Archive of Our Own

It’s early. Buck has two coffees from that diner Eddie really likes in his hand. He grips them, trying to find comfort from the radiating heat as he waits for A-shift to start filtering out of the firehouse. 

Acid churns high in his stomach. He’s second guessing himself, wondering if he should wait by Eddie’s truck where it’s more private instead of right next to the bay doors, but before he can change course, Eddie steps out. With Bosko.

A flare of jealousy burns beneath his sternum as he watches them chat and head to the parking lot together, completely unaware of his presence. He stays frozen against the rough brick wall and nearly calls the whole thing off, but he can’t stand to leave it another day, so he pushes through the doubt and follows. 

Still a few yards away, he calls out, “H-hey, Eddie…”

Eddie doesn’t react, but Bosko looks over her shoulder, briefly meeting Buck’s eyes. She nudges Eddie, slows him down. Buck isn’t close enough to hear what she says, but Eddie shakes his head and keeps walking.

It’s embarrassing to keep going, but Buck is desperate. 

“Yo, Eddie!”

Multiple sets of eyes fall on Buck. He can feel them scraping against his back, but he stands tall as Eddie finally turns. Bosko, to her credit, says goodbye to him and smiles at Buck before continuing on. 

Buck approaches. Eddie eyes the coffees and puts his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“So, I—” Buck begins. “I dropped the lawsuit.”

Eddie shrugs, his face nearly blank, but Buck knows him enough to recognize the current of anger flowing just below his skin. “What. You want a gold star or something?”

“Well, I thought I could come by soon—” Buck tries, and when Eddie narrows his eyes, he changes tactics, not missing a beat “—to see Chris?”

“We’re busy.”

When Eddie turns, Buck spots a scuff on his cheekbone, mottled and scabbed.

Did Eddie get hurt on a call? Is he banged up anywhere else? Buck opens his mouth to ask, momentarily forgetting why he’s here in the first place, but Eddie is already walking away.

Buck dumps the coffees before he leaves.

Somehow, Buck is hitting every single red light tonight. If he wasn't so determined, he'd probably take it as some sort of sign to give up and turn around, but the thing is, Buck needs to sort this out.

But as he drives up South Belford Street, he spots that stupid Jeep Gladiator idling in Eddie’s driveway. He pulls over a few houses down, kills the engine, and scowls at it. First, Bosko took his locker, his job, and his best friend. When he discovered the make of her vehicle, well, Maddie would say it’s crazy to be upset over a truck, but how many times can Bosko hit a guy while he’s down? It’s like she was tailor-made to replace him.

The living room light flicks off, and then Eddie is outside, locking the door and climbing into the cooler, more rugged Jeep.

Buck seethes, watching them pull out and take off in the opposite direction. 

This is the point where he should go back home, but he starts the engine and follows.

He falls behind in traffic, hoping to stay undetected, keeping track of them as they head past Glendale to Sunvalley and finally pull into a junkyard. Buck continues on, eyeing the sign in his rearview mirror. It’s a weird time to go looking for a spare part, but Buck wants to be the one next to him, scouring the lot for what he needs. His righteous anger fades to a hopeless melancholy.

He didn’t even know Eddie was working on the Chevelle again. 

What else has he missed?

Nothing changes when Buck returns to work the following week. He tries to walk in with his head held high, but his confidence shatters immediately. No one wants to acknowledge him. No one wants him around.

Especially Eddie.

There’s a nasty scrape on Eddie's arm. It’s the first thing Buck notices when he sees him, but when Buck asks him about it, he lies. There’s no way roughhousing with Christopher would lead to something like that.

No one else seems to care. Buck knows he's lying, but the alarms go off and Buck’s man behind, so he has no choice but to drop it.

After a day of being brushed off and ignored, Buck finally breaks when Eddie sidesteps him once again.

“So, that's the way it's gonna be now?” He sets the box of Halloween decorations down. “You're just gonna keep ghosting me? Cause you know, Halloween’s over.”

But when he turns around, Eddie is still walking away.

Buck goes back to South Belford Street, but he can't bring himself to knock on Eddie’s door.

It’s some sort of compulsion. He knows it isn’t a normal thing to do, but he starts camping out in his Jeep just a few doors down on his evenings off. Watching the house. Memorizing Eddie and Chris’s routine by tracking which windows are illuminated and which are dark until all of them go out, signaling that both of them are tucked in for the night.

