Archive of Our Own

Eddie and Buck started having casual sex three months ago. 

Which is fine! Buck’s done the whole friends-with-benefits thing before; he’s well-versed in the accompanying etiquette. Because Buck and Eddie are as close as they are, they haven’t even needed to talk about it. They’re both, as usual, on the same page. Just two friends blowing off some steam whenever they feel like it. Which is often. Almost every time they're alone, actually. 

It’s fine. 

What’s even more fine is the fact that Eddie is into men now, apparently. Which, for the record, he didn’t actually tell Buck until about five weeks ago. One might think Buck would have clued into that fact on his own, given that they’d been having sex for two months already, but no. Hearing Eddie say the words I’m gay had left him so slack-jawed that Eddie had guffawed in his face. 

Like he said, this is also fine. Great, even.

And, look— although Buck may have aided Eddie in his quest for… a label, or whatever, Buck isn’t labouring under any sort of illusion that Eddie is into Buck exclusively. Friends fuck sometimes. So, what? Buck is a friend, and very much consenting, and he can be mature about this. He knows he can. It’s totally chill. Sure, historically, he’s been bad at casual, but that’s because he hadn’t been sleeping with Eddie. It’s easy with Eddie, because everything is easy with Eddie. 

Buck’s had a spring in his steps for the past three months, even. Orgasms really are good for you. 

Right at this very moment, Buck is laying in bed with his neck bared, legs parted to accommodate Eddie. Eddie’s got one of Buck’s hands pinned, intertwining their fingers as he rocks into him, just like every other time. And, look— Buck’s not going to be the one to pull away. Eddie’s had sex with, like, three other people in his life; he probably thinks hand-holding mid-coitus is normal and unromantic. 

Hand-holding aside, it really is casual. As casual as it can be, with Eddie’s cock in the picture. His cock, which is currently nestled between Buck’s legs. Because Eddie is inside of him. 

Shuddering below him, Buck tugs Eddie closer, revelling in the way Eddie tenses, his teeth grazing Buck’s jaw. Eddie goes wherever Buck puts him when they’re like this, pliant beneath Buck’s guiding hands, so easy to nudge into place. It’s—hot. Unbelievably so. There’s a level of trust there that Buck doesn’t always feel entirely equipped to deal with. 

Like this — listening to their bodies slide together, holding Eddie close, lost in the rapid beating of his own heart — Buck’s pretty sure he could die happy. 

He just… he wishes he could tell Eddie how good he feels. He wants to tell Eddie that his cock is so deep in him he swears he can taste it. He wants to ask Eddie if he likes it like this, or if he wants Buck on his hands and knees, so he can dig his hands into the meat of Buck’s hips. He wants to ask if he can press Eddie into the mattress and ride him until he’s begging to come, voice trembling and hands clutching at Buck’s sides. He wants to hear Eddie plead. Or whine. Or groan. Anything. He wants to tell Eddie how beautiful he looks and kiss him breathless. 

But he can’t. 

On account of their no-talking-during-sex rule. 

Eddie’s breath hitches on an exhale, mouth pressed to the side of Buck’s face. His thrusts grow sloppier, and Buck arches his back, tightening his legs around Eddie, clenching down around the girth of him, and— there. Fuck, right there. 

Eddie’s cock twitches, and he presses in, in, in, burying himself to the hilt. He’s close. Buck can tell. Doesn’t need Eddie to tell him—he knows Eddie’s body like the back of his hand now. He knows all the warning signs. Like any good friend would.

Buck’s head tilts, and if it were anyone else, he’d slot their mouths together now, lick the blissed out panting right off of Eddie’s tongue, but— 

They don’t kiss, either, Buck reminds himself, head spinning. They don’t kiss when they fuck. It keeps things simple. It keeps things casual.

Buck can be casual. Buck is the most casual guy in the world.

Reaching between them, he wraps his hand around himself, fist flying over his cock, squeezing right over the head on the upstroke. He’s so, so wet—leaking and aching between them. Eddie’s all around him, the smell of him, his sweat, his warmth, his body, and his cock, fuck, he’s gonna—

His orgasm slams through him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he fights to muffle the keening noise that tries to crawl out of him. He spills messily over his fist, eyes squeezed shut as his thighs tremble. 

This part always feels dirty to Buck, like he’s secretly jerking off and has to be quiet, has to hold his breath as he rides out the wave of pleasure, turning his face into Eddie’s hair to inhale the scent of him once, desperately, to prolong the feeling. 

Everything about Eddie just does it for Buck. His scent, his hands, his stomach. God, Buck can’t count the number of times he’s accidentally pictured Eddie’s ass while jerking off. He should probably look at that more closely, sometime. 

Not now, though. 

Now, still pinned beneath Eddie’s weight, Buck’s head is blissfully empty. He’s boneless, and fucked out, and he doesn’t have to think. That’s what’s good about this, isn’t it? It’s— feelings free. No strings attached. No heartache on the menu. It’s just sex. Easy, impersonal, hot sex. 

