know Eddie had been claimed.

He kissed over it possessively, tongue soothing the sting, sealing it into Eddie's skin like a brand.

Eddie gasped sharply, his hips thrusting forward instinctively, grinding his clothed erection against Buck's thigh as waves of pleasure shot through him. 

"Buck... oh god, yes," he moaned low, his name escaping in breathy fragments, hands clutching at Buck's shoulders for support. "Mark me more —please. I want everyone to know."

Buck's cock throbbed at the plea, his mind flashing to the letters again: Eddie craving visible marks, jerking off to the idea of being owned. 

"On your knees," Buck commanded, echoing the letter's fantasy, his voice a gravelly sound that sent shivers down his own spine.

Eddie moaned louder, a full-body shudder running through him as he sank down obediently, knees hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thump, his face level with Buck's hardened cock, close enough to feel the heat radiating off it.

The position was pure submission, Eddie's brown eyes looking up through lashes, wide and hazy with desire, his lips parted and swollen from their kisses.

"You're gonna open that perfect mouth of yours," Buck continued, his hand threading back into Eddie's hair, gripping firmly, "and take everything I give you. Suck me like you've been dreaming about, Eddie— deep and sloppy, until you're choking on my cum."

Eddie groaned loudly, the sound vibrating in the air, his eyes locking onto Buck's with a mix of submission and fire before he parted his lips, tongue darting out to lap at the glistening tip. 

The head of Buck's cock slid past his lips, hitting the flat of his tongue, and Eddie closed around it, sucking slowly at first, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as another bead of pre-cum leaked out, salty and thick on his taste buds.

Buck's breath hitched, the sensation electric, wet heat enveloping him inch by inch.

Buck placed his hands on either side of Eddie's face, cupping his jaw gently at first, thumbs stroking over stubbled cheeks possessively. 

Eddie opened his eyes then, locking gazes with Buck —with watery intensity, pleading silently for more— and began to suck harder, hollowing his cheeks, tongue swirling around the shaft as he took more in, the throbbing pulse of Buck's cock syncing with his heartbeat.

One of Buck's hands slid up to fist Eddie's hair tighter, and with a wicked wink, he started moving his hips —slow thrusts at first, fucking into the wet heat of Eddie's mouth. 

"Th-That's it... fuck, your mouth feels like heaven," Buck murmured between moans, his voice breaking with pleasure as Eddie bobbed forward to meet each stroke, gagging slightly when the tip hit the back of his throat. 

A viscous mix of pre-cum and saliva dribbled from Eddie's stretched lips, trailing down his chin in messy strings, his eyes watering until tears spilled over, tracking down his flushed cheeks. 

"Let me feel what you imagined when you wrote that letter— me using your throat like my personal fucktoy. God, you're taking it so well, Eddie. Such a good little slut for me, aren't you? Choking on my big cock, tears running down your face... bet you've come to this fantasy a hundred times, huh? Stroking yourself raw thinking of me face-fucking you senseless."

Eddie purred around the thickness filling his mouth, the vibrations shooting straight up Buck's spine, his hands gripping Buck's thighs for leverage as he relaxed his throat further, taking him deeper with each thrust. 

"Look at you, choking on my dick— tears streaming down your face, drooling like a desperate whore," Buck growled, his dirty talk spilling out unfiltered, inspired by the letters and the heat of the moment, hips snapping faster now, fucking Eddie's mouth with building intensity. "You love it, don't you? Bet you've come in your pants just thinking about this —my thick cock stretching your throat, owning you. Swallow around me, Eddie, milk me dry."

The dirty talk seemed to spur him on, his own cock tenting his sweatpants obscenely, a wet spot forming from his leaking arousal. 

"Mmmph," Eddie managed to mumble around the intrusion, pulling off just enough to gasp, "Fuck my mouth, Buck. Use me— I've wanted this so bad. Make me swallow every drop."

Buck groaned, the words igniting him, and he picked up the pace —hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm, fucking Eddie's mouth with filthy abandon, the wet, obscene sounds of slurping and gagging filling the room. 

Eddie's throat convulsed around him, massaging the head, and Buck's balls drew up tight, the pressure building like a coiled spring.

It wasn't long before Buck felt the telltale throb, his cock pulsing wildly in the tight, sucking heat. 

Without hesitation, he tapped a finger gently against Eddie's cheek —a warning, a question, a check-in amid the filth. 

"I-I'm gonna cum... fuck, Eddie, you ready to swallow it all? Take my load like a good boy?"

