Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, Buck is asleep in the passenger seat of a car.

Actually.

Wait.

Rewind.

The first time it happens is while Buck is laying in the dirt, stones and hard blades of dry desert grass digging into his back, in a small town in New Mexico, his body having just collapsed on the ground after seeing that Eddie was alive.

Eddie’s alive Eddie’s alive Eddie’s alive, his pain rattled mind repeats on a loop. Relief floods his body as quickly as the adrenaline he was using to stand upright leaves it.

He doesn’t remember much, even weeks later, it comes to him in flashes. Of images. Of sensations. Moments he’s not even sure are real, or if he just imagined them. One minute he’s half standing— body hunched over in agony, clutching the side of his torso, swaying slightly as the pounding in his head threatens to completely finish him— and the next, he’s on the ground, eyes slipping shut without his permission.

He remembers hands.

Hands on his chest, on his arms, and on his face, touching him with such care, such urgency, while trembling fingers land on his neck— checking his pulse? — and a voice tries to call him back from the darkness, calling out a name. His name.

He was barely able to open his eyes, the brightness of the midday sun making his already injured head pound in an excruciating and unbearable way, but through the haziness, through the fog of pain clouding his vision, he sees Eddie, his expression terrified, mouth moving, saying words that don’t register to Buck, no matter how hard he tries to focus.

Buck coughs, a dry, brittle thing, his chest shaking, stomach hurting with the force of it. “You look like hell,” he manages to croak out, words coming out slurred and woozy.

He hears Eddie laugh, a broken and wet sound filled with relief, and he closes his eyes again, letting Eddie’s tender touch sooth him.

“You should see the other guy.” Eddie says, voice weak. Shaky.

“I am the other guy.” He attempts to smile, grinning wildly, the movement causing his already dry lips to crack further.

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie answers, voice going impossibly soft; his thumb traces circles on Buck’s cheek, and Buck shifts his head slightly, despite his body’s protest, leaning into the touch, while Eddie’s other hand continues to cradle the back of his head.

He hears the sound of sirens around him, feet moving across gravel and dirt, but Buck doesn’t register any of that. Letting Eddie’s hands on his pulse remind him that he’s alive.

He and Eddie are alive.

He doesn’t remember much else from that point on. He knows he talked to Maddie on the phone as he was placed on the gurney, Eddie following close behind him, his eyes never leaving Buck as the door of the ambulance shuts.

That day is a painful, terrifying blur, but Buck remembers Eddie’s lingering touch against his pulse; his fingers trembling but sure against his skin.

~

Now, back to the first time Buck can confidently say he remembers. Sorta.

Mind you, he was heavily medicated—well, as medicated as he was allowed to be, without doctor supervision, to deal with his various injuries. At first, the doctors wanted to monitor him for an extra day or so, but once he was cleared of any internal bleeding, they let him go; Buck’s pretty sure he was only allowed to leave the hospital because he was discharged into a paramedic’s care. Eddie’s care.

As if Buck himself wasn’t also a first responder with certified medical training. But, whatever, that didn’t matter to Buck.

They just wanted out of New Mexico. As quickly as possible.

He wasn’t sure how long they’ve been driving for; time moved sluggishly, trailing along at a snail's pace. He knew the sun was high in the sky and that, as they crossed the border from New Mexico to Arizona, each man let out a sigh of relief, grateful to be leaving the state behind them.

They had been stopping every ninety minutes to get out and stretch their legs, per the doctor’s orders, but after their last break at a rest stop, where they stocked up on snacks—for both of them—and a very large coffee—for Eddie—Buck had fallen asleep. He didn’t mean to, but the medications not only dulled his pain, but also made him very groggy.

So, he napped.

Unintentionally.

Only to be woken up by the feeling of someone softly grabbing his wrist, which laid limp on his lap as he slept. Whoever was holding his wrist was being incredibly careful, cautious in their approach, as if trying not to wake him, but the firm press against his pulse point had him stirring awake, his mind slowly realizing who was touching him.

Eddie.

“Hm?” He hummed groggily, blinking blearily, as he takes in his surroundings, eyes unfocused and filled with sleep. He has a kink in his neck, a dull ache from the angle he fell asleep in, but as his whole body was one giant bruise, he barely acknowledges it, wincing a little as he sits up.

Still in the car, he notes, now parked in front of what looked to be a hotel.

The touch had vanished the moment he opened his eyes, leaving so quickly, so abruptly, that for a brief second, he thinks that maybe, perhaps, he had dreamt it up, his mind imagining the touch.

But the spot on his skin burns, a tingling sensation he’s all too familiar with, whenever Eddie touches him. He suppresses a smile.

“Morning, bud.” Eddie says to his left and he turns his head slowly, to see his best friend still in the driver's seat, a small smirk on his lips, eyes filled with amusement. Despite his happy demeanour, Buck can see the dark circles under Eddie’s eyes, and the tightness in his shoulders and neck, and feels a pang in his chest, concern and guilt swirling uncomfortably in his stomach.

Eddie had refused to entertain the thought of Buck driving at all back to LA, stubbornly insisting that he could handle it; but it was clear that the other man was quickly losing steam.

“How long did I sleep for?”

“Just two hours,” Eddie informs him, holding out a water bottle, “here.”

Buck nods in thanks, grabbing the bottle and taking a long sip, his neck protesting against the movement. “Time to get out and stretch,” he says, turning his neck back and forth, trying to loosen the muscles, cringing slightly at the crack he hears.

“Actually,” Eddie says as Buck turns back to look at him. “I was thinking we could stop here for the night. I’m exhausted, and we still have at least four hours left, and that’s not even counting for the traffic we’ll probably hit once we reach LA.”

Buck can’t stop the way his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and noticing his expression, Eddie gives him an accessing look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Buck says, shrugging innocently. “I’m just surprised that the Eddie Diaz is willing to admit that he isn’t invincible and needs sleep. Like the rest of us regular humans.”

Eddie ignores him, his mouth twisting, clearly stifling a laugh, as he gets out of the car, grabbing their bags from the trunk before walking into the building. His steps are slow, a limp in his stride. Buck chuckles, unbuckling his own seatbelt and stepping out of the car, very slowly, every muscle in his body screaming their discomfort. Yeah, sleeping in an actual bed sounds amazing.

Buck hobbles into the lobby just as Eddie finishes talking to the front desk attendant, a blonde woman who looks to be in her late forties. He hears Eddie thanking her, watching him as he grabs the key card from her outstretched hand.

“Enjoy your stay!” She says, her tone polite, eyes widening slightly as she notices Buck standing behind Eddie. Buck can only nod, smiling awkwardly, all too aware of how he currently looked.