Eddie follows after him quickly, breath hot and heavy against the side of Buck’s face as he drives into him, desperate and fast, chasing his own pleasure. Like this, it feels like Eddie’s using him. That, right in this moment, Buck is nothing more than a fleshlight, something for Eddie to fuck into and fill. It’s hot. It’s— mind-meltingly good, actually. 

Eddie presses his face into Buck’s neck, slamming in deep one last time, sheathed fully inside him as his cock flexes and pulses, spilling inside of Buck. Raw. No condom. As per usual. 

It’s all very casual. 

Eddie collapses on top of him, cock slipping free as he softens. Buck is full of his best friend’s come. Again. And he feels really, really normal about it.

Proving just how normal it is, Eddie sighs. He mumbles, voice only slightly slurred, “We should order pizza.” As he speaks, his lips graze the sensitive skin of Buck’s neck. He noses sweetly at the crook of it, and for a second, Buck considers wrapping an arm around him and keeping him there—just a little longer.

Suppressing a shiver, Buck nods. He’s trying to calm his racing heart, feeling a little dumb the way he always does post-sex. As subtly as he can, he lets go of his own spent dick and frees his arm from between them, letting his legs fall from around Eddie’s hips. 

“From your phone,” Eddie adds, and Buck huffs a laugh. 

He lets Eddie extricate himself, rolling onto his side beside him with a satisfied hum. Which. Is fine. Buck is fine with watching Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, happy and seemingly not at all bothered by the fact he just had sex with Buck. Which is fine. Because it is normal. This is just their normal.

And don’t get Buck wrong— Eddie, post-orgasm, is a vision to behold. His eyes get droopy, and his cheeks remain stubbornly pink, and he’s still malleable and jello-like in consistency for a while after—and his soft dick looks so— vulnerable, resting on his thigh, and he usually doesn’t wipe himself down right away, which means there’s drying come on his stomach, Buck’s drying come on his stomach, and Buck needs to stop looking at him. Now. 

Clearing his throat, Buck stretches toward the bedside table for his phone, ignoring the tender ache between his legs. He sits up to scroll through his phone, ordering two pizzas (Pepperoni and Hawaiian) before opening his photo album. He needs something to do, something to distract him from Eddie’s presence. 

In his periphery, he can see Eddie is curled on his side, face smushed into a cushion, limbs heavy against the bedding.

This only lasts until Eddie snorts. “You think Chim’s gonna make you do the turkey yourself next shift?” 

Next shift, which happens to fall on Thanksgiving. For which Buck had, reluctantly, agreed to cook. 

You just mounted me, Buck almost says. You mounted me, and you came inside of me, because we stopped using condoms two weeks into having sex, and we’ve been having sex for three months now, and I know what you taste like, I know what you look like mid-orgasm, I know you like having your hair pulled, and I know how you get all dumb the second my mouth is on your balls. I know everything except for what you sound like, and you want to talk about work? About turkeys? About Chimney Han, my brother-in-law?

He bites his tongue so hard that it hurts. Suddenly, just for a flash of a second, his eyes sting. But that’s— not appropriate. Not okay. He blinks a few times, exhaling slowly. 

“I’ll tell him I need a sous-chef,” Buck says. He’s proud of the way his voice comes out even. 

Eddie opens his eyes, squinting at him. He’s still flushed, his sweaty hair sticking up in ten different directions. Buck aches to reach out and touch him, to brush the hair back, to pet the strands or scratch at his scalp. He’s always liked the after of sex—the few minutes his partners allow him to be selfishly affectionate.

He can’t have that now, because Eddie isn’t his partner. He’s just—he’s Eddie.

“And who might that be?” Eddie asks.

“You,” Buck says, mouth twitching when Eddie groans. “I’ll make you do the stuffing.” 

Eddie groans again, covering his face with his hands. 

Just like that, they’re back to normal. See? Fine. He’s fine.

They take showers one at a time, and they eat pizza on Buck’s couch, and Eddie drives home before eleven o’clock. 

And despite how complicated it should be, it isn’t. It really isn’t. They’re just best friends. Best friends who fuck, and sweat, and come, and then shoot the shit as if nothing happened. 

And Buck falls asleep feeling satiated and taken care of. He does. His heart only hurts a little. 

It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Okay, spill,” Hen says, raising an eyebrow at Buck. 

Buck, who had been smiling down at his coffee with his legs folded beneath him on the couch, looks up. “Spill what?” 

Hen waves vaguely at the air. “Whatever’s going on with you.” 

“Nothing’s going on with me, Henrietta.” 

The look she shoots him is scathing. He grins back at her.

“You’re happier,” she accuses him. 

Tilting his head, Buck pretends to think. “Is that a bad thing?” 

“Buck,” Hen says, patient as always. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Well, I don’t know, Hen.” Buck bites the inside of his cheek. “Can’t a guy just be happy?” 

Can’t a guy just enjoy that he’s getting regular stress relief? That his best friend is at his house all the time? That their lives are entangled tightly even though they’re not living together anymore?

He’s just—he’s reaping the rewards. The benefits.