Only then does he start his Jeep and drive back to the loft.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s waiting for until the night the routine changes. The light in Chris’s room doesn’t turn on when it’s supposed to, so he must not be home. Buck is tense, half expecting Bosko to come rumbling down the street at any moment, but then the living room goes dark and Eddie is leaving, climbing into his fancy new truck—another thing that’s changed in Buck’s absence. Like, where the hell did he even get the cash for that thing?

Their argument at the grocery store resurfaces as he follows, the way Eddie let slip something about going to jail, needing bail, and the guilty look on Bosko’s face. Whatever they’re hiding, Buck is sure he’ll find out tonight.

This time, Buck is led to a warehouse, and this time, he does go inside to find a cage and a crowd gathered around it. 

It isn't hard to figure out what this is.

He keeps to the back with his hood up, scanning for Eddie during the first fight, but he’s nowhere to be found. Neither is Bosko. It sets Buck’s teeth on edge. Fight after fight, dread and anticipation build while the crowd yells and screams over the sounds of solid mass meeting solid mass. Blood and sweat sprays through the air. Some people tap out, others go for broke, until finally, Eddie stalks out into the hazy yellow light. 

There's that anger simmering to a boil. Eddie wears it well, though; his jaw set, determined, no sign of fear when he steps up to his opponent.

There’s a dark hunger behind Eddie’s eyes—like he’s staring down his next meal. It’s nothing like Buck’s seen on his face before. And it sort of drives him wild to see it aimed at some stranger after surviving as long as he has without much more than a glance.

This man has Eddie's undivided attention, and Buck hasn’t had that in ages.

Not since their argument in the grocery store.

As soon as Eddie lands the first punch, the stranger’s skin rippling out from the point of contact, Buck wishes it was his own ribs absorbing the blow. He clenches his jaw, imagining folding into it, opening his face up for another hit. It’s not normal, he knows he shouldn’t want it, but he knows he’d bleed for Eddie if it meant he'd touch Buck again.

After Eddie’s opponent lands a punch to his jaw, Buck stumbles back. Dizzy and flushed. He can't stand to watch it play out, so he hangs further back, keeping his eyes down until it’s over and Eddie is pumping his fists in the air.

Every inch of him vibrates as he puts miles between himself and that warehouse, visions of blood dripping down Eddie’s face popping up whenever he blinks. There’s a feeling itching under his skin that he can’t quite bring himself to name.

The idea that Eddie is putting himself in danger like this makes him feel sick. But, and he thinks he should probably take this to the grave, it makes him sicker that he doesn’t get to be a part of it.

“So, getting up to anything tonight?” asks Chim while he reaches into his locker for his jacket.

Buck has been keeping himself out of Eddie’s business while they’re at work, only interacting while they’re on a call, so he tries not to show interest as pulls his shoes on, but he’s all ears in anticipation for Eddie's response.

“Just relaxing,” he says. “Christopher has a sleepover at his friend’s place.”

“Ah. Hey!” Chim claps his hands. “We should all go out. Karaoke! Buck? You in?”

His attention shoots up now that he’s been explicitly invited into the conversation, but before he can answer, Eddie is shaking his head. “You guys have fun. I’m beat.”

They watch him leave. Chim pats Buck on the back. “Sorry, man. I tried.”

Buck shrugs. “He’ll come around.”

The thing is, this is what he was hoping for. If Chris isn’t around, then he knows where Eddie will be going. And Buck can intercept him before he has the chance to leave.

His heart is pounding hard as he approaches Eddie’s door. He has to steel himself before he knocks. It only gets worse as he waits. Footsteps approach, the cover to the peephole opens with that little telltale creak, and then a heavy sigh is audible through the door before the deadbolt turns.

The door opens just enough for Eddie to stick his head out. “Now’s not a good time,” he states simply.

“Why?” Buck takes a breath and steps into his space, taking Eddie by enough surprise to shoulder past him. 

“Buck,” Eddie grumbles under his breath as he shuts the door. 

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah.” Eddie turns and takes a few steps toward Buck but keeps his distance. “I was just about to leave, so—”

“Where to? Thought you were having a relaxing night in,” he challenges, and Eddie’s eyes drop away. “Or were you lying?”

The accusation makes Eddie’s face scrunch up. “Something came up.”

Buck ignores it, barreling past the lie. “Well, I want us to talk. I’ve been trying to apologize to you.”