Eddie let out a muffled groan of assent, the sound traveling up Buck's shaft and tingling along his spine like electricity, and he pressed himself tighter against Buck's hips, nose buried in the trimmed hair at the base, throat working to take him all.

That was all Buck needed. 

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully in Eddie's mouth, groaning loud and broken as he bottomed out, feeling Eddie's throat expand around him, balls pressing flush against his chin.

Hot spurts of semen erupted, flooding Eddie's mouth and throat —thick, salty ropes that Eddie swallowed greedily milking him dry, each gulp tightening his muscles around the sensitive tip, sending aftershocks through Buck's body, making him shudder from overstimulation and curse under his breath.

When Eddie patted his leg softly —a signal for mercy— Buck eased back slowly, withdrawing his spent cock from those plush lips just enough for a final, lazy spurt of cum to stripe across Eddie's flushed face, painting his chin and lips in pearly white.

Unable to resist the erotic sight —Eddie on his knees, debauched and marked with Buck's release— Buck hauled him up by the arms, crashing their lips together in an eager, messy kiss. 

Buck tasted himself on Eddie's tongue —salty, bitter, and thick, mixed with Eddie's own addictive flavor, the kind that made Buck's head spin and his spent cock twitch back to life already. 

His legs were still trembling from the intensity of coming down Eddie’s throat, but the hunger roaring in his gut gave him strength. He slid his big hands down to grip Eddie’s thighs, fingers digging into firm muscle, and hoisted him up like he weighed nothing. 

Eddie’s legs wrapped instinctively around Buck’s hips, ankles locking at the small of his back, pulling their bodies flush as Buck carried him across the living room. 

Their mouths stayed fused, swallowing each other’s moans, while Buck’s hands worked Eddie’s sweatpants down just far enough to bare that perfect ass. He squeezed the globes hard, spreading them shamelessly, fingertips brushing the hot cleft as he stifled Eddie’s desperate gasps against his lips.

The couch was only a few steps away —Eddie’s worn leather sectional right under the stairs, scattered with some sheets and a couple of throw pillows from last night’s movie marathon. 

Buck didn’t care about the mess, he needed Eddie horizontal now. 

He lowered Eddie gently until his feet touched the floor beside the sofa, but he didn’t let go, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of Eddie’s throat, across his collarbone, sucking fresh bruises into the golden skin that would peek above his uniform collar tomorrow. 

Every mark was a brand: mine, mine, mine. 

Eddie’s breath hitched with each bite, his cock —still trapped in those half-down sweats— leaking steadily against Buck’s thigh.

Buck dropped to his knees in front of him, reverent and predatory all at once, and yanked the sweatpants the rest of the way off. Eddie stepped out of them, kicking them aside, now completely naked and trembling under Buck’s gaze. 

Buck didn’t waste time. 

He started just above Eddie’s cock —hard, thicker and heavy, darker than Buck’s, the flushed head slick with pre-cum— sucking a dark hickey into the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen, then moving lower, marking the crease where thigh met groin, the tender inside of each thigh, down to the trembling muscles behind his knees. 

Eddie’s legs shook harder with every pull of Buck’s mouth, hands fisting in Buck’s curls for balance, soft pleas spilling from his lips.

“Buck… please… fuck…”

When Buck finally stood, he let himself fall back onto the couch, legs spread wide, cock half-hard and glistening with the remnants of Eddie’s saliva. 

He drank in the sight of Eddie standing there: skin flushed and marked with a constellation of fresh hickeys, a thin sheen of sweat making him glow in the morning light, cock jutting proudly, thicker than Buck’s own, curved slightly upward, pre-cum pearling at the slit and dripping in a slow, obscene thread.

"You look fucking beautiful," Buck whispered, voice rough with awe and lust. 

Even after having his dick buried in Eddie’s throat, Eddie blushed —deep, gorgeous pink flooding his cheeks, spreading down his chest and belly like a wave, making Buck’s cock twitch fully back to life.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Eddie murmured, voice small and shaky, like he was afraid this was another dream he’d wake up from alone. “That you… want this. Want me.”

Buck reached out, taking Eddie’s hand and tugging him forward. 

“Get over here, gorgeous.” Eddie straddled him eagerly, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of Buck’s hips, their cocks sliding together in a slick, electric glide that tore groans from both of them. 

Buck’s hands settled on Eddie’s waist, thumbs stroking the sharp cut of his hipbones. 

“Come on, recreate that drawing for me— the one where you’re riding my lap, begging for my fingers. Tell me what you want.”

Eddie gasped, arching his back as he rocked his hips, dragging their lengths together again. 