“Sure, but—are you?” Hen asks, voice gentler. 

His stomach churns. The question makes his skin crawl in a way he’d rather not examine. Still, ever the kind of guy to touch a sign that says WET PAINT: DO NOT TOUCH, he asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“There are moments,” she starts, speaking slowly, “where you look a little lost. In your own head, I mean. Like something’s going on, and you’re trying to think your way out of it. You just seem…” She pauses, tilting her head side to side. “Stuck.” 

Weakly, Buck huffs, “Hen, that’s—” 

Just then, Eddie rounds the armchair, spreading himself out on the couch. He plops his legs down in Buck’s lap, and Buck sets his coffee down to wrap his hands around Eddie’s ankles. He gives them a shake, and Eddie shoots him a dirty look. Buck grins, his whole body suddenly warm. 

Hen blinks at them. Then, softly, she says, “Oh.” 

“Oh?” 

“Nothing,” she says, she shoots him a wry smile, a slight pinch in her brow. She gets up, wiping her palms on her shirt. “Carry on, boys.”

The thing about having casual sex with your best friend is this: it bleeds into your routine. 

It had been spontaneous, falling into bed together. The very first time it happened, they’d been roughhousing on the couch. Eddie had plucked Buck’s phone out of his hands to stop him from purchasing the three-hundred-dollar hoodie he’d been eying for a week, and before he knew it, he had Eddie pinned beneath him on the couch, knees bracketing Eddie’s thighs. He hadn’t expected Eddie to look so at home beneath him, mouth parted around a shaky exhale as he tried Buck’s grip, testing how hard he was being pinned. When Buck had pushed down harder, Eddie’s hips had twitched up, eyes wide and hungry in a way he’d never seen them. 

He doesn’t really know what happened from there—it’s not like they started kissing or talking. Yet, somehow, he went from half-sitting in his best friend's lap to being pressed into the couch, pants shoved down with Eddie on his knees between his splayed thighs, mouthing messily at the base of his dick with a look of pure want on his face.

Safe to say, Buck hadn’t lasted very long. Not with Eddie glancing up at him for approval every time he tried something new (answered only by a desperate little nod or an approving tug of Eddie’s hair), or with Eddie choking himself on Buck’s cock, throat fluttering and squeezing around the sensitive head as he tried so, so hard to take every single inch. 

The second time it happened, they’d shared a bed post-shift — for economic and ergonomic reasons, of course — and Buck had woken up panting against Eddie’s collarbone, erection pressed to his hip, and Eddie had pulled him closer, and they’d jerked each other off and then gone back to sleep as if nothing had happened at all. 

It was only then, drifting back to sleep, that it had occurred to Buck that neither of them made any noise. No moaning, no groaning, no speaking. Eddie hadn’t even said anything when Buck had tenderly taken his wrist in hand and wiped him clean after they’d finished; he’d just blinked at him all slow, letting Buck move him around like he was a puppet on strings. Which was fine. It’s just—it felt dirty in a way Buck hasn’t experienced since he was in his twenties. 

Then, about a month ago, Buck had pressed a bottle of lube into Eddie’s hand and levelled him with a suggestive look, heart pounding like a herd of stallions in his chest. He’d watched Eddie’s pupils dilate, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and, less than twenty minutes later, he’d found out what Eddie Diaz shaking on top of him, face pressed into his neck, and coming inside of him felt like. 

Which was awesome. Objectively. Buck wouldn’t change their arrangement for the world, even if it’s getting harder to ignore that niggling, tiny part of his brain telling him that this is a bad idea. That maybe Maddie was onto something when she said it wouldn’t be so crazy, and that maybe Buck is a fucking idiot for scoffing at her. 

But, whatever. It works. Getting fucked by your best friend, who just so happens to be the hottest man in the entire world, isn’t exactly a hardship. And they’re best friends— Buck’s pretty sure neither of them would ever let something as trivial as sex ruin what they have. 

There is one thing, though. One tiny, possibly stupid thing that Buck is stuck on—which is the silence. 

The not-talking. The not-kissing of it all. From the moment sex is initiated, neither of them makes a sound until they’ve both come. Which— 

Okay. Buck has had enough sex to know that that’s weird, alright? And Buck’s never been a quiet lover. Not that he’s making love to Eddie, or anything, but he’d rather call himself a lover than Eddie’s overenthusiastic sex partner. Anyway— sex is sex, and Buck has never once been quiet during sex. Or in life. He is loud by nature, but for some reason, having sex with Eddie has turned into a silent affair. 

It’s kind of bananas. 

Tonight, Buck’s at Eddie’s house. Chris is at the Wilsons’, and half a year ago that would have meant breaking out the good tequila, or marathoning an R-rated TV show. Now, however— 

Now it means sex. 

Dinner comes first, though. 

Buck’s stirring the stock into the pot, pursing his lips around a smile as Eddie subtly steals glances at his apron. 