Again, Eddie grumbles Buck’s name. There’s a frenetic energy bubbling below the surface. He’s clenching his fists. Buck steps forward.

“Am I pissing you off or something?” he goads.

Eddie’s nostrils flare. The muscles in his face twitch.

Buck tilts his head, lets his eyes drag down and up Eddie’s body. “You look like you wanna take a swing at me.”

“No,” Eddie responds, shaking his head and flexing his jaw. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh really? So, you prefer to hit strangers, then.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. Buck keeps going.

“Mhm. I know why you’re all banged up, Eddie. And I know it’s me you’re really mad at. So…” he steps forward again, getting right up in Eddie’s face, really taking advantage of his height. “Do it. Hit me.”

Shaking his head, Eddie steps back, putting distance between them and crossing his arms.

“Why? So you can call the cops, get me arrested—sue me? And then tell our friends what I get up to in my private life like you did to Bobby?”

“No! I-I'm just—” Buck wades through the guilt. But this is what he wanted: to face his wrongs, to take his punishment, and to move on. “I won't do that. Ever again. I-I swear. But I'm tired of you avoiding me, so come on. Let’s fucking duke it out. Let's get past it.”

“I don’t wanna hit you,” Eddie insists.

Frustration flares. How much clearer can Buck be? 

He wants it. 

“Why not? You'll go put yourself in danger with a bunch of strangers, with Bosko? Why not me?” He closes the distance again and shoves Eddie’s shoulders. Anything to agitate him into action. “Look at your fists. I can take it!” Buck keeps crowding him, forcing Eddie to either stand his ground, retaliate, or step back. “Just do it already!”

“It’s not about that!” Eddie breaks, pushing Buck hard enough that he stumbles backwards.

“Then what is it!” he counters when he recovers, his pulse going haywire.

“It’s not about hitting. It’s—” he cuts himself off for a second and huffs. “It’s about getting hit.”

Buck freezes.

“I need it to, to…” Eddie tries.

“To what? Punish yourself?”

Instead of answering, Eddie chews at his lip.

“W-what do you think you have to punish yourself for? Eddie…”

Eddie shakes his head, looking at the floor. He looks pained. Buck wants to fold him into a hug, and he hates that he can’t. “Fuck. You don’t get it, Buck. I like it.”

“What do you mean, you like it? Getting hit?”

Eddie nods. “I like when it hurts. I like being sore after—and the bruises…” He sighs. “It makes me feel… I don’t know. Better.”

“Oh.” Buck furrows his brows. 

It makes sense to Buck… craving the adrenaline, beating his body up, putting himself in harm’s way and having someone on the other side of it, finally paying attention, caring for him. It might not be the exact same thing for Eddie, but he gets it.

“Well, I could do that for you,” he offers.

“Buck.”

He steps forward, dipping his head, trying and failing to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Please.”

All he wants is for Eddie to look at him, but he keeps refusing. Buck wants to scream and stomp his feet, anything to get what he wants. Possessed, he grabs Eddie’s chin, maybe a little too harshly, and tilts it up.

“Look at me,” he demands, feeling desperate. Eddie sucks in a breath, searching Buck’s eyes. Finally. “I’m serious. Let me. Don’t go back there. Please.”

He’s ready to beg for it. He’ll fall on his knees and beg Eddie to stay, to let Buck do this for him. 

Indignant, Eddie says, “I don’t think you have it in you.”

His palms are sweaty. He’s never wanted to do anything close to hitting Eddie, but the thought of those men getting their hands on him, people who don’t know him, who don’t care about him like Buck does…

“See? You can’t follow through with anything, can you?” When Buck doesn’t answer, Eddie scoffs. “If you won’t do it, someone else will, but you’re making me late.” He pushes past Buck and heads for the entrance. “Lock the door behind you when you leave.”

The lawsuit, betraying Bobby and his team, abandoning Chris, disappointing Eddie, all of it sits on his shoulders like an unrelenting, debilitating weight. But still, none of them could see Buck through any of it. He was drowning, and all of them abandoned him first.

And here Eddie is, about to leave, ready to abandon Buck again.

Buck growls and rushes him, bodychecking him against the door so that it slams shut against their combined weight. Eddie chokes out a surprised, winded grunt upon impact. Of course, Eddie struggles, so Buck presses his full weight against him, wrestling for and grabbing his wrists and slamming them against the door above his head to pin him.