Eddie reaches him, his hand landing on Buck’s shoulder as he steers him towards the elevator. “Come on,” he tells him, holding their duffle bags over his other shoulder. Buck doesn’t say anything, just lets himself be dragged, ignoring the tingling sensation spreading up his arm at Eddie’s touch.

When they reach the third floor, Eddie drops his hand off Buck, exiting the elevator as he walks in the direction of their room. Buck follows quietly behind, biting back a pain filled groan at every step he takes.

“Here we are,” Eddie announces, stopping in front of a door. And, okay, it makes sense that Eddie asked for one room. It was cost effective and honestly, Buck wasn’t prepared to let Eddie out of his sight. Not yet. Buck wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie wasn’t either, not after what they just went through.

He trails in after Eddie, stopping short when he notices the bed in the middle of the room. There was nothing off about the bed. It was a perfectly normal bed; one you’d find in any hotel room. That wasn’t the problem. It was the fact that there was only one bed. Singular.

And there was two of them. Plural.

Did Eddie know there was only one bed? One king bed, big enough to fit them both comfortably, sure, but still. Did Eddie expect them to share?

It wouldn’t be the first time they shared a bed. They had done it many times before, during lockdown when they all lived together at Buck’s loft, and during the short time Buck lived with the Diaz boys at South Bedford Street, after their return from El Paso. Both men had quickly realized, only a day into their co-habitation, that they were both in their mid-thirties, and that sleeping on the couch was not good for their backs. So, yeah, they’ve shared many times in the past. But for some reason, it felt different, now. Different how? Buck wasn’t sure—or more specifically, he did know, but it wasn’t something that he was ready to think about or put a name to.

He looks over at Eddie, his cheeks beginning to heat—he felt embarrassed, suddenly. Pathetically so, just at the mere thought of sharing a bed with the other man.

But Eddie just flops down on the bed, letting out an exaggerated groan as his body sinks into the mattress.

And, oh, okay. If Eddie is okay with sharing a bed, then so is Buck.

Everything’s fine. Totally normal.

Buck quickly ducks into the bathroom, splashing water on his face to cool his flushed cheeks.

“It’s fine,” Buck mutters to himself, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection. He stares back at himself, deliberately ignoring the various scratches and cuts along his skin as he narrows his eyes. He pushes his finger against the glass, looking sternly at the Buck on the other side of the mirror. “You can be normal. You can share a bed with your straight best friend. It’s fine.”  

His reflection stares back, his face flushed and his blue eyes slightly glazed over, all because he was about to sleep with his best friend. No, sleep in the same bed, with his best friend. Platonically. He scowls at himself, turning away as he dries his hands on the towel hanging behind the door.

While a part of him wanted to continue hiding in the bathroom, gather what little bearings his has, the urge to see Eddie is stronger, needing to see Eddie with his own eyes. Eddie seemed to feel the same way, deciding to order food to the room, instead of leaving Buck behind to go get it.

And it’s fine, in the end. Completely fine.

He sits on the edge of the bed, stiff as a board, back uncomfortably straight as his muscles strain from his effort to maintain his rigid posture, waiting for the food to arrive. Eddie, oblivious to Buck’s rather impressive imitation of a statue beside him, was resting against one of the pillows, scrolling mindlessly through the TV channels, before settling on a game show that Buck vaguely recognizes but can’t remember the name of.

Eventually, there’s a knock on the door when their food arrives, and Buck practically flies off the bed, his bones cracking audibly at the sudden movement as he grabs the food from the delivery driver. He pays for the food, ignoring Eddie’s protests, arguing that he already paid for the room.

Eddie doesn’t push him on it, but glares slightly as he chews his pizza, nose scrunching up in mild disgust at the pineapple on Buck’s pie. The one he specifically ordered for Buck anyway, because he knows it’s Buck’s favourite.

They eat in silence, each devouring over half their pizzas, along with the several bottles of water that Eddie had also ordered. Buck watches as Eddie finishes eating, placing the half empty pizza box on the side table; he moves up the bed, removing his shoes as he stretches out on the mattress, his shirt riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of stomach.

Buck looks away quickly, turning back to the television.

He waits a few minutes, absentmindedly picking at the toppings of his pizza. He stares blankly at the TV, hoping that if he stares hard enough, the colourful images on the screen, of contestants winning dream vacations and new cars, might erase the image of Eddie spread out on the mattress, which was now seared behind his eyelids.

It doesn’t work.

He glances over again, only to find Eddie sound asleep, mouth open slightly as he snores softly. His fingers itch to reach out, to push back the hair that’s fallen over Eddie’s face, to trace along the side of his jaw, feel the days old stubble against his fingertips. But that’s not something that he’s allowed to do. He’s allowed to share a bed with his best friend, but that’s only because of extenuating circumstances; but he’s not allowed to touch.

Not allowed to want that; which is good, because he doesn’t.

With that, Buck turns off the TV, letting his own eyes slip closed, making sure that absolutely no part of himself was touching Eddie. He debated putting up a wall of pillows between them, to ensure that Buck wouldn’t accidentally roll over in his sleep and pull Eddie into his arms, but that seemed rather childish, and he didn’t want to have to try to explain it when Eddie woke up.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out and he falls asleep. And he dreams. He dreams of familiar hands, strong and sure, touching his face. Of fingers, long and elegant, trailing along the side of his neck, a thumb pressed on his pulse point. Because what else could that be, other than a dream?

~

The first week back in LA is a blur of doctor visits. Buck was used to this part, by now. Was used to it after years of injuries on the job. So, he sits and nods along to the doctor's instructions, speaking at the correct moments in the conversation. The same old song and dance.

Eddie and Christopher also stay with him the first week and a half. Or, more specifically, Eddie stays first and Chris joins a few days later, once Eddie was healed enough to take care of both Chris and Buck.

Because that’s what Eddie was doing, taking care of Buck. Despite Buck’s insistence that he’s fully capable of taking care of himself, that this wasn’t his first rodeo.

But Eddie wouldn’t hear it.

So, Buck now had two house guests.

Eddie had also taken to touching Buck. A lot. Well, no, not touching him, exactly, but checking his pulse.

Eddie was always the one to initiate contact, was always the one to seek Buck out. To check in on him. Eddie also watched him, a lot. His eyes following Buck as he moved around his house, monitoring him. His gaze the first few weeks was even more unwavering than normal, more unnerving. Like he could see through the façade, the performance, that Buck was putting on.

That Buck wasn’t actually okay.