It’s a new apron. Maddie and Jee-Yun picked it out for him a few days ago, and Buck’s been waiting to break it out in Eddie’s presence. He’s just waiting for— 

“Okay,” Eddie says, slicing the last of the garnish up before putting the kitchen knife down. “What’s with the apron?” 

Feigning confusion, Buck looks down at himself. The words don’t go bacon my heart, printed in a large font over the width of his chest, stare back at him. “What, you don’t like it?” 

“It’s…” Eddie pauses, wrinkling his nose. “Unethical.” 

Eyebrows flying up, Buck huffs a laugh. “You think it’s unethical?” 

“Mmh.” Eddie nods at the apron. “There’s a pig on it.” 

“So?” 

“So,” Eddie says, leaning against the counter, “The message is weird. There’s a pig, and a mention of bacon. Really makes you think.” 

“Oh, it’s making you think,” Buck grins. He folds his arms over his chest, preening when he catches Eddie’s eyes flicker down to the swell of his biceps. “Didn’t know you did that.”

“Just,” Eddie says, visibly recalibrating. “Is the pig asking me not to murder it?” 

Buck snorts, shaking his head. “I don’t think the pig has anything to do with the bacon-themed pun, Eddie. He’s just there.” 

Shrugging almost casually, Eddie steps closer to him. He leans in, humming appreciatively as he smells the pot. Buck sways closer to him without meaning to, comfortable and happy and, privately, wondering how long he’ll get to have Eddie like this, all to himself. 

He wonders, suddenly, if Eddie’s on any dating apps. Or — God forbid — Grindr. 

He looks up when Eddie makes a small noise. His gaze finds Eddie’s mouth first, pink and right there, before he very stubbornly reorients to Eddie’s eyes. His eyes that, suddenly, bear a heat Buck’s grown used to over the past couple of months. 

“Wanna?” Eddie murmurs, tapping Buck’s hip. “After dinner?” 

Heat pools in Buck’s gut, and he nods, a little dazed. “S-sure. Yeah, sure.” 

Squeezing his hip, Eddie smiles before stepping away to retrieve the plates. Buck loses a breath, and refocuses on the pot.

Dinner goes down a treat, and Buck makes sure to save some for later, too. He’s pretty careful about eating before having sex, given the mechanics of it all. Bottoming isn’t exactly a spontaneous thing one can do without a few risks, and minimising them— well. Buck’s gotten very good at it. He’s a risk-taker in all things except gay sex. Take that, Mom. 

Once the plates have been loaded into the dishwasher, they settle on the couch together, thigh to thigh. 

Some may call their daily routine domestic. Buck wouldn’t necessarily disagree, but he’d also rather not hear anyone call it that at all. Because, again, he’s not thinking about that right now. 

Eventually, heat crawling up his neck, Buck clears his throat and stands. He nods toward the bathroom, and Eddie nods back, and Buck realises they’ve already started. No more talking. 

While showering, Buck lathers himself in Eddie’s soap and exhales shakily as he gets himself ready. This part, he doesn’t mind doing alone. It’s almost meditative, as uncomfortable as it can be. 

Once he’s out of the shower, he towels himself off and retrieves the lube he stashed in Eddie’s medicine cabinet earlier tonight, working one, two, then three fingers inside of himself. He does so standing up with a hand on the sink, biting his lip. 

It’s almost funny, is the thing. Never in his life did Buck picture himself like this, fingering himself in Eddie Diaz’s bathroom. Never in his life did he think that it would feel normal, doing so. If only Buck-from-two-years-ago could see him now: bisexual, horny, and panting. Bisexual and horny and panting for Eddie Diaz, no less. 

He grins, ducking his head. 

He just feels so— loved. 

He— 

Oh no. 

No, no, no. 

He feels loved, and cherished, and kept by Eddie. He feels like his partner, like his boyfriend, like— like someone permanent, and he doesn’t know when that happened. He doesn’t know if he’s always felt that way, or if something changed and he didn’t catch it. 

Cold dread washes over Buck. 

God. 

What the hell is he doing? 

Swallowing, he pulls his fingers out of himself and yanks his briefs back on. Then, chest heaving, he stares at himself in the mirror. 

You are not in love with him, he tells himself sternly. His reflection, warped by heartache and desperation, gives him a pitying look. His heart gives a painful thump. 

He’s about to point a lube-covered finger at the mirror and give the guy staring at him a real talking to when there’s a soft knock on the door. Even grunting feels too risky, so he stays silent, heart hammering, and watches the door crack open. 

Eddie’s eyes find Buck’s in the mirror immediately. He holds Buck’s gaze, dark and wanting, and Buck says nothing. Does nothing. 

He can pretend. Just for a little bit longer. And maybe— maybe this has to be the last time they do this, for his own sake. That’s okay. He can learn to live with that, and figure out how to tell Eddie they have to stop having sex without bursting into tears, and— 

It’s fine. He’s going to live in this moment, and memorise how Eddie feels, and make him come, and he’s going to do it all without breathing a word. He can swallow it all down. He can make it good this one last time. 