The air crackles all around them as their heavy breaths consume the silence of the otherwise empty house.

Into Eddie’s ear, Buck murmurs, “You aren’t leaving.”

Breathless and voice straining, Eddie chuckles darkly. “There he is.”

Carefully, Buck wrangles Eddie’s hands behind his back so he can lock the deadbolt. Sensing the weakened hold, Eddie thrashes, but Buck quickly knocks him against the door again.

“Are you gonna let me do this?”

“What aren’t you getting?” Eddie counters, his cheek squashed against the door, still fighting it, not letting up. “I don’t let anyone do anything.”

Eddie proves his point, kicking away with his feet, his back colliding with Buck’s chest and then bending forward. Buck holds on for dear life.

In their struggle, Eddie grinds against Buck’s crotch as Buck slams him back against the door, his hips pressed flush against the swell of Eddie’s ass. They’re connected in a long line, front to back, and it catches Buck off guard. He drops his head against Eddie's shoulder and repositions himself, angling his hip away.

“You’re such a fucking—” Buck starts, but he can’t think. His mind is racing.

“What am I, huh?” Eddie pants. “C’mon, Buck. You gotta follow through with something. Tell me what I am.”

And shit, Eddie sounds so—Buck squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus.

“You’re a stubborn fucking brat,” he manages.

Eddie chuffs and thrashes. “Takes one to know one.”

They need to get away from the exit, so Buck drags Eddie away from the door. Eddie doesn’t make it easy—he’s the fighter, after all. His footwork is quick and light whereas Buck’s is heavy and clumsy, so Eddie easily trips him up, nearly breaking free as Buck tips forward. On his way down, he manages to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist, and they crash to the floor together. 

It’s a flurry of motion from there.

Buck can’t think fast enough to process which limb is flying where; all he’s got going for him is brute strength, desperation, and instinct. As they grapple, Eddie ends up on his back and Buck pins him again, kneeling on Eddie’s thighs, holding his hands above his head, bearing his entire weight down.

Eventually, Eddie surrenders.

Finally, they have a moment to catch their breath.

Buck stares down at Eddie and notices a scab on his lip, halfway to healed. That bruise on his cheekbone is nearly gone. And fuck… his big round eyes, fiery and dark, penetrate past Buck’s flesh and ribs and settle deep and warm in his guts. It’s that same look Eddie gave his opponent in the cage fight. All that hunger—that craving, but this time, it’s aimed at Buck.

“C’mon,” Eddie says, his voice quiet but still packing a punch of its own. “Hit me.”

It might be a trick, but Buck releases his hold on Eddie anyway, settling his knees on either side of Eddie’s body, half-expecting to be overtaken, but Eddie doesn’t budge. He keeps his arms exactly where they are, spread out above his head. Breathing hard.

All the nerves in Buck’s body converge and rush down his arm, pooling in his fingertips in anticipation. He flexes his hand.

“Do it, asshole,” Eddie grits out, lifting his chin in a challenge, and without thinking, Buck slaps him.

They both freeze in the aftershock. Eddie is used to punches and kicks and elbows and knees, and the first thing Buck thought to do was slap him?

Eddie scoffs, and Buck’s face goes up in flames.

“That all you got?” Eddie asks with a little upward curl to his lips. Buck huffs and shakes his head. “Then do it again. Like you mean it.”

This time, Buck draws his hand further back, and this time, the sound cracks against the plush meat of Eddie’s cheek. The force of it knocks his head to the side, making Eddie grunt. Buck watches him, the way he moves his jaw, the way that hint of a smile from a second ago sneaks back, but bigger. Like he’s proud.

It makes Buck want to puff out his chest and preen.

“Again.”

Buck does as he’s told with a stinging smack to the other side.

“More,” Eddie rasps, his eyes fluttering closed.

There’s something about having a task and wanting to do it well—it sets fire to the blood rushing through Buck’s veins. It makes him hot all over. Feverish and eager to please, he does as he’s told. 

And Eddie trusts Buck to do it.

They ride out the aftershock of each hit together. It’s the build up, the anticipation, so much happening in the stillness until it’s too much, and Eddie starts writhing below Buck, eager in his own way, until Buck winds up again and Eddie goes rigid. It’s the rush of air cool against his burning palms, all of it building into one distilled moment of fleeting, searing connection, so quick it could be missed in the blink of an eye.