The first few times he checked Buck’s pulse, they were alone. It happened completely out of the blue, they would be lounging on Buck’s couch, or passing each other in the kitchen, and Eddie would stop in front of him and grab his wrist. Or reach out and lay his hands on Buck’s neck.

And the first few times, Buck may have jumped. Purely out of surprise.

But slowly, he gets used to it. Begins looking forward to it, in a twisted, sad sort of way, that he refuses to dwell on.

Until the first time Eddie does it in front of Chris, his fingers rest for a few beats on Buck’s neck before calling out a quick goodbye, leaving the two of them at home so that he could run some errands. He leaves Buck frozen in place at his spot at the table, eyes wide as he stares across at Chris.

And Chris stares back, his eyes narrowed slightly as he says, “did he just check your pulse?”

“Uh, yeah—” he coughs, rubbing at the back of his neck, the skin around his pulse still hot from Eddie’s touch. “He’s just, you know—checking on me. I guess?”

Chris doesn’t say anything for a long moment, tilting his head slightly as he processes Buck’s words; seemingly satisfied, he nods, turning back to the bowl of cereal in front of him. “Yeah, makes sense.”

Well, Buck thinks, at least it makes sense to one of us.

And okay, Buck does understand. To a degree. A very tiny, acute degree. Something very scary happened to them, and Eddie was just making sure Buck was okay. It was his way of coping with the trauma. Really, he understands. Appreciates it, even. More than he’s willing to admit.

But just because he understands—somewhat—doesn’t mean he knows how to react normally whenever Eddie touches him. And, to make the matter increasingly more difficult for Buck, he’s moved past just touching Buck’s neck and wrist, making it all the more difficult for Buck to prepare for it, and act accordingly.

Like the time Buck was sitting on his couch, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, his legs spread out in front of him, and Eddie just walks over, lifting Buck’s legs before sitting down and placing them on Eddie’s lap.

Like that was normal, like that was something that they did.

Buck, unfortunately, flails slightly at the sudden motion, his legs locking up, resulting in him almost kicking Eddie in the face.

Thankfully, Eddie already had a good hold on him, so his foot didn’t actually get anywhere near his face.

“You okay?” Eddie chuckles softly as he looks at Buck in amusement.

“All good.” Buck answers quickly, trying to keep his face neutral, as he takes in their current position.

And yeah, sure, they sit close together all the time, this isn’t new. Whether it be on the couch, just the two of them hanging out, or in the engine on the way to a scene; their knees would knock, their thighs would be pressed together, their shoulders bumping every time one of them would move, and neither of them would pull away.

But this? Buck’s calves and ankles and socked covered feet resting on Eddie’s thighs? This they didn’t do. They’ve never done.

Until now, apparently.

Eddie was perfectly at ease, completely unbothered by this new closeness; he just reaches over and grabs the remote, turning on a basketball game, before settling his hand on Buck’s ankle.

His fingers gripped loosely around it, thumb pressing against the side, and oh. Okay.

So, Buck isn’t a paramedic, but he’s gone through basic medical training for the job, required to help quickly with patients and civilians on the scene. And he knows things. Like that, while it isn’t the first place you would check, the ankle can be a good spot to check a person’s pulse. Check for blood flow in the body— which is why you ask patients to wiggle their toes for you. To make sure their circulation was okay.

So, Buck knows that Eddie is using is ankle to check for his pulse. Okay, great. Cool. Just add it to the list of places that Eddie apparently touches him now.

~

He aches. Everything aches. Parts of his body that he didn’t think could ache, ached.

The first few days of his detox were a very painful blur.

Sleep is difficult, coming to Buck in short bursts between the body aches and chills, the hot flashes, and the nausea. Through it all, the 118— his family—didn’t leave his side.

Like a well-oiled machine, they moved around his house; some taking shifts, monitoring his symptoms; while others left only to return,  arms filled with all the necessary supplies.

Anything and everything one could possibly need to detox their body from an opioid dependency.

And Buck wasn’t sure, didn’t know whether it was true, or just wishful thinking, but Eddie seemed to be around the most. Seemed to always be by Buck’s side, and if he wasn’t—if it was Maddie or Chim or Hen, instead—then Eddie was close by, like he didn’t want to let Buck out of his sight.

And through the haze of pain, he held onto that. Held onto the small feeling of hope that had taken up residence in his chest, in his heart; in that spot he had carved out for Eddie years ago, when an ambulance that he had been in only moments before, exploded. But all Buck could remember from that day was Eddie’s smiling face, and the giddy feeling he felt at the promise of having each other’s backs.

And it seemed that Eddie was keeping that promise, all these years later, of having Buck’s back, even through his worst.

And his touch, his touch never faltered. Even after finding out the truth, about the dependency that led him to almost stealing drugs at work. Right under Eddie’s own nose.

Eddie stayed. And he never let go.

His grip was steady on Buck’s side, as he helped Buck get to the toilet when he was sick. His fingers were gentle and kind, pushing back Buck’s sweat soaked curls as he laid in bed. His hands were firm, shaking Buck awake from his nightmares, his voice and touch a beacon, pulling Buck back.

And, through it all, he continued to check Buck’s pulse. Through everything, through every single moment of pain he endured, when he felt like it would never end, he remembers Eddie’s hands, always on his neck or his wrist. Over and over. Making sure he was okay.

And each time—even during the worst of it—he knows he leaned into the touch, knows he cried out in pain whenever it would disappear, only calming down when Eddie’s soothing touch returned. He sought it out, through the haze of pain and hurt, and held onto it, like a lifeline.

And Eddie, he never let go.

~

He couldn’t use his delirium as an excuse, couldn’t pretend that it didn’t happen—that it was something that he’d simply dreamed of, during the worst of his withdrawal, when he was feverish and hallucinating.

The worst had passed, leaving him exhausted and weak, but better for it. With his recovery, the members of the 118 slowly began returning to their own homes, no longer using his living room as a makeshift bunker. That didn’t mean they didn’t continuously stop by, bringing groceries that he was finally able to stomach or just dropping in to check on him.

Even Maddie had left, despite her insistence that she should stay; but Buck and Chimney managed to usher her out the door, promises of calling her if anything bad happened again. And it was only the mention of Jee and Nash that finally convinced her to return home.

That only left Buck.

And Eddie.

Because, despite how many times Buck tried to ensure Eddie that he was okay, that he didn’t need to stay any longer, that the worst was over and that Eddie could return to his house on South Bedford Street, return to his life and  to his son, Eddie was unmoved.

And listen, Buck was only so strong, okay?

