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“So is your son really the reason you don’t date?” Eddie can't get Buck's innocent question out of his head. He keeps replaying it, rotating it like it'll take on new meaning. Like it'll somehow explain how Eddie's treacherous brain almost answered anyone who can throw me around.
That's gay. Eddie is straight. He's a pretty big dude. There are women who could throw him around, probably, but they've got to be rare. Certainly not Shannon. But Buck could.
Buck who is also straight. Sure, his girlfriend is invisible, but Chimney assured Eddie she exists. He also made sure Eddie knew that they were broken up and that Buck is pining worse than a Christmas tree, but that isn't the point. The point is that Buck likes pussy. And so does Eddie.
Sure, he hasn't been in contact with one in roughly two years. Longer, even. He and Shannon tried for one round of “yay! You're back and getting shot didn't kill you!” sex, but Eddie's dick stayed soft and Shannon didn't get wet, so they abandoned that plan to argue with each other about moving to LA some more.
Eddie regrets not going sooner. But how could he have? He didn't have his feet under him yet.
He should've gone. He would've figured it out.
This is why Eddie doesn't think about Shannon. When he was deployed, he got off exclusively to her. Forget the porn the other guys passed around, grainy nudes taken on bad cellphone cameras. Eddie's memory of Shannon’s body was crystal clear.
Unfortunately, his memory of their fights is also crystal clear. So even though he's reclining in his bed, his kid fast asleep and Eddie not tired yet, he's probably going to end the evening frustrated. Again.
Buck rises unbidden in his mind. Eddie had liked it when Buck got in his face. He likes the sweet, friendly version of Buck too. But he'd wanted Buck when he was snarling and snapping at him. When Eddie had thought maybe Buck would take a swing at him.
That's what he wants. A sparring partner. He wants to mess Buck up, get his fingers in that perfectly gelled hair and tug. Put his hands around Buck's throat and make him feel Eddie's strength.
Buck is strong, probably stronger than Eddie. He has the look of a man who's never gotten in a fight, though. Eddie could probably take him.
But maybe it would be the other way ‘round. Maybe Buck would get his hands around Eddie's throat and squeeze. Cut off Eddie's air supply. Own him utterly and completely.
Eddie would hate that. Of course he would. He wouldn't sink into it, he'd fight. He'd claw at Buck, ripping his hands from his throat before everything went black. Maybe he'd manage to pin Buck—he places them in his bedroom, because that's where he is now and it's convenient. So Buck has Eddie by the throat somewhere—up against the wall, maybe, by the door. And Eddie gets the better of him, shoves him on the bed and laughs when he goes down hard and bounces back up.
In this dream, Eddie is on Buck, pinning him. His knees on Buck's big thighs, not caring about whether or not the pressure is too much. Buck can take it. Buck can take him. And holding down Buck's arms somehow, maybe pinning them above his head? That would leave one of Eddie's hands free to pay Buck back and choke him. Or he could—touch. Like this, wrestling, it would be okay to touch.
Alone in the dark, the real Eddie shifts. His hand drifts downwards, trailing along his chest to his groin. Eddie tries to ignore that he's half hard and about to touch himself to the thought of Buck. It's nothing. It's just all this thinking about physical stimulation combined with his far-too-long drought is getting to him. It doesn't mean anything. Eddie has always struggled with getting hard to porn, or getting off with people he doesn't know, and Shannon hasn't been doing it for him for years for obvious reasons. He hasn't violated his vows to get close to any other women. His body is just confused. But he needs to come. His cock is pressing insistently against his hand now where he's cupping it. A cold shower and walking himself through the memory of telling his kid his mom left isn't going to stave it off this time. Buck never needs to know. Eddie will do it this one time, then never again. And it's not violating his vows if it's a man, because Eddie isn't attracted to men.
Guilt assuaged, he goes back to his fantasy. In it, Eddie is still on top, pinning Buck. But if he's honest with himself—and Eddie rarely is, so this is a hell of a time to start—he doesn't want to be the aggressor.
He's not even sure he wants aggression at all. But that's a different thought and one he isn't ready for.
He flips them. He can reckon with himself later. Right now, he's rock hard imagining Buck on top of him, his knees snugly on each side of Eddie's hips, holding him down, and one hand trapping Eddie's own hands.