Every atom in his body is singing, completely in tune with Eddie as skin strikes skin. 

While he gives them time to recover, Buck presses his palm to Eddie’s tender, pink cheek. It’s hot to the touch beneath his scruff. 

Is this how they get to touch each other? Connection in concert with pain? Eddie holding Buck’s hand while his leg is crushed under twenty-five tons of steel. Eddie pulling Buck into a hug after months of agonizing recovery. Eddie comforting Buck with a hand to his shoulder the day after a natural disaster.

Has Buck ever been the one to reach out first? Has Eddie ever wanted him to?

Absent-mindedly, he starts to soothe the area with his thumb.

Eddie squeezes him. “Don't stop,” he says with hooded eyes. “Just one more. Buck, please.”

Buck looks down. At some point, Eddie’s hands ended up on Buck’s thighs. He nods, keeping his free hand where it is to brace Eddie’s face.

On the final slap, Eddie winces and turns into Buck’s cupped palm, his lips parting around a moan. Buck’s cock throbs as soon as the sound hits his ears, imagining slipping his thumb past Eddie’s lips. Desire licks up his spine like a flame, and all at once—confusion and guilt.

Adrenaline is enough of an excuse. It’s his body reacting to intense stimulus. Nothing else.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?

But the reasoning is no match for his sinking reality. The way Buck is straddling Eddie’s solid form. How fucked out he looks. 

All because of Buck.

Eddie hums and shifts below him, cracking his eyes open, searching Buck’s face before looking down.

He smirks, and Buck’s stomach sinks. “You like this shit?”

Buck huffs, mortified, because he can’t deny it. He’s hard because he likes this—helping Eddie, doing whatever Eddie wants him to do.

Making his gasp. Making him moan.

“This turns you on?” Eddie presses.

“Eddie, I-I’m so—” he cuts himself off and falls to the side, scrambling to his feet and covering himself in shame. Eddie props himself up on his elbows, his gaze roving over Buck. “—‘m sorry,” Buck mumbles. 

He wants to tuck tail and run, but before he can, Eddie is getting to his knees, reaching out for Buck, and hooking his finger into his belt loop. 

“What are you—” Buck croaks, but the question dies in his throat as soon as Eddie tugs him closer. He goes willingly, trying to make sense of any of it as Eddie works his belt open and then his fly. Before he knows it, his cock is out, and the most perfect wet heat is consuming him. “Oh, fuck.”

Stunned, Buck’s hands fly to Eddie’s head into his short cropped hair, grabbing on as Eddie takes him too quick and too deep and chokes. Reflexively, Buck pulls out, about to tell him to relax, to take it easy, but Eddie glares up at him as he says, “What are you doing? Fuck my face.”

He punctuates the demand by wrapping his lips around the sensitive head of Buck’s cock and waiting. Buck huffs, astounded, and shivers as he pushes in. 

It doesn’t seem real—it isn’t anything he would have considered within the realm of possibilities, having Eddie on his knees, watching himself sink past Eddie’s stretched lips, watching Eddie’s eyes flutter and roll into the back of his head. Eddie swallows around him when he reaches the back of his throat. Buck stays there, breathing through the overwhelm.

When he starts moving again, Eddie’s teeth graze against the sensitive skin of his shaft.

“Hey,” Buck hisses as he pulls out, reaching forward to press the pad of his finger against one of Eddie’s sharp canines. “You gotta be careful with these things.”

“Whatever you say,” Eddie teases with a smirk. “You’re in charge, right?” He closes his mouth around Buck’s finger, humming and sucking as spit gathers in his mouth, making himself wetter for Buck.

“Shit, Eddie. Look at you,” says Buck, removing his finger so he can push his cock back inside, sliding back and forth against the slick, hot bed of Eddie’s tongue.

When he’s good and wet, he pulls out and drags himself around Eddie's soft lips, spreading his spit around before tapping his cheek with his dick and dragging it back to Eddie’s mouth. It makes Eddie moan, and as soon as he opens up, Buck feeds him his cock again.

From there, he picks up the pace, and Eddie hollows his mouth, suctioning around Buck’s cock as best as he can.

Eddie’s head bobs to meet each thrust, and his breath puffs from his nose against Buck’s mound. There’s no finesse, it probably isn’t good at all, but it’s the hottest blow job Buck’s ever received. Everything is hot and humid, and the gruffest, wettest sounds are reverberating from Eddie’s throat straight to Buck’s dick.