“Explore me,” he whispered against Buck’s lips, breath hot and ragged. “Use those big fingers to open me up… make me feel good. Please, Evan.”

The sound of his real name in that pleading tone went straight to Buck’s dick. 

Eddie’s hands roamed down Buck’s body —caressing the broad planes of his chest, tracing the faint happy trail, lingering on the soft belly Eddie had confessed to loving in his letter, then wrapping around the base of Buck’s cock for a teasing stroke before sliding up to grip his biceps hard, nails biting in.

Buck hissed at the sting, loving it, and immediately obeyed. 

One hand spread Eddie’s ass cheeks wide while the other traced the hot, puckered entrance, feeling it flutter under his fingertips. Eddie was already slick with sweat, the heat radiating like a furnace. 

Buck circled the rim slowly, teasing, watching Eddie’s face —eyes squeezed shut, lips parted— as soft moans spilled out. 

Eddie dropped his head to Buck’s shoulder, mouthing at his neck, sucking a mark of his own as his hips started to sway, chasing more contact.

“God, you’re so hard… J-Just for me,” Eddie purred, voice filthy and trembling, nails digging deeper into Buck’s arms as both of them shook. 

Buck pressed one finger inside —slow, deliberate— feeling tight muscle clench and then yield, swallowing him to the first knuckle. 

Eddie’s breath stuttered against his skin.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Buck groaned, working the finger deeper, crooking it until —there— Eddie jolted, a high, broken moan echoing in the quiet apartment as Buck found his prostate. “That’s it, baby. Right there.”

“M-More… Evan, please— more,” Eddie begged, voice cracking, hips grinding down to take what he needed.

Buck added a second finger, scissoring slowly, stretching him open with deliberate precision, using Eddie’s own rocking motions to drive them deeper. 

The wet sound of fingers sliding in and out filled the room, obscene and perfect, mingling with their heavy breathing and the creak of the couch beneath them.

“Good boy,” Buck whispered, burying both fingers to the knuckles and rubbing hard over that sweet spot, feeling Eddie clench rhythmically around him. “Taking my fingers so perfectly. You were made for this, weren’t you? My own greedy little hole, ready to be fucked whenever I want. Gonna spoil you so good, Eddie— stretch you out, fill you up, ruin you for anyone else.”

Eddie let out a muffled whine, arching his back sharply, chest thrust forward in offering. 

Buck seized the invitation, mouth latching onto one nipple —biting gently, then sucking hard, tongue flicking until it was red and swollen. He switched to the other, leaving both wet and glistening, while his fingers kept up their relentless assault, curling and thrusting in time with Eddie’s desperate rolls.

“That’s it, baby, let it all out,” Buck murmured against the abused skin, blowing cool air over the wet nipple and watching Eddie shudder. “Come for me— just from my fingers inside you, marking you up. Show me how much you love it.”

Eddie’s whole body seized, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he came hard —thick ropes of cum shooting across Buck’s chest and abs, some splattering high enough to hit his chin and lips. 

The clench around Buck’s fingers was almost painful, Eddie’s ass milking him rhythmically as he rode out the orgasm, collapsing forward into Buck’s arms, legs shaking uncontrollably, breath coming in harsh pants against Buck’s neck.

Buck held him through it, fingers still buried deep, stroking gently now, drawing out every last tremor. 

“Just like you imagined?” he teased softly, voice playful but thick with affection.

Eddie answered by sinking his teeth hard into Buck’s shoulder —sharp, possessive— making Buck gasp, cock throbbing against Eddie’s spent length. 

When Eddie pulled back, lips curved in a satisfied, wicked smile, the bite mark bloomed red, tiny beads of blood where his canines had broken skin.

“Much better,” Eddie rasped, voice shattered and husky, eyes dark with lingering hunger.

Buck flexed his fingers one last time inside him, savoring the whimper it pulled from Eddie, before slowly withdrawing. He brought his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against Eddie’s ass, the sound cracking through the room like a promise.

“Good,” Buck rasped, licking a stray streak of Eddie’s cum from his lip, tasting the salty evidence of how thoroughly he’d unraveled the man in his arms. “Because this is just the beginning. Let’s take it to your bed— I’m nowhere near done with you.”

They separated slowly from the couch, their bodies still humming with aftershocks, breaths mingling in the charged air, lips brushing one last time in a teasing peck that left Eddie whining softly for more. 

Buck couldn't get enough —the taste of Eddie's mouth, now flavored with the remnants of their shared releases, was addictive, a heady mix of salt and sweetness that had his cock twitching back to full hardness despite the recent orgasms. 