Buck could’ve put up more of a fight, could’ve put his foot down and demanded that Eddie leave. And he knew, regardless of his concern and worry, Eddie would have respected his wishes and left. But he didn’t want Eddie to leave. He couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted in his stomach at the continuous care that Eddie was showing him, the way his hands still sought out Buck’s pulse points, an action now so familiar that Buck doesn’t even acknowledge it half the time.

Well, internally he does. Very much. His stomach flips and his whole body flushes, turning his still sickly pale skin a frankly ridiculous shade of pink. He’s had to excuse himself from Eddie’s presence a few too many times, waiting for his face to stop flaming. He splashes cold water against his cheeks, pressing his palm against them, rolling his eyes at how warm they feel.  His birthmark especially was almost purple under the fluorescent light of his bathroom mirror.

Because even though Buck had an embarrassing reaction half the time, making him feel like a teenager again with his first crush, he didn’t want Eddie to stop touching him. In fact, he now craved the touch; however fleeting or gentle, Buck wanted—no, needed—Eddie’s hands on him.

And it wasn’t just the feeling of his hands on Buck’s skin; it was the attention that came with it. It was the knowledge that Eddie cared; how he now sought out Buck’s pulse, on his neck or his wrist, unconsciously, just needing to know that Buck was okay.

It was addicting. And Buck didn’t want to let that go.

And, for the time being, it didn’t seem like Eddie had any intention of stopping this new habit of his, and so, it just became another unspoken part of their routine. Really, they never spoke about it.

Just like how Buck couldn’t speak to Eddie about this.

Now, one of the perks of Buck’s house is that even though it was a bungalow, he has two bathrooms. An en-suite and a guest bathroom, both with their own showers, his own bathroom coming with a tub and shower. Which meant that this entire situation was entirely avoidable, shouldn’t have ever happened in the first place. It never happened during the few months when Buck was living with Eddie and Chris, when they’d first returned to El Paso, when the living quarters were much smaller than they are now.

When they only had one bathroom.

So, anyways, it’s entirely Buck’s fault, really.

Let him explain.

It was early morning,  and Buck had woken up alone. He didn’t expect to find anyone with him, Eddie, of course, had been staying in the guestroom since everyone else had left; but still, he couldn’t help the disappointment he feels that Eddie wasn’t there.

Pushing that feeling aside, he wanders into his bathroom to grab a shower, feeling strong enough to manage the task alone.

Looking into the shower, he noticed that his body wash was absent.

“Oh, right.” He says quietly, remembering that he’d just finished his last bottle, and had yet to replace it with the extra he kept in his other bathroom.

He leaves the bathroom, his bare feet padding softly down the hallway to the guest bathroom, stopping short when he notices the sound of running water.

Eddie’s in the shower, his brain supplies.

Now, Buck had two options; he could go back to his room and wait till Eddie was finished to retrieve the body wash, or he could knock on the door, interrupting Eddie’s shower, and quickly retrieve the extra body wash he knows is stored in the cupboard under the sink.

Logically, and respectfully, the first option made the most sense. Buck knew Eddie; liked to think, that after eight years of friendship, that he had a master's degree in Edmundo Diaz, and he knew that Eddie didn’t take long showers. His showers, like most things Eddie did, were done efficiently and in a timely manner. Developed from his time in the army.

He didn’t linger. Got in, did what he needed to do, got out. He didn’t pay for expensive hair masks that took ten minutes to process, that needed time to marinate in his hair.

In fact, he rolled his eyes at the various curl defining and hydrating hair masks that lined the shelves of Buck’s shower, telling Buck it was a waste of his money— although, he did tell Buck his curls looked good after using one of his “waste of money” masks, so Buck dismissed his judgment.

On the other hand, it’s not like it would be weird if Buck were to quickly duck in and grab the body wash. Eddie wouldn’t mind.

There’s the shower curtain, of course— a soft blue curtain, one with a pattern of various fish, of all colours and sizes, swimming along the fabric— so it’s not like he’d see anything. Not that he’d want to, of course. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t.

Anyway.

Besides, they’ve shared communal showers at the firehouse for years, so Buck had seen Eddie naked before. Glimpses of smooth tanned skin while passing each other in the showers or when changing in the locker room.

Buck has seen things, okay?

Not like he’s deliberately looked or anything; he never lets his eyes wander. He’s respectful, thank you very much.

However, none of this mattered.

Nothing mattered. Because before Buck was able to make up his mind, he hears a sound coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

A moan.

But not just any moan. Eddie’s moan.

Body wash was now the furthest thing from Buck’s mind, as Buck’s legs are rooted to the spot, frozen in place, as his brain tries to process what he just heard.

He could have misheard, of course. It’s early, he just woke up, his brain wasn’t fully alert yet. But he knows he heard correctly, and it’s confirmed only moments later, when another, much louder and drawn out moan, comes from the other side of the closed door.

It’s the hottest thing Buck’s ever heard.

The moan cuts off abruptly, which only encourages Buck’s mind to conjure up the image of Eddie biting down on his lip, to muffle the sounds of his pleasure, while his fist works quickly over his cock.

Buck’s entire body flushes at the thought, blood pumping hot in his veins, making his knees weak; his hand reaches out, palm flat against the wall for support, and a moment later, he’s backing away from the door on shaky legs, before all but fleeing back to his room.

So, you see, it was entirely Buck’s fault. His fault for not replacing the body wash in his shower earlier, when he finished the old one. His fault for lingering outside the bathroom door, contemplating if he should go in or not to grab said body wash.

All his fault.

His fault that he now knew how Eddie’s sounded while jerking off, while trying to be quiet. Trying to be quiet because he was jerking off in Buck’s guest bath. And no, neither the sound of the running water, nor the wooden door separating them, was able to muffle the sounds that Eddie had made.

And now, Buck’s traitorous, evil, and ridiculous brain, is filling in the gaps, imagining all the other sounds that Eddie would make, if he wasn’t trying to be quiet. The soft sighs that might slip past his lips, when he first touches himself, relief and pleasure zinging through his body. The deep groans he could release, unashamed and deep and filthy, as he tightens his grip on his cock, twisting his hand just so on the next stroke, the feeling so good he can’t stop the way his mouth would drop open. And the cries of pleasure that would tumble out of his mouth, loud and unrestrained, as he spills into his fist, milking ever last drop of cum from his spent cock.

And, with the idea of sounds, brought images. Very inappropriate images, very explicit images, ones that someone should not be imagining about their straight best friend. But either Buck’s brain forgot that very important fact, or simply just didn’t care, and so, it continued. Thought after depraved thought running through his mind like his own personal film role.

Buck squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his knuckles against them as if that would somehow erase everything that he’s heard and thought and felt in the last few minutes.

Of course, it didn’t.