It’s making him dizzy. Every inch of him is on fire. His toes would claw into the hardwood if they could.

Eddie gets careless again, letting his teeth scrape against Buck. Judging by the snide glint in those big brown eyes, it’s on purpose, so Buck pulls out and slaps him palm to cheek.

“Fu—” Eddie starts but Buck interrupts him with his cock, grabbing hold of Eddie’s head with both hands and thrusting deep. Not letting up.

“Told you to be careful,” Buck grunts.

The pace is set. Buck finally takes over, knowing exactly how deep and rough Eddie wants it. Eddie groans happily as his body droops, going lax under Buck’s ministrations. 

It’s so wet. Everything is so wet and loud, there’s drool leaking from Eddie’s mouth, soaking Buck’s pubes and balls.

And Eddie’s cheeks are red, redder than they usually get. Buck didn’t think it was possible for Eddie to get so red.

How red could Buck make his ass? Would Eddie want that, too?

Would he want Buck to fuck him like that—ass up, spread out?

He doesn't care what they do. He wants whatever will make Eddie happy. What will make him feel good—better.

One of Eddie’s hands drops away from Buck’s thighs, followed by a whine. Buck follows the movement with his eyes. He can’t see much, but Eddie’s arm is moving. Fast.

“Yeah,” Buck huffs, sucking breath through his gritted teeth at the sight of it all, his chest rumbling in a drawn out groan. 

It’s so much. The heat of Eddie’s mouth. Eddie on his knees, looking the way he does. Knowing he’s getting off on this like Buck is—it’s too much. The trust earned and the control surrendered. Making it through the push and pull together because at the end of the day, they’ll always be partners.

He can’t believe any of it. His legs are shaking. He’s gonna— 

“Gonna come,” he warns, about to pull away, but Eddie doesn’t let him. He grabs hold of Buck’s asscheek with his free hand, helping him thrust, keeping him deep. “Yeah? You wanna swallow it?” he asks through his clenched jaw.

Eddie moans a sound in the affirmative just before Buck topples over the edge, spilling down Eddie’s throat. Before he finishes, he pulls out, painting Eddie’s lips with the last of his come. It starts dripping down his chin.

“Fuck.” Buck swipes the mess with his finger, pushing it inside of Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s eyes roll back as he accepts it, gasping for air and swallowing it down. 

His hand is still moving, so Buck stumbles back and watches the shiny purple crown of Eddie’s cock disappear into the tight grip of his fist. It’s only a few more pumps before Eddie’s head drops back, and he comes all over the floor.

As soon as Eddie finishes, he starts to slump, so Buck crouches and helps him lie back on the floor. It all catches up to Buck in a sudden headrush, so he drops back on his ass next to Eddie to catch his breath.

They don’t touch, but they do stare at each other while their breathing calms. Buck’s brain is going a mile a minute, trying to figure out how the hell they got here and what happens next until a smile breaks across Eddie’s face. His eyes scrunch into crescents, and a laugh bursts out of him. It’s infectious. Buck joins him, his head dropping back to laugh up at the ceiling, floating in a flood of endorphins and relief to see Eddie light up like this, all loose and pliant.

He can’t even remember the last time he heard him laugh, and Buck got to be the one to get him there. 

When they both calm, Buck takes him in. The cut on his lip opened up at some point. He didn’t notice it before, but a small bead of blood has gathered there. It looks fresh, so Buck leans in and swipes it with his thumb, making Eddie hiss before he moans, eyes fluttering. A softer, satisfied smile settles on his face.

And he's still looking at Buck. After everything, he isn’t looking away.

Buck rubs the blood between his thumb and forefinger, resisting the urge to suck it clean. A little thrum of jealousy hits him. Eddie has tasted Buck, but Buck hasn’t tasted him.

Maybe next time. If there is a next time.

“I'll, uh, go get the first aid kit,” Buck supplies.

Eddie nods, still sluggish, not moving from where he’s spread like liquid butter on the floor.

“Okay, I… ” Eddie croaks, swallows, and hums dreamily. When he speaks again, it’s softer, just above a whisper. “I got that beer you like in the fridge. If you wanna stay.”

Buck smiles. 

Maybe he should boil some water for tea while he’s in the kitchen. Something soothing for Eddie’s throat.

“Yeah,” Buck says as if either of them don’t already know the answer. “I wanna stay.”