They stumbled toward the stairs leading to Eddie's bedroom, hands groping blindly —Buck's gripping his hips, sliding up his back, palming Eddie's ass, squeezing the firm cheeks he'd just slapped, while Eddie tugged at Buck's hair, guiding him into another messy kiss, like he couldn't bear even a second of separation. 

The apartment was still bathed in that soft morning light, filtering through half-drawn blinds, casting warm shadows over the cluttered hallway: a discarded jacket on the banister, Chris's sneakers by the door from last night's rush.

Buck's mind raced with fragments of those letters, the drawings —Eddie splayed out, begging— and now it was real, the man in his arms pliant and eager, his skin fever-hot under Buck's palms. Fuck, he's mine now.

Eddie giggled breathlessly as Buck half-lifted him up the last step, their feet tangling in haste, nearly tripping them both. 

"Careful, big guy," Eddie teased, voice husky but light, nipping at Buck's jaw. "Don't drop me before the fun really starts."

Buck didn't wait once they crossed the threshold into Eddie's room —a cozy space with unmade sheets from his earlier nap, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the pillows, a framed photo of Chris on the nightstand grounding the moment in something tender amid the filth.

He hauled Eddie onto the mattress with a playful shove, making the other man giggle —a light, playful, almost boyish, breathless sound that contrasted so sharply with the filthy moans from downstairs, but it only fueled Buck's fire, reminding him Eddie wasn't just a fantasy anymore. 

Eddie immediately spread his legs wide, thighs parting invitingly, knees bent like he'd been waiting for this forever. 

Buck crawled on top immediately, slotting between those thighs, their naked bodies aligning perfectly, sweat-slick and heated.

Their lips crashed together again, tongues dueling in a wet, desperate tangle that tasted of cum and need, Buck's hips grinding down instinctively. 

His cock, hard and insistent once more, nudged insistently against Eddie's slick entrance with every instinctive thrust of his hips —teasing them both with the promise of fullness, sliding through the mess of lube and spit from earlier, but not quite breaching, the blunt head catching on the rim and making Eddie pant desperately into his mouth.

“I can’t forget those words you wrote,” Buck whispered hotly against Eddie’s swollen lips, his body pinning Eddie down with delicious weight, chests heaving together, sweat-slick skin sticking. 

He could feel Eddie's heart hammering in sync with his own, the intimacy of it all —their jobs teaching them to trust each other with their lives— now spilling into this carnal trust. 

“All those filthy fantasies... I’m gonna do every damn one to you. Fuck you so hard, so senseless, you won’t be able to walk straight for days— hell, maybe a week. Gonna leave you sore, leaking my cum, remembering who owns this ass.”

Eddie groaned low and ragged at the promise, the sound vibrating through Buck's chest like a spark to dry tinder, his body arching up for more friction. 

His hands fumbled blindly toward the headboard, knocking over a half-empty water glass in his haste, fingers closing around the bottle of lube he'd stashed there —the same one he'd used just last night, stroking himself to thoughts of Buck while scribbling those letters, the cap still sticky.

He pressed it firmly against Buck’s chest, the cool plastic a stark contrast to their heated skin, eyes dark and pleading.

“C-Come on, Evan,” Eddie panted, voice rough and human, laced with that mix of vulnerability and demand that made Buck's gut clench. “Make my dream come true. I’ve wanted this for so long— Please. I need you inside me— now.”

Buck didn't need any more encouragement; the raw hunger in Eddie's voice was like fuel on the fire raging in his veins, going straight to his balls, tightening them with fresh urgency. 

He pulled back just enough to pop the cap with his thumb, squirting a generous dollop of the cool, slick fluid directly onto Eddie's twitching hole —watching it glisten and clench in anticipation, mixing with the remnants of their earlier play. 

Without preamble, he slid three thick fingers in easily now, knuckles-deep, curling to stroke that sensitive bundle of nerves, making Eddie arch off the bed with a sharp cry, back bowing as the sudden fullness hit him, muscles fluttering around the intrusion, his cock twitching against his abs, already leaking anew. 

Buck's free hand wrapped around his own cock, coating the length from root to tip in long, deliberate strokes, the viscous lube mixing with his pre-cum, making obscene squelching sounds as he prepped, making it gleam obscenely in the light.

Satisfied with the prep —Eddie already loose and wet from earlier— Buck withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, smiling at Eddie’s whimpering before positioning the fat head of his cock at that winking entrance.

He captured Eddie’s lips in a rough, frantic kiss, all teeth and dominance, before murmuring against them, “Always... you’re mine now, Eddie. Always.”