He watches Eddie approach him in the mirror, cupping himself through his sweatpants. He’s already hard, Buck realises. Wonders, silently, just how long he has been. At once, Buck’s mouth floods with saliva, blood fleeing south. He lets his eyes flutter shut as Eddie stops right behind him, anticipation making his stomach swoop. 

When Eddie does nothing, Buck opens his eyes again. In the mirror, Eddie’s mouth twitches in approval, like he was waiting for Buck’s undivided attention. Buck gives a short nod, and Eddie ducks his head, tugging Buck’s briefs down gently. Buck steps out of them dutifully. He’s already prepped, ready to go, but he hadn’t been counting on Eddie being so impatient that he’d come find him in the bathroom. 

Quiet as a mouse, Eddie wraps his arms around Buck, who is now standing naked in the bathroom, facing the mirror. Because this is his life now. The jut of Eddie’s cock digs into Buck’s ass, and Buck parts his legs instinctively, wondering if Eddie’s really going to— 

He does. Burying his face in Buck’s neck, Eddie guides the head of his cock to Buck’s hole and, slowly, pushes inside. Against the skin, Eddie exhales, slightly louder and tighter than a pant. It almost sounds like it could be a moan. But it’s not. It’s still not. 

Eddie keeps going until his hips are flush with Buck’s, mouthing at Buck’s shoulder almost apologetically. Buck wishes he could tell him he has nothing to apologise for, that he wants this, needs this— that simply knowing Eddie gets hard for him, over him, is enough spank bank material to tide Buck over for several years. 

He’s got a system for this now. He knows to keep breathing to keep from making noise as Eddie finds a rhythm, knows to keep his mouth closed, nostrils flared, and focus on the heady good-filthy pleasure of how illicit it feels to get fucked in silence. 

Pressing a sloppy kiss to Buck’s skin, Eddie works his cock in and out of Buck shallowly, making Buck feel every single time the head catches against his rim. Buck peels his eyes back open, gaze landing on Eddie’s hands gripping Buck’s waist. It’s possessive, fingers digging into him like Buck belongs right here, beneath him, against him, with him. A wave of arousal washes over Buck, cock twitching between his legs. 

Eddie’s forehead is pressed to Buck’s shoulder, head angled like he’s watching himself fuck Buck, watching his own cock slide in and out of him. He knows what Eddie looks like when he’s watching himself—knows he gets this hypnotised, awestruck look on his face, the pleasure so overwhelming and the sight so obscene he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He just watches. Drinks it in. Fucks into Buck over and over, desperate for it, delirious with it.

Shivering, Buck tips his head back and lets himself get lost in the pleasure, lets himself live in this bizarre, wonderful reality where his best friend wants him enough to fuck him over the bathroom sink, in the reality in which Eddie couldn’t even wait to drag him to bed, he just needed him, needed to fuck him, to touch him, to fill him, to feel him. He can live in this moment. Wants to live in it, preferably forever.

Because the truth is, Buck loves this. He loves being a body for Eddie to seek pleasure in— something to rut against, to fuck, to mouth at, to bite and lick. It’s mutually beneficial, of course. Eddie’s not a selfish lover. 

Fuck, and he’s losing this. He’s going to deprive himself of this because he’s fallen in love, because he’s been selfish and blind and so, so stupid— 

Eddie speeds up his thrusts, cock grazing Buck’s prostate with every stroke. 

It’s so much. It’s so fucking much. His core is flexing, muscles pulled taut as Eddie drives into him, filling him up in a way no one else ever really has. Eddie’s cock stakes a claim inside him, reshaping Buck’s body to accommodate it so, so easily.

It’s like he was made for this. Made for Eddie. 

Could be, too, if he wasn’t so damn selfish. If he wasn’t the type who always wants too much—more than he’s earned, more than he deserves.

Suddenly, Eddie slams into him, thrust sharp and deliberate, and Buck—

“Fuck,” Buck chokes out, the word tripping out of him, sparks of pleasure licking up his spine. 

Eddie freezes behind him. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Buck tries to keep his breathing even. Panicking about uttering the word fuck during sex would be extremely unsexy. Maybe if he shuts his mouth, Eddie will pretend it didn’t happen. 

But then he feels it— feels Eddie grow harder inside of him as he shudders out an exhale, mouthing wetly at Buck’s shoulder. Almost tentatively, Eddie tips forward, grinding his hips in a small, sensual circle. 

Buck’s hole clenches around him, a silent plea for him to keep going, to push on. He’s fine now. He won’t break the rule again.

And Eddie does. He keeps going, thrusts edged with a desperation Buck’s never seen before. It’s like he’s trying to get so deep in Buck that he can crawl inside and stay there. Buck would let him, too. Would build a little house inside his chest for Eddie to live within.

He has to grip the counter to stop himself from moaning, or whining, or pleading for more. Vision aburst with colour, he looks down, unable to witness himself getting ploughed in the mirror for a second longer. 

Instead, he watches his own cock bob between his legs, dripping like a leaky faucet, the mess smearing against the sink.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. He needs more, and with a fumbling hand, he grabs Eddie’s hand and squeezes. 