And Buck doesn’t fault Eddie for jerking off, okay? He’s nothing if not a gracious host—his brief detox period that took him out of commission, aside—and Buck knows that sometimes, you just gotta jerk off. Clear the pipes, as it were. It was healthy.

Eddie’s been staying with him this whole time, even after the rest of the 118 had returned to their own homes, so his best friend hasn’t had any alone time to take care of himself. Buck gets it, he really, truly, honestly does.

And throughout his recovery, masturbating has been the furthest thing from Buck’s mind. Never mind that he was going through withdrawals, and the body aches and chills and nausea had made it absolutely impossible to think of his dick, let alone get hard. And, on top of that, his whole family had taken up residence in his house, leaving him absolutely no privacy.

But now, after weeks of nothing, Buck was hard. Achingly, embarrassingly hard. Because of Eddie.

He looks down at his cock, clearly tented in his sleeping shorts, seeking attention. Demanding release. He gives it a dirty look, feeling ashamed and betrayed. Traitor, he thinks in annoyance.

He drops his head back against the bedroom door with a defeated sigh.

~

Buck’s man enough to admit that he spent the rest of the day avoiding Eddie. Buck hid in his bedroom, pretending to be asleep when Eddie opens his door to check on him, shortly after his shower. He keeps his head buried under his covers, heart in his throat as he tries to stay still, trying to mimic the steady breathing of someone who was actually asleep. He waits till he hears the front door closing, Eddie leaving to go meet Chris and Pepa for breakfast.

He holds his breath, watching from his phone screen as Eddie’s tiny icon moves further away from his house on the Find My Phone app, before leaping out of bed. Somehow, his legs have tangled up in the sheets, making him fall halfway off the mattress with a yelp.

After that, Buck speeds through his shower; turning the water on the coldest temperature he could handle, refusing to acknowledge his cock until it softens, shrivelled up against the cold water, looking sad and pathetic against his thigh.

He made quick work of changing, grabbing his keys as he all but runs out of his house, calling Maddie in the car, already on his way to her. He already knows she wasn’t working today; knew because Maddie had mentioned dropping by with Nash for lunch.

He figured she wouldn’t mind if they had lunch at hers, instead.  

He stops on the way to grab her favourite iced coffee and a box of muffins, just in case.

~

Buck wasn’t home for more than a minute before Eddie confronted him.

“You’ve been busy today,” Eddie states, a picture of perfectly staged casualness from his spot on Buck’s couch, as if he hadn’t bee waiting for Buck to get home. An image flashes in his mind of Eddie in a similar scenario, leaning against a wall as Buck walked into his then home at South Bedford Street, under the impression that Eddie had left, returning to El Paso with only a note left as a goodbye.

His stomach flips at the memory and he turns his back to the other man, hanging his jacket on the hook by the door as he pushes those thoughts aside. He regrets not staying at Maddie’s.

“Yeah, you know,” Buck says with a shrug, walking into the room. “Went to visit Maddie and she asked if I wanted to join her with Nash at the park. Thought the fresh air would do me some good.”

Eddie nods, “sure.”

“Yeah.”

“And you were at the park for,” Eddie continues, looking down at his watch for a moment before looking back at Buck, a single eyebrow quirked. “5 hours?”

“No, of course not.” Buck huffs, his voice taking on a slightly defensive tone. “We had lunch, first. And Maddie needed to put together this new bookshelf that got delivered for Jee’s room— Chim was out running errands— so I agreed to help.”

“Okay.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“I believe you, Buck.”

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the silence stretching between them, until Buck snaps it, taking a stiff step forward, then another. “I’m just gonna—” he trails off, pointing towards his bedroom.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him, eyes slightly narrowed. A little unnervingly. Buck’s nerves felt thoroughly and utterly unnerved. Finally turning away, he breaks their eye contact, and walks out of the room, one stiff step at a time, down the hall to his bedroom.

He, naively, for a moment, thinks he’s in the clear; that he’s avoided Eddie successfully for the day—said man’s suspicion aside—and he could do it all over again tomorrow. And every day after, until Buck could no longer recall the sounds of Eddie moaning.

However long that took.

He tries not to pout; he was going to miss Eddie.

Of course, Eddie follows him only a moment later. Buck hears him hesitate from the other side of the door, only half closed, before he pushes it open, knocking awkwardly as he leans against the door jam.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?” Buck doesn’t turn around, keeps his back to Eddie as he pulls open his closet, grabbing the basket of laundry at the bottom. It was barely full, only two days worth of clothes in it, but he keeps up the ruse, holding the basket tightly in his grip.

“Did I do something?” Eddie asks directly, cutting through the tension. Buck almost drops the basket in his hands, and he whirls around to find Eddie further in the room, only a few steps away, his eyes searching Buck’s face. “Have I stayed too long? Do you want me to leave?”

Buck sucks in a breath, his heart aching at the wounded look on Eddie’s face.

“Eddie, no. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Have I crossed a line? Have I been— touching you, too much?” Eddie asks, voice barely above a whisper as the words tumble from his mouth, fear dripping from each syllable.

Buck’s breath hitches in his chest.

“Eddie, no—”

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” Eddie pushes on, ignoring Buck entirely as he begins to pace the length of Buck’s bedroom floor, wringing his hands as he does, clearly distressed. His eyebrows were furrowed, worry lines appearing in the crease between them. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Eddie!” Buck cuts him off, raising his voice slightly to get the other man’s attention. He drops the laundry basket on the floor, and strides over to Eddie, his hand reaching out to grab Eddie’s arm. Eddie stands frozen in front of him, his expression stricken, wide eyes filled with concern. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

“But—”

“I like it when you touch me,” Buck blurts out, his face flaming hot as his words hit him.

Oh, um. Well. Can’t take that back now.

“Oh.” Eddie breathes out, his face also turning an adorable shade of pink.

Buck takes an abrupt step back, releasing his grip on Eddie’s arm.

“I— I mean, I got used to it, I guess?” Buck sits down on the edge of his bed, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, twirling a loose thread between his fingers in a repeated loop. The motion steadies him, keeps his hands from shaking, as he realizes that what he’s about to say, might be too much, too revealing of how he really feels, but he pushes on, the words tumbling from his lips. “Honestly, it grounded me, whenever you checked on me. Brought me back to myself when I felt adrift. Both after New Mexico and during my recovery.”

It brought me back to you, he doesn’t say. Can’t say.

He finally looks up, his stomach flipping at the intense look in Eddie’s eyes. His face is still flushed pink, the blush spreading down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks faintly, an almost awestruck look on his face, his smile shy.

Fuck, he’s so pretty.