With that, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, relentless thrust —his hardness splitting Eddie open, stretching that sensitive ring of muscle, the tight heat enveloping him like a vice until his pelvis slammed flush against Eddie's ass, balls slapping skin.

Eddie keened into the kiss, nails raking down Buck's back, the burn of entry morphing into white-hot pleasure that had them both gasping.

The rhythm started torturously slow, Buck savoring every inch —easing out almost completely, savoring the drag, the way Eddie's walls clung greedily and his whines— then snapping back in deep, twisting his hips at the last second to grind against Eddie's prostate. 

Each deliberate roll elicited a symphony of high-pitched moans from Eddie, a mix of curses tumbling out in breathless Spanish and English —"¡Dios mío, Evan... Fuck, right there... mierda, you're so deep..."— the words igniting Buck even more, making his cock throb harder inside that velvet heat.

When Eddie adjusted, hips rolling and rising to meet him, Buck changed pace —because he could, because he wanted to own every reaction.

Their movements turned frantic, hips snapping together faster, more urgently, pistoning with raw power.

The wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room like a filthy symphony, punctuated by the creaking bedframe protesting under their weight,headboard thumping against the wall, adding a rhythmic underscore to their passion. 

Buck angled deeper, pounding relentlessly, each thrust nailing that sweet spot with brutal precision.

“Evan!” Eddie moaned, voice breaking, eyes rolling back in ecstasy and toes curling into the sheets as his insides clenched rhythmically around Buck's pistoning cock, milking him with every withdrawal. “Harder— God, you feel so fucking good, splitting me open.”

Buck grunted, pulling out completely —Eddie whining at the sudden emptiness— before flipping him onto his side with strong hands, manhandling him like a ragdoll. 

He hiked Eddie's top leg up, lifting it high to expose him fully, hooking it over his own arm for leverage, then buried himself back inside with a guttural groan.

At this new angle, the friction was relentless and the penetration was even deeper —Buck's cock rubbing constantly and mercilessly over Eddie's prostate, every inch dragging sparks of pleasure. 

Eddie stopped forming words, reduced to incoherent babbles —"Ah... ngh... please...Ev…"— one hand reaching back to grip Buck's neck, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair and yanking, while the other fisted the rumpled blue sheets so hard his knuckles whitened.

“I-I’m gonna mark you as mine,” Buck rasped low in Eddie’s ear, hot breath fanning the shell before nipping the lobe.

Then he bit down hard —teeth sinking into the skin, sharp enough to draw a bead of blood— tugging until Eddie let out a long, keening cry, body seizing as he came untouched, hot spurts painting the sheets in messy stripes.

The clench was exquisite, vise-tight around Buck's thrusting cock, and he hissed through gritted teeth, but he powered through, pounding harder, faster, focused on shattering Eddie's composure completely as he chased his own release. 

Sweat dripped from his brow onto Eddie's back, their bodies slick and sliding, the room reeking of sex —musk, cum, lube. The bed was shaking violently now, pillows tumbling to the floor.

Buck's balls drew up tight, and Buck came roaring Eddie's name, slamming in one final time —pressing his cock firmly against Eddie’s oversensitive prostate, grinding there as hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside, painting Eddie's walls, claiming him from the inside.

The pressure triggered another weak spurt from Eddie's spent dick, a final moan escaping him as his body went limp.

When Buck finally pulled out —slowly, reluctantly— a thick trail of his semen trickled from Eddie's abused hole, dripping down his ass cheeks and thighs onto the sheets.

The sight drew a possessive growl from deep in Buck's chest —Mine. All fucking mine. Marked inside and out— as he collapsed beside him, dragging him into his arms for a breathless, sated kiss —tongues sliding together, sharing the taste of sweat, sex, and each other.

They stayed tangled like that, limbs heavy, breaths syncing as the morning light shifted across the room. 

Eddie’s head tucked under Buck’s chin, one leg thrown over Buck’s thigh, their sticky skin cooling slowly. Buck’s hand traced idle patterns over Eddie’s back, dipping into the curve of his spine, thumb brushing the dimples above his ass. 

Eddie hummed contentedly, pressing closer, lips grazing Buck’s collarbone in soft, sleepy kisses.

Exhaustion finally won. 

Buck felt Eddie’s breathing even out first —deep, steady, the kind of sleep that came after being thoroughly wrecked. Buck followed seconds later, the scent of Eddie all around him, the ache in his muscles a delicious reminder of everything they’d done.