Like always, Eddie understands. They don’t need words, is the thing. They know each other inside out.

Eddie kicks into gear, splaying his fingers wide over Buck’s stomach before fucking forward, hard and relentless. He’s fucking Buck like he means it now, like he’s got something to prove, like he wants Buck to feel him for days. It’s teetering on an edge of rough that they’ve never stumbled over before, and Buck is—fuck. He likes it. He wants it.

He wants to tell Eddie how good it feels like this, how good he’s making him feel. Wishes he knew if Eddie liked direct praise like that, or if he liked to be called desperate or needy. Buck would do that for him. He’d give him anything he wanted. Would call him a good boy for filling him up just right, would tell him he’s a desperate slut for the way he fucks into Buck all sloppy when he’s worked up.

If it were anyone else, Buck would do those things. Would ask questions, would seek out boundaries, would find the dirty talk that makes him squirm, and whine, and come so hard his ears ring.

That’s always been Buck’s speciality during sex—his ability to work out just what makes his partner tick, to wield his words the same way he wields his tongue or fingers. Their arrangement has him at a disadvantage, in a way. Like he’s not able to give Eddie the full Evan Buckley experience.

But Eddie seems happy with how things are. Definitely seems happy with getting to rail Buck over the sink while he bites and sucks at Buck’s shoulder blade, worrying the sensitive skin between his teeth like he needs it to ground himself. 

Between his legs, Buck’s cock twitches, the tip flushing an angry red. Eddie’s fingers press harder against his stomach, like he’s trying to feel himself inside of him. Buck wonders if he can. Wishes, desperately, that he could ask.

Instead—like the idiot he is—he just moans. It’s a mewling noise, curling off his tongue and filling the room, bouncing off the walls—and he’s not allowed. He’s not allowed to moan, but— 

Eddie whines, pressing himself flush to Buck before thrusting hard, burying himself in Buck again and again. The whine reverberates through Buck’s fucking skeleton, weakening his knees and the grip he has on the sink because fuck—Eddie sound good. Buck can’t believe he’s gone months without hearing it. 

This must be what victory feels like, Buck thinks. Eddie broke the silence, too. This… this game they’ve been playing— the rules have changed. So maybe Buck can get away with— 

“Eddie,” Buck manages, voice barely above a whisper, watching the way Eddie’s fingers curl into Buck’s stomach, pace never faltering. “That’s it. Right— right there.” 

Lips pressed to Buck’s fever-hot skin, Eddie rasps, “Oh, fuck.” 

The words alone are almost enough to push Buck over the edge. He holds on by the thinnest of threads, because he needs to see this through, needs to hear Eddie moan for him, needs to see him unravel. Just this once. 

Panting, Buck squeezes around Eddie’s cock. “So— Eddie, ‘s so fucking good. You feel so good.” 

Eddie makes a high-pitched, pitiful noise that Buck is sure he’ll hear echoing in the caverns of his skull for the rest of his life. It’s a raw sound, like it’s been ripped from him, like it hurts. 

God. Buck’s going to come. He’s going to come right here in Eddie’s bathroom, watching himself get fucked, all while knowing he’s broken their one rule by speaking. Knowing Eddie’s broken it, too. 

Around his middle, Eddie’s arms tighten. He fucks into him almost ferally now, all animal instinct, as a low, wrecked, “Buck—” tears from his lips. 

“You— you have no idea—” Buck pants, voice ragged, “No idea what you do to me.” 

Buck can only watch as Eddie’s breathing comes faster, thrusts growing sloppy and uncoordinated as he — finally — lifts his head. He locks eyes with Buck, mouth falling open as his face goes dumb with pleasure. He fucks forward, eyes trailing over Buck’s chest, which jolts with every thrust, eyebrows slackening. 

A low, desperate moan slips from Buck’s lips as he feels Eddie pulse inside him, elbows failing him when Eddie grinds even deeper, like he’s fucking his come into his as deep as he can. Buck has always enjoyed the feeling of Eddie coming in him, but this feels different—it feels like he’s marking him. Claiming him.

“Eddie,” Buck whimpers, cock jumping. 

Eddie’s lashes flutter. “Baby.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Buck hasn’t even touched himself, and he’s— oh, God, he’s going to— 

He comes with a pathetic, crackly moan. Eddie inhales sharply, pace slowing to a sensual, focused grind as his hand flies out to wrap around Buck, tugging at him with a tight fist. He must be getting sensitive now, his cock spent inside of Buck, but he keeps moving, keeps thrusting, keeps working Buck’s dick over eagerly.

It feels so good. Too good. Months of silence, and now Eddie’s said— Eddie’s called him baby. 

“F-fuck, Eddie,” Buck gasps, another spurt of come hitting the sink, and Eddie watches, mesmerised, as his hips finally come to a halt. 

It takes Buck nearly a minute to gather himself, letting his head hang as his heart slows. 

It’s sort of embarrassing. Eddie calls him baby one single time, and Buck paints the damn sink in come. He can’t handle a single pet name without becoming an amateur bathroom artist. Sure. That’s a normal reaction. 