“Yeah,” Buck nods, smiling back, dipping his chin slightly as he echoes his earlier words. “I mean it, there’s nothing that you could do that would make me uncomfortable, Eds.”

Neither man speaks for a long moment, until Eddie snaps his eyes away from Buck’s, his gaze dropping down to Buck’s throat. He bites at his bottom lip, clearly debating something in his head.

“Can I try something?”.

Buck blinks. “Sure?”

“Buck, I just need. I need to—” Eddie hesitates, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Buck watches as a few loose strands of hair fall over his temple, coming free from the gel Eddie had used this morning to slick it back.

This morning after I heard him jerking off in the shower.

He had momentarily forgotten about this morning. But now, it comes rushing back, sounds and feelings and all.

God, help him.

Eddie paces a few more times, his expression pinched, mouth downturned slightly, before he stops in front of Buck, exhaling sharply. “Do you trust me?”

Buck blinks again, surprised by the question. “Of course, Eds.”

Eddie pauses, an intensity in his eyes that makes Buck’s palms sweat, before slowly sitting on the bed beside him, the mattress shifting under his weight. He turns so that they’re facing each other, their knees knocking together at the closeness.

Eddie reaches up, his hand resting on the nape of Buck’s neck, fingers feather light. Buck tries not to shiver at the touch, tilting his head slightly to give Eddie better access. Even though it was a routine both him and Eddie had become accustomed to, a touch typically done with familiarity and care, it now felt different. Now, Eddie’s movements were slower, more calculated, almost nervous? The sudden shift was confusing.

Lost in his own confusion, Buck doesn’t notice Eddie bridging the small gap between them, quickly ducking his head, replacing his fingers with his lips.

Buck gasps at the unexpected contact, his body locking in place at the sensation of Eddie’s lips against his skin.

Oh my god, Eddie’s mouth is on my neck.

He immediately feels lightheaded, dizzy and disoriented with want, as all the blood in his body rushes south. He’s hyperaware of every single point of contact between them, as his heart hammers against his ribcage. And he knows, with absolute certainty, that Eddie must be able to feel how fast it was beating. With his lips.

Feeling Buck stiffen beneath him, noticing how every single muscle of his is locked tight, Eddie begins to pull back. Before he realizes what’s happening, Buck is lifting his hand, his fingers finding purchase in Eddie’s hair, holding the other man’s head in place against his neck.

His hair is so soft, he thinks, head spinning.

“Buck?” Eddie asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath ghosting across Buck’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Buck doesn’t respond. Doesn’t know if he could speak, if he tried. Is pretty sure his vocal cords are too stunned to even attempt a single sound. He just knows he doesn’t want Eddie to pull away, doesn’t want to shatter this moment. Doesn’t know what’s about to happen, just knows he doesn’t want it to end. He tightens his hold on Eddie’s hair, wordlessly guiding his best friend’s lips back to his pulse, hoping Eddie would understand his unspoken plea.

Please don’t stop.

He hears Eddie’s sharp intake of breath, feels the way Eddie’s own hand tightens a fraction against the back of his skull.

Panic floods him. Fuck, I made it weird. Why did I pull him in like that? Since when did you, Evan Buckley, not know how to use your words?

But then he feels Eddie shudder against him, as his nose nudges along the column of Buck’s throat. Buck’s body answers with a shudder of his own, going pliant in Eddie’s grasp as his lips return to the spot on Buck’s pulse point.

Eddie doesn’t move, just rests his lips softly against him. The touch is barely there, so tender and soft, just the hint of pressure, as if Eddie is afraid of breaking him, of shattering Buck after just putting him back together. But Buck’s skin burns at the contact regardless, heat spreading through him like a wildfire.

A few long, agonizing beats pass before Eddie shifts slightly, closing the distance of their bodies further, until their thighs are pressed together. Buck’s breath stutters in his chest, his lungs momentarily forgetting how to work, resulting in a sharp inhale as he tries to overcorrect.

Eddie’s mouth moves carefully across Buck’s skin, peppering him with small, barely there kisses that make Buck ache with need. Eddie only pulls him closer, and Buck melts further into him, his touch so careful. In this moment, Buck feels more connected to his body than he has in weeks, like the fog has finally lifted, leaving only him and Eddie.

Eddie’s lips part softly, opening just enough to swipe his tongue along the side of Buck’s neck; the wetness makes him inhale sharply in surprise, and Eddie only answers with another lick along the underside of his jaw.

The fingers gripping the back of Buck’s head guide him, repositioning him, while Eddie’s lips and tongue and—oh god, his teeth—scrape and lick along his skin, and Buck is helpless to do anything but surrender to the movement, putty in Eddie’s hands.

He feels Eddie pause for a moment, his now opened mouth back directly on Buck’s pulse; he ducks his head further, his nose nudging the underside of Buck’s jaw as he closes his lips firmly around Buck’s pulse, and sucks.

A full moan escapes his throat, and he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, not when the sound seems to spur Eddie on, his pressure increasing against the spot.

And, oh, oh, he’s—

Eddie’s—

Eddie’s trying to—

Eddie’s trying to leave a hickey. On Buck’s neck.

Whatever remaining blood that hadn’t already migrated right to his groin, pulses in his veins, his body hot all over as he scrapes his nails across Eddie’s scalp, another small whimper escaping Buck’s lips.

Eddie pulls back slightly, his hot breath molten against Buck’s heated skin.

“This okay?” Eddie asks him, his voice hoarse.

Buck only nods, pulling Eddie closer, moving their bodies till Buck is leaning back against the pillow, prompt up against the headboard, Eddie hovering over him.

And, oh, okay. This was happening.

Buck knows, in this moment, there’s absolutely no coming back from this; he’ll never be able to forget how Eddie’s lips feel against his skin, or the way his body feels pressed against his, his hands holding him like he’s precious, like he’s loved.  

And he knows Eddie loves him, but he’ll never be in love with him. And if this the one chance he gets, to have Eddie like this; to know, for even a few minutes, how Eddie’s mouth feels on his skin, then he’s not going to waste it.

Even if it breaks his heart.

“Eds.” Buck whispers brokenly, another moan escaping him as Eddie repositions himself, his legs slotting more firmly between Buck’s thighs. The hand Buck doesn’t have buried in Eddie’s hair finds purchase against the small of Eddie’s back, pulling him closer, holding him in place.

“I’m just—Buck, I need…” Eddie separates his lips from Buck’s skin, raising his head away from Buck’s shoulder enough to look him in the eyes. Buck finally sees him, his pupils blown wide, his lips red from sucking on Buck’s neck. “Fuck, I don’t know what I need. I feel insane right now. I just need to see, you know? I need proof of the blood pumping underneath your skin.”