Some time later —Buck wasn’t sure how many minutes or hours, only that the light had shifted to a warmer gold—they stirred slowly. 

It started with Eddie nuzzling into his neck, a soft sigh against his skin. Buck answered instinctively, hand sliding down to cup Eddie’s ass, pulling him closer. 

Their lips found each other in lazy, lingering kisses —no urgency yet, just the luxury of waking up together, naked and sated.

Eddie’s fingers traced the bite mark on Buck’s shoulder, the one he’d left earlier, and he smiled against Buck’s mouth. 

“Still can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Thought I’d wake up alone again, sheets sticky from dreaming about you.”

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, nipping Eddie’s lower lip. 

“Not a dream, Diaz. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.” He rolled them slightly so Eddie was half-sprawled over his chest, hand sliding up to tangle in Eddie’s messy hair. “Though we’re kind of disgusting right now. Sweat, cum, lube… pretty sure we’re glued together.”

Eddie chuckled, low and warm, pressing a kiss to Buck’s pec. 

“Yeah. We reek of sex.” He lifted his head, eyes glinting with mischief despite the drowsiness. “Time for a shower?”

The words were innocent enough, but they both knew better. 

One of Eddie’s drawings —Buck remembered it vividly— had been of them in the shower: Eddie braced against the tiles, water cascading over their bodies, Buck buried deep inside him from behind. Buck’s cock gave an interested twitch against Eddie’s thigh.

“Shower,” Buck agreed, voice dropping into something darker, “but don’t think for a second it’s gonna be clean.”

They disentangled slowly, sharing more kisses as they padded naked to the en-suite bathroom —Eddie’s, simple and lived-in, with a rubber duck still on the tub edge and a half-used bottle of kid shampoo next to Eddie’s grown-up stuff. 

Buck turned the water on hot, steam quickly filling the small space, fogging the mirror. They stepped under the spray together, groaning in unison as the heat hit sore muscles.

It started gentle —hands soaping each other’s bodies, kisses slow and deep under the stream. 

Buck washed Eddie’s hair, fingers massaging his scalp until Eddie melted against him. Eddie returned the favor, palms sliding over Buck’s chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they pebbled. 

They took their time rinsing away the evidence of the morning, water sluicing over marked skin —hickeys blooming purple on necks and thighs, scratches down backs, the faint imprint of teeth.

But gentleness only lasted so long.

Eddie’s cock hardened first, brushing against Buck’s thigh as he reached past him for the soap. 

Buck’s followed suit, thickening against Eddie’s hip. 

Their kisses turned hungrier, hands less innocent —Buck palming Eddie’s ass, spreading him under the water, Eddie stroking Buck slow and teasing until pre-cum beaded at the tip.

Buck spun him suddenly, pressing Eddie chest-first against the cool tiles. 

Eddie gasped at the contrast —hot water on his back, cold tile on his front— and arched instinctively, pushing his ass out. 

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed, spreading his legs wider. “Just like the drawing.”

Buck purred, reaching down to scoop some of his own cum still leaking from Eddie’s hole using it with the shower water as slick. 

He lined up and pushed in with one smooth thrust, burying himself balls-deep in that perfect heat. Eddie cried out, hands scrabbling for purchase on the wet tile, head dropping forward as water streamed down his back.

The rhythm was brutal from the start —Buck’s hips snapping hard, desperate, each thrust slamming Eddie into the wall, water splashing around them. The sound was obscene: wet skin on skin, Eddie’s moans echoing off the tiles, Buck’s grunts as he fucked deeper, harder, chasing the overwhelming tightness.

“Take it,” Buck snarled, one hand braced beside Eddie’s head, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. “Take every inch like the greedy slut you wrote about. You feel that? My cum still inside you from earlier— now I’m adding more. Gonna keep you full all day.”

Eddie could only whimper, pushing back to meet every thrust, cock trapped between his belly and the tile, leaking steadily. 

Buck reached around, but instead of stroking him, he pressed two thick fingers alongside his cock —stretching Eddie impossibly wider, the burn making Eddie scream, voice cracking into a high, broken moan that reverberated in the steamy space.

“Evan— fuck— too much— oh god—”

But his body betrayed him, clenching greedily around the intrusion, hips rocking back for more. 

Buck fucked him relentlessly —cock and fingers together— hitting that spot over and over until Eddie shattered, coming with a hoarse shout, untouched, cum streaking the tiles and washing away instantly under the spray. 

His legs buckled completely, body going boneless, but Buck held him up effortlessly, arm banded around his waist, hips still pounding.