There’s no point in basking in the afterglow, as wonderful as it is, because he has to end this. Now. 

His heart, the stupid, aching thing in his chest, twists uncomfortably, full and empty at the same time. He might throw up, actually. Which is not very sexy. And would maybe give Eddie a complex.

He winces as Eddie gently guides himself out of Buck, earning himself a small kiss pressed to the back of his neck. 

Eddie strokes his hands up and down Buck’s stomach, petting over his pecs before sliding up his forearms, squeezing his biceps before letting go and stepping back. 

Buck has to plant his feet so as to keep from swaying back into Eddie’s arms, steeling himself before turning around to face him. 

And, fuck. 

Eddie looks so soft like this. He looks happy— face pink with exertion, a small, disbelieving smile on his face, sex-hair as wild as it always gets when they fuck. 

Buck swallows around the lump in his throat, blinking fast when his eyes start to prickle. God, Buck wishes Eddie wanted to keep him. 

“So, uh,” Buck says, voice cracking. He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Are we… is this over?” 

Eddie freezes. Faintly, he says, “What?” 

“The— the sex, I mean,” Buck rushes to say, eyes flitting to Eddie’s panicked face. “I’m not— we’re good, obviously. You’re my best friend, that’s not— nothing could change that. But the rest, the, the sex. You know.” 

We broke the rules, he wants to say, which is ridiculous, because technically, there were no rules. Just self-imposed… regulations. Which is fine, Buck would like to reiterate. What isn’t fine is the fact that Buck failed to follow them. 

Blinking at him, Eddie opens his mouth before shutting it with a click. He looks down, seems to realise his dick is still hanging out of his sweatpants, and quickly tucks himself back in. Then, tone unreadable and gaze averted, he says, “You want to stop having sex.” 

Ears ringing, Buck dithers. 

“I, um. No?” He scratches the back of his neck, the skin beneath his fingertips hot with embarrassment, with shame. “I mean, obviously I don’t— I don’t want to stop, but. I— I spoke. I said words.” 

Eddie frowns. “You… said words?” 

“While we— had sex,” Buck explains haltingly. “A-and we didn’t do that. Before. So.” 

“Right,” Eddie says slowly, expression still purposefully neutral. “Because you didn’t want that.” 

Buck blanches. “What?” 

“Buck,” Eddie says, staring at him. “You’ve been quiet since the first time we had sex.” 

“I— so were you,” Buck says, taken aback. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, tone toeing the line between frustration and indignation. “Because you were. You always run your mouth. Every single day of your life. I thought… when you didn’t make any noise that first time, that… I don’t know, that gay sex just— worked like that. That you worked like that.” 

“What?” Buck repeats, six octaves higher than usual. 

“I don’t know!” Eddie exclaims, hands hovering in the air. “I was following your lead. You didn’t say anything, and I had my— mouth full, with you,” Eddie flushes, but powers on, “and I’d never done anything with another man before. So, I just figured it was… the done thing.” 

“Eddie,” Buck fumbles for Eddie’s hands, squeezing them as he chases Eddie’s gaze. “I am so, so sorry.” 

“You don’t—” Eddie huffs, ducking his head, pulling his hands away from Buck’s, like his touch burns. “You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“No, I think I do,” Buck says, fierce and low. “Because, apparently, I’ve been teaching you that gay sex is— quiet. A-and it definitely doesn’t need to be quiet, but I just— I thought you liked it.” 

“I like it when you talk,” Eddie says, painfully earnest. 

“Eddie.” Buck exhales shakily. “I didn’t want to ruin the vibe by moaning in your ear—” 

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, eyes alight with amusement and something that looks suspiciously like relief. Slowly, Eddie’s hands lift, cupping Buck’s face. Buck might cry. He probably will cry. God, then he’ll be the guy who cries after sex. “You can moan in my ear, man. Any time.” 

Buck blinks. “Any time?” 

“Mhm.” 

“S-so, um.” Buck flickers his eyes between Eddie’s eyes. “We’re gonna keep having sex?” 

“If you want to,” Eddie murmurs. Eddie’s always worked like that—unwilling to admit what he wants, what he desires, willing to compromise his own inclinations to ensure everyone else is looked after. Buck doesn’t want that, though. If he’s going to power through this stupid love thing, it has to be— it has to be for both of them. For pleasure. For the good of– of good sex and better friendship.

Buck locks their gazes, intent as he asks, “Do you want to?” 

Eddie huffs, amused. “Buck. Having sex with you is…” His eyes dart away, cheeks darkening. “Jesus.” 

Slowly, Buck starts to smile. “Yeah?” 

“It’s good,” Eddie says, real and vulnerable. “You make me feel… like it’s okay. To feel good.” 

Swallowing, Buck nods. Assures him quietly, “It is okay.” 

“It’s like,” Eddie says, wetting his lips, “My heart wants to jump out of me, sometimes. When I’m near you. Having sex with you, being that close to you, it’s— everything. To me. Okay?”  