“And you decided a hickey was the only way to do that?” Buck laughs, a tad hysterical. Eddie responds by pressing his finger against the hickey beginning to form on his neck. Buck hisses at the touch and, in the dim light, Eddie’s eyes seem to get even darker. Hungrier.

Buck is so fucked.

~

It wasn’t just one hickey.

It was several hickeys, creating a very intense pattern of red and purple bruises along his jaw, neck, and collarbones.

Because apparently, Eddie wasn’t satisfied with just one hickey. No, of course not.

Eddie proceeded to mark Buck up, incredibly thorough in his ministrations. So good, in fact, that Buck had to avoid everyone, while they healed. He never thought he’d actually be grateful for his temporary suspension from work.

He had to turn down several invitations to hang out from every member of the 118; assuring them that no, he’s not struggling or relapsing, he promises, but instead just wants some time to himself after weeks of having his entire family camped out in his living room.

And it works, for the most part, everyone accepting his excuses. Choosing to believe and trust that he was okay. Or so he thought.

It had been a few days since the incident with Eddie; the hickeys had mostly faded, leaving faint yellowish bruises and marks along his skin. Barely noticeable.

Which is why Buck thought he was safe; he was wearing a black tank top, having just finished a small workout in his backyard, trying to get his stamina back for when he—hopefully—returned to work, which meant his chest and neck were fully exposed as he opened his front door, not expecting to see Maddie standing there.

Maddie’s eyes immediately narrow in on his neck, and she gasps. Fuck.

“Maddie? What are you doing here?”

Maddie doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at his neck in shock.

“Mads.” He tries again, feeling his cheeks heat under her scrutiny.

Maddie’s eyes dart back up to his face, eyes wide as she gapes at him. “Buck, what? Explain.”

She pushes past him, walking into his house. He looks around his front porch, eyes scanning the yard as if expecting the rest of the 118 to jump out of the bushes, before closing the door.

He has absolutely no idea how he’s going to explain this.

~

In the end, he tells her the truth. Or well, as much as he can, given how little even he understands what happened between them.

“I told you, it wouldn’t be so crazy.”

“Maddie, don’t.”

“But Evan—”

“Maddie, he straight. Drop it.”

“I don’t think a straight man gives their best friend hickeys, Buck.”

And, well. Buck didn’t know how to respond to that.

~

It’s another two days till Eddie shows up again, Christopher in tow, Thai food in hand.

The bruises have all but faded, leaving nothing but the memory of them and the ache in Buck’s heart as he struggles to make sense of it.

The dinner was normal enough, pleasant. Buck kept the conversation going, engaging with Christopher, asking him about school and his friends and any other topic he could possibly think of.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Eddie watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. He caught him looking at Buck’s neck several times, his eyes narrowing in on where the hickeys once were, and each time, Buck’s face would heat, and he would clear his throat awkwardly, before asking Chris another question.

Everything is fine. Buck had nothing to worry about. Or he didn’t, until Buck returned from the bathroom to find his buffer has disappeared.

“Wh—where’s Chris?” He asks, looking around the room for the curly haired fifteen-year-old.

“He just left,” Eddie explains, his shoulders shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way. “Had plans with some friends.”

“Oh.” Buck responds, panic setting in. He clears his throat, his gaze lingering on Eddie for a beat too long before darting away. “Okay, well. Thanks for dropping by. And for the dinner. I—”

 “Buck.” Eddie stops him. “I was thinking I could stay. That we could hang out.”

“Oh?”

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, his voice wavering a little, unsure.

“Of—of course, Eddie.”

Buck watches Eddie as he lets out a breath, his shoulders loosening as he smiles.

“Uh,” Buck hesitates, pointing to the next room. “Couch?”

Eddie nods, “sure.”

Which leads them to now; sitting on Buck’s couch, a game on that Buck isn’t paying attention to, too focused on the man sitting only a few inches away. They aren’t touching, but Buck swears that he can feel the heat radiating off the other man, making the hair on his arms stand up from under his hoodie.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweater, clenched tightly. And he wishes, desperately, that he could have a beer right now. Or that he could offer one to Eddie, at least. If only to have some semblance of normalcy between them. But, as a part of his recovery, there was currently no alcohol in his house.

Not a drop.

“Okay,” Eddie says, breaking Buck out of his thoughts. He whips his head to the side, to find Eddie already looking at him, his gaze tense.

“Buck, can I—?” He reaches his hand out, hovering over Buck’s neck, not touching.

Buck nods. “Of course, Eds. You don’t need to ask.”

Buck’s words seem to settle something in Eddie, and he closes the distance, fingers finding their home on Buck’s pulse. Eddie continues to look at Buck’s neck, his thumb moving across the side of his throat tentatively.

Buck supresses a shiver.

“I started this as a way to check on you, you know?” Eddie explains, his eyes still on Buck’s neck. “And once I started, I found it impossible to stop. I just needed to feel you, alive, under my fingers. To know your heart is still beating.”

Buck can only nod, Eddie’s words making his mouth dry.

“But then, it wasn’t enough.” Eddie continues, his eyes looking up to meet Buck’s, his gaze dark. Heated. “I needed to feel you with my mouth, too.” He licks his lips absently, eyes unfocused, as if remembering the last time his mouth was on Buck’s skin. His other hand lands on Buck’s thigh, only inches from his groin. Buck looks down at Eddie’s hand, on his thigh, only to be met with the sight of his dick; his fully erect dick, that had somehow, without Buck’s knowledge, or permission, had gotten fully hard, now straining painfully and rather obviously against the fabric of his pants.

A sound which Buck can only describe as a cross between a whine and a squeak falls from his lips, as he stares at Eddie in complete and utter disbelief.

“You’re kidding.” He finally manages to choke out.

Eddie is already dropping to his knees in front of Buck, pushing his coffee table out of the way as he moves, eliciting another whimper out of him, as he looks up at Buck through his lashes.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” Eddie asks as his hands slide up Buck’s thighs until he reaches his lap, letting his fingers trail along the outline of Buck’s dick through his sweats.

Buck’s cock hardens further at the contact.

Such a traitor.

“But— but you’re—?” Buck cuts off, a deep guttural groan escaping him as Eddie cups him firmly through his sweats, squeezing.

Now, Buck sadly can’t predict the future. So, he couldn’t possibly have known that, when he decided to forgo underwear when changing after his shower earlier, that his best friend was going to show up at his house with Thai food, and then later, when his guard was down, proposition him for a blowjob. His lack of psychic abilities meant that there was only one layer of material between his now fully hard cock and Eddie’s hand; he could feel the precum beginning to leak through, creating a wet spot on the grey fabric.