“Got you,” Buck panted, thrusting harder, chasing his own edge. “Not done— gonna fill you again— fuck—”

He came with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside, pulse after pulse, until he was spent. 

Slowly, carefully, he eased his fingers out, then his cock, watching with dark satisfaction as thick streams of fresh cum followed, sliding down Eddie’s trembling thighs, mingling with the hot water still pouring over them.

Eddie sagged against the slick tile, body boneless and trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps as the hot water continued to cascade over them both. His face was flushed deep red, eyes half-lidded and glassy, lips swollen and parted —but that faint, blissed-out smile curving his mouth was pure satisfaction. 

Buck turned him carefully, mindful of those shaky legs, and pressed soft, reverent kisses to his forehead, his temple, finally capturing his lips in a slow, tender drag that tasted of water and lingering cum.

Eddie sagged against the tile, breathless and wrecked, but smiling faintly when Buck turned him gently, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his lips. 

“You okay?” Buck murmured, voice gravel-rough from all the growling and moaning, but laced with genuine concern. 

His big hands cupped Eddie’s face gently, thumbs stroking over sharp cheekbones, wiping away stray droplets.

Eddie let out a weak, breathless laugh, forehead dropping to rest against Buck’s collarbone for a moment. 

“More than okay,” he rasped, voice completely fucked-out. “Jesus, Evan… I think you actually ruined me for life. Can barely feel my legs.”

Buck grinned wide and shameless, stealing another kiss —deeper this time, tongue sliding in just enough to remind Eddie who’d put that fucked-out tone in his throat. 

“Good,” he whispered against Eddie’s lips, nipping the bottom one. “Because I’m planning on doing it again. And again. And fucking again. Until you forget what it feels like to walk without remembering my cock inside you.”

Eddie’s eyes —those dark, molten brown eyes— sparkled even through the bone-deep exhaustion, a shiver running through him that had nothing to do with the cooling water. 

He reached up, fingers threading into Buck’s wet curls, tugging lightly. 

“Promise?” he asked, soft but hopeful, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

Buck leaned in, forehead to forehead, water streaming between them. 

“Always,” he said, the word a vow, low and certain.

They finished rinsing off slowly —hands lingering, kisses traded under the spray— until the water started to cool. 

Buck shut it off and grabbed towels, wrapping one around Eddie’s waist before drying him with unhurried care and careful strokes, like Eddie was something precious. Eddie returned the favor, towel dragging over Buck’s chest, thumbs brushing nipples still too sensitive, drawing a soft hiss from Buck’s throat.

They didn’t bother with clothes yet; their skin was still too warm, too hungry for touch.

Back in the bedroom, they collapsed onto the bed —right after kicking the wet and messy sheets onto the floor— tangling together immediately. 

Eddie curled into Buck’s side, head resting on his chest, one leg hooked over Buck’s thigh. Buck’s arm wrapped around him, possessive and sure, palm splayed over the small of Eddie’s back, thumb tracing lazy, absent-minded circles.

Afternoon light slanted gold through the blinds, dust motes drifting lazily, the distant hum of the city settling over them like a lullaby.

They dozed like that —deep, sated sleep, broken only by half-conscious caresses. 

Eddie’s fingers wandered across Buck’s abs, tracing the soft curve of his belly. Buck’s hand would drift lower, cupping Eddie’s ass, squeezing gently, feeling the lingering heat, the looseness that made his breath hitch every time. 

Lips found skin —neck, shoulder, jaw— in open-mouthed, sleepy kisses that never quite escalated, just kept the embers glowing.

Buck woke first, blinking at the clock on the nightstand —early afternoon still, plenty of time before Chris needed picking up. Eddie was draped half over him, face tucked into his neck, breath warm and even. 

Buck’s chest felt too full, a quiet wonder settling deep in his bones.

He pressed a kiss into Eddie’s hair, breathing in the clean scent of shampoo and them. Eddie stirred, making a soft, contented sound, nuzzling closer before his eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” Eddie murmured, voice rough with sleep, lips curving as he tilted his head to meet Buck’s gaze. “Thought I dreamed it for a second.”

Buck smiled —slow, fond— and brushed his thumb along Eddie’s cheek. 

“Not a dream. Though if it is, I’m never waking up.”

They shared a lazy kiss —soft, lingering, tasting of warmth and possibility— before Eddie sighed and stretched, wincing slightly. 

“Okay,” he said, huffing a laugh, “we should probably put clothes on before I fall asleep again and forget the real world exists.”

Buck chuckled, stealing one more kiss before rolling out of bed. 