Heart slamming against his ribs, Buck nods, wide-eyed. He doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t understand. But he gets it. He feels the same. “Okay.” 

Eddie tilts his head, gaze dipping to Buck’s mouth. “So…”  

“We’ve never kissed,” Buck breathes, overwhelmed. A moment later, he winces. “Fuck, ignore—” 

Eddie sways forward then, catching Buck’s mouth in a kiss. His damp mouth curves into a smile against Buck’s, and Buck melts. 

He tilts his head, a rush of affection pulsing through him the moment he feels Eddie tongue at his bottom lip, hand slipping down to cup the side of his neck. Eddie’s mouth is so soft, so gentle against his own. It feels crazy that he could’ve been doing this the whole time—that if he’d just dragged Eddie up from his knees that first time, he could’ve tasted himself on Eddie’s tongue, could’ve kissed him breathless, and stupid, and endlessly.

Sighing, Buck opens up for him, finally, finally tasting Eddie’s mouth for the first time. Letting Eddie taste him in return. Against his mouth, Eddie whimpers, a barely there sound—blink and you miss it kind of fast, but Buck catches it. Sinks his teeth into Eddie’s bottom lip to chase another one. It stumbles out, swallowed up easily by Buck’s tongue as he swipes over the indented flesh.

Eventually, they have to separate to breathe, which Buck thinks is a human flaw. He rests his forehead against Eddie’s, eyes flickering down to Eddie’s kiss-swollen lips. 

“So, um, friends with benefits, then,” Buck breathes. He can do this. He can get over his feelings. He can do casual. He can. He swears. He’s had Eddie moaning once, had his mouth, had his pet name, he has to keep this. He has to. “We keep—”

Abruptly, Eddie answers, “No.” 

Buck blinks, frowning. “W-What? No?”

“No,” Eddie repeats. “Boyfriends.”

Oh. 

Pulse spiking, Buck flounders for anything to say that isn’t just Eddie. What comes out is, of course: “Eddie.”

“I— Jesus,” Eddie chuckles quietly, despite the anxious wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I thought that’s where this was all going. I thought … I hoped—” He meets Buck’s eyes, and he looks vulnerable in a way he rarely does, honest in a way that looks raw, like an exposed wire. “I want that. With you. And I know you. I know what you want, even if I think you deserve better.”

“W-What I want?”

“Me,” Eddie says, smiling nervously, like he’s putting on a brave face. Like he’s bracing himself for the worst even as he says it. “You want me.”

“Eddie, of course, I want you.” Buck laughs breathily, relief hitting him square in the chest, joy vibrating through his breastbone. “Of course I— you’re you. You’re my best friend.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes, mouth stretching into a real grin, tentative but bright. 

“Yeah.” Buck tugs him closer by the waist, fingers splaying over the shirt there, thumb tracing over his bottom rib.

Holy shit. 

Eddie wants him. Eddie wants them to be boyfriends. That’s— a lot of progress. A lot to process right now, standing in the bathroom together post-sex. 

Overwhelmed, they look at each other for a moment, before Eddie purses his lips. 

“What?” Buck asks, tilting his head.

“Just—” Eddie clears his throat, gaze dropping down and pausing at Buck’s chest before flicking back up. “You’re naked.” 

Buck looks down at himself, suddenly hyperaware of the cool air against his skin. Huh. He is. 

Arching an eyebrow, he meets Eddie’s gaze again. “Problem?” 

“No,” Eddie says, eyes twinkling. “No problem. But, uh. We should probably go to the bedroom. Get you some clothes.” 

Buck sways closer, nose brushing Eddie’s as their breaths mingle together. “You sure?” 

Eddie’s breath stutters audibly, his hand twitching at his side before finding Buck’s hip. “Or we could just go to bed.”

“You tired, Eddie?” Buck teases, voice gravel-rough and low, head tilting to brush their lips together featherlight. God. He’s wanted this so bad. Wanted to make Eddie needy, and frustrated, and hot under the collar.

It’s working, too. Eddie tilts closer, trying to catch Buck’s mouth, but Buck doesn’t let him.

Exasperated, Eddie mumbles, “Buck.”

“You hard, Eddie?”

“Oh my God, can we just—” His cheeks flush darker, but there’s no real protest in him. He likes this.

“Come on,” Buck coaxes. “Say it.”

“Yes, I’m—” Eddie huffs, dropping his forehead against Buck’s shoulder, inhaling slowly. “I’m hard, alright? Can we go to bed?”

“Say please.”

Eddie lifts a hand and pinches his nipple sharply, making Buck jolt with a surprised laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Nah,” Buck grins, wicked and beyond delighted. He uses his grip on Eddie’s waist to back him up a step, urging him toward the doorway, crowding in close. “You’re gonna fuck me.”

Eddie’s head lifts, and in real time, Buck gets to watch as Eddie’s pupils blow again, the warm chocolate of his iris slowly swallowed. Then, quietly, he exhales, “...Yeah.”

Boyfriends, Buck thinks giddily. Yeah. That, he can do. 

He’s never been good at being casual, anyway.