Buck used to be a player, back before he met his invisible girlfriend. Eddie heard all the stories. He's sure that Buck would know what to do with him. Hell, maybe he's even slept with men before.
He can't imagine them kissing, or he won't let himself, but Eddie doesn't dwell. Buck might not kiss his lips, but he'd use his mouth. He'd start at his jawbone, his lips hot against Eddie's skin. The Buck Eddie is imagining kisses all the way down his neck and chest, then pauses at his nipples.
“Anyone ever played with these?” Imaginary Buck asks.
Eddie can't remember how to speak. He shakes his head. Imaginary Buck hums to himself. “I'll change that.”
He gets his mouth on one of Eddie's nipples and a hand on the other. Eddie, the real Eddie, is curious. He tweaks his own nipple. It is sensitive. He feels it in this dick, a jolt of pleasure and pain that he chases, doing it again and again until his cock is hard and aching and demanding his attention.
“You ever had anything in this ass?”
Eddie shakes his head. No. Not even his own fingers. He'd imagined it, sometimes. But he'd already stopped shy of doing it.
“Pity. We'll have to change that next time.”
Eddie's cock twitches at the idea of a next time. He can't do this again, of course. It's a violation of something. Of Buck, somehow. But he wants to imagine Buck's big fingers working him over. Maybe even his enormous dick. Eddie isn't vain, but he knows he has a nice ass. It would look even better with Buck's cock in it.
Eddie isn't imaginative enough for that, or brave enough. He lets this version of Buck keep going, firmly in Eddie's comfort zone. Minus the Buck in his head being a man, of course. Eddie isn't comfortable with that.
Eddie has a small bottle of lube in his bedside table, one that's gone mostly unused. He'd had hopes for it, when he'd bought it on impulse once he and Chris finally moved out of Abuela’s and into their own place again. Apparently, even a fresh source of lube can't change a man. Eddie has only used it sparingly.
He drizzles it directly onto his dick. It seems like something Buck would do.
Buck is a man who would tease. He'd start with a loose grip, making sure that the friction is never quite enough. Eddie thrusts into his own fist, but he doesn't let himself tighten it. Not if Buck wouldn't do that.
He pauses to fondle his balls, something else he's never bothered with before. As wound up as he is, it only makes the pressure worse. Still, he doesn't let himself get a hand on his dick. Not yet. He lets his hand trail between his legs. He traces his hole. He's not ready, but the promise Eddie let Buck make—he wants to try. One day.
The Buck he's fantasizing about is naked, too, freed from the uniform he'd been wearing when he choked Eddie as if by magic.
Eddie has paid attention to Buck's body. They work out together. It's only natural to look at him and decide what Eddie likes. What he might want for his own body.
Buck has big biceps and strong thighs, barely dusted with hair. He keeps his chest waxed, so the hair on his thighs stands out. They're so masculine, big and strong. Big enough that Eddie could fit on his lap, if he wanted to. He doesn't, but he could.
And Buck's hands—Eddie squeezes the base of his dick. Buck has big hands compared to Shannon. Thick fingers. They'd be noticeable inside him. He's already covered that. They could hold him down and keep him trapped. But they could also be gentle.
Yesterday, during their shift, Buck put a baby bird back in its nest. He scooped it up, showed Eddie its downy grey body against the blue of his gloves, and then deposited it back in the nest without even having to strain to reach. Buck's big and he could be dangerous, but he isn't. He's gentle and sweet and perfect.
If he was here, he might torture Eddie, but only for his own good. He'd notice when Eddie tipped over the edge, when his body craved release. And he'd give it to him.
The Buck in Eddie's head, and Eddie's own hands, stroke him faster. Buck finally gives in and holds Eddie tighter. He twists his wrist, innately knowing what Eddie needs, flicks his thumb over the head of his cock, and Eddie comes.
The hot spurts hit Buck, but he doesn't complain. He licks Eddie off of his fingers. And then he smirks. “Let me know when you're ready for more, big guy.”
Eddie collapses against the pillow, come drying on his stomach and fantasy Buck out of reach in a cold, piercing moment of post-nut clarity. What has he done?
Eddie is fucked. And not even literally. He just wants to be fucked. By Evan Buckley.
His life is over.
Maybe, if he plans well enough, he'll have time tomorrow to try fingering.