They dressed slowly, heavy-limbed, movements languid with the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that made even pulling on clothes feel like an effort. 

Eddie stretched gingerly, wincing again at the pull in his thighs and the delicious ache deep inside, then padded naked to his dresser. 

He pulled on loose gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a soft, faded Army tee that stretched across his chest —and did absolutely nothing to conceal the fresh constellation of red-and-purple hickeys blooming teasingly above the fabric every time he moved.

Buck sat on the edge of the bed, watching him with half-lidded eyes, still gloriously bare, cock soft but heavy against his thigh.

“My clothes are downstairs,” he muttered, before wrinkling his nose.

“No way you’re putting that nasty thing back on,” Eddie said, voice warm with amusement before huffing a quiet laugh, already rummaging in his dresser and pulled out a clean tee and a pair of loose navy sweats. “Here —wear something of mine.”

Buck stood, stretching deliberately so every muscle flexed, then stepped into the sweats —commando, of course— letting the waistband snap low enough to show the sharp V of his hips. The tee hugged his chest and shoulders, soft from countless washes, carrying that faint trace of Eddie’s detergent that made something possessive curl in Buck’s gut.

“Looks better on me anyway.”

Eddie laughed, stepping close to tug playfully at the hem. 

“Everything looks better on you,” he murmured, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Buck’s lips. “Come on. Beer.”

Down in the kitchen, sunlight streamed through the window over the sink. 

Eddie grabbed two beers from the fridge —cold bottles sweating in the warm air— and handed one to Buck. He tried to slide onto a bar stool, but the moment his ass met the hard seat he hissed sharply, grip tightening on the counter.

“Fuck,” Eddie muttered, laughing under his breath as he shifted gingerly. “You really weren’t kidding about not walking straight.”

Buck’s grin was pure smug satisfaction, eyes raking over the unmistakable marks visible on Eddie’s neck. He took a swig of his beer, then set it down and moved behind Eddie, hands settling possessively on his hips. 

“Proud of my work,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Eddie’s ear before trailing soft kisses down his neck, right over the bruises.

Eddie tilted his head to give him better access, eyes fluttering. 

“It was a mistake, you know,” he said quietly, voice warm with amusement and something deeper. “That envelope ending up in your mailbox. I still don’t know how it happened.”

Buck hummed, nipping lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder. 

“Best mix-up in history,” he said, hands sliding under the hem of Eddie’s shirt to stroke bare skin. “‘Cause damn if it wasn’t the best mistake of my life.”

Eddie turned his head, capturing Buck’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss —beer forgotten on the counter. 

When they broke apart, Eddie rested back against Buck’s chest, head on his shoulder. 

“There’s still so much we haven’t done,” Buck whispered against his skin, feeling Eddie shudder beautifully. “All those fantasies you wrote… I’m nowhere near finished. Thought this might be a one-time thing for you, Diaz? Too bad. After tasting you, feeling you come apart on my cock— I’m addicted.”

Eddie smiled, soft and open, turning in Buck’s arms to face him fully. 

“Wasn’t ever a one-time thing in my head,” he admitted quietly. “Just didn’t think you’d… want more.”

Buck kissed him again —gentle this time, full of promise. “I want everything.”

They stayed like that until Eddie’s phone alarm buzzed on the counter —time to pick Chris up from school. Reality creeping back in, but softer now, shared.

“Come back soon,” Eddie whispered as they walked slowly down the hall, side by side, pinkies brushing in a shy, secret touch.

At Buck’s door, Eddie pulled the envelope from his pocket —the one with the letters and drawings— and waved it teasingly in front of Buck’s face. Buck smirked, reaching back to tuck it into his own back pocket in one smooth motion.

“Keep it,” Eddie said, voice low. “Read it whenever you want. Get hard thinking about me. Then come upstairs and do something about it whenever you’re ready”

Buck leaned in, brushing their lips together once more. 

“Whenever I’m ready?” he echoed, winking. “Baby, I’m always ready.”

Eddie laughed softly, stealing one last quick kiss before heading toward the stairs. Buck watched him go —watched the careful way he moved, the faint flush still on his neck— before unlocking his own door. 

Who would’ve thought a wrong mailbox could change everything? 

His hand drifted to the envelope in his pocket, cock already twitching at the feel of thick paper against his ass.

Now, each time he passes the lobby mailboxes, his pulse stutters, then surges. Every plain white envelope, stamped with that elegant E in flawless calligraphy, makes his cock swell, dampen, ache —anticipation tightening its slow, merciless grip.

Because he knows, with absolute certainty, what is waiting for him upstairs.