“I’m?” Eddie blinks up at him, cocking his head slightly in question as the free hand not gripping Buck’s dick trails up to the waistband of his pants. His fingers graze the skin of Buck’s stomach, the unexpected and tender touch making his breath hitch.

You’re straight? You’re straight and a renter? Straight men who are also renters don’t typically want to suck their best friend’s cock, Eddie!!

Buck’s brain screams, panic sirens wailing through his mind, every single nerve ending in his body on high alert. Mini Buck’s were running frantically around in his head, some panicking while others were forming teams, trying to evaluate the situation and find a solution. Externally, however, Buck is a statue, frozen completely in place, eyes wide as saucers as he blinks dumbly down at the man on his knees in front of him.

“Can I?” Eddie continues when Buck doesn’t respond.

“Fuck, yes. Please.” Buck finally gets out, practically begging, any and all excuses he could’ve made flying out the window; the Mini Buck’s in his mind have all stopped, going silent as they realize what’s happening. The need to feel Eddie’s hands— oh fuck, Eddie’s mouth— on him, is now the only thing that matters, heat pooling low in his gut.

“God, you’re so wet.”

Buck flushes.

“Hah— yeah.” He lets out a breathless moan as Eddie gathers the precum at his slit, moving it over the head.

“I guess the nickname firehose wasn’t just about your size?”

“Nope.”

“I haven’t, uh, I haven’t done this before,” Eddie admits, his confident demeanour cracking slightly as he holds Buck’s cock in his hand.

Buck gives him a soft smile, “Eddie, you don’t have to—”

“No, I want to.” Eddie cuts him off, his tone suggesting no arguments. He shifts his grip, stroking up and down Buck’s shaft, getting use to the feeling of it in his hands. Buck knows he’s thicker than most, and his eyes flutter shut as Eddie twists his wrist on his next stroke, a small moan escaping his lips.

“You just might need to guide me through it.”

“Eds, you’re sure?”

Eddie doesn’t respond again, instead choosing to lick at the tip, before taking it into his mouth.

“Oh, I can feel you pulsing on my tongue,” Eddie pulls off quickly to inform him, a small trail of spit and precum connecting his dick to Eddie’s lips snapping in the air. Buck’s toes curl at the sight.

His head falls back against the couch cushion behind him as Eddie takes him back in his mouth. One of Buck’s hands moves to Eddie’s head, burying his fingers in his hair as Eddie hums around his dick, the vibration making him moan.

Buck is fairly sure— almost certain, even—that Eddie is trying to suck his soul right from his body. Directly out through his cock. Buck only grips Eddie’s hair harder, the touch only encouraging Eddie to take the last few inches of him in his mouth, as he glides back up slowly before swallowing Buck down to the root.

The tip of his cock hits the back of Eddie’s throat and he chokes wetly, tears spilling down his cheeks, mixing with the spit and precum already there. He pulls off, his hand continuing to pump up and down Buck’s length, as he looks up at Buck.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive.”  Eddie says in awe, before swallowing around Buck again, bobbing his head, his movements becoming more confident the longer he works over Buck’s dick. And, of course, it only takes Eddie a few minutes to master a blow job.

Silver Star, indeed.

Buck feels his orgasm approaching, the telltale tension stirring low in his gut. His hand, that was still fisted in Eddie’s hair, grips him tighter, pulling him off with a wet pop, “Eddie, I’m gonna come.”

Eddie blinks at him, his eyes glassy, lips swollen red. He takes Buck back in his mouth, sucking at the head, his hand moving over the length of him. And, oh. Oh, fuck.

Eddie wants to swallow. I need to feel you with my mouth, too. That’s what Eddie said. Oh god.

“Ed—” he tries to say, a whine slipping past his lips as his best friend’s tongue moves over his slit, making him lightheaded. He grips Eddie’s hair tighter, his balls tightening up as he babbles. “Eddie, I’m gonna come. Are you sure? Eddie, oh, oh fuck. Eddie, I’m—I’m gonna—”

And he comes, straight down Eddie’s throat. Eddie works him through it, swallowing as much as he can, pulling off only when it becomes too much. The rest of Buck’s come lands on Eddie’s fist and face, and oh, wow, that’s a sight Buck’s never going to forget.

And when Eddie flops back down beside him on the couch, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks as he admits that he already came—while his mouth was still on Buck’s cock—and that it was “the quickest I’ve ever come, I barely had to touch myself”, Buck can only let out a strangled laugh, his heart panging painfully in his chest as he looks at his best friend.

His best friend, who just gave him a blowjob.

His straight best friend, who he was definitely in love with.

Fuck.

~

Nothing Eddie does should surprise Buck anymore. Really, after the last few weeks, there is nothing that Eddie could do that would surprise him.

Or so he thought.

Buck had tried to keep himself busy; he was cleared for active duty by his doctor, but as he was still on suspended leave—waiting to hear about his future as a firefighter with the LAFD—he had a lot of time on his hands. The only solution was to keep himself busy, very, very busy, which somehow translated into him becoming the personal errand boy for his friends and family.

He visited Maddie at dispatch, bringing her and her coworkers drinks and various baked goods. Baked goods that he, of course, made himself because, of course, in order to avoid spiralling over his best friend, that he was very much in love with, who had sucked his dick only days before, he resorted to stress baking.

Scones and cookies, cakes and breads. He made it all. He was currently in the middle of learning how to make lemon tarts. And yes, perhaps, lemon tarts were one of Eddie’s favourites, but that’s completely unrelated. Ravi liked lemon, too. Buck thinks.

Anyway.

He avoids the firehouse while the A shift is there, too; instead choosing to drop off a basket of pastries with a little handwritten note when he knows they’re out on call—perks of having a sister in dispatch—before making his hasty exit. Because while everything was okay; seriously, Buck was fine, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face the 118 as a whole.

He wasn’t sure that Hen wouldn’t be able to immediately tell from his expression that something was off; wasn’t sure Ravi wouldn’t be able to pinpoint a shift, in how Eddie and he interacted. So, he avoided them.

But really, everything was fine.

Which is why, a few days after Eddie gave him the best blow job of his life, the two of them were hanging out on his back patio, enjoying the fresh air and each other’s company. Because everything was fine.

Honestly.

Truly.

So, when Eddie, sitting in the chair to his right, turns his head to face him, Buck is prepared. Really, he’s been psyching himself up for days, preparing for this exact moment.

Did he know exactly what Eddie was about to say? No, he didn’t. But he knew there was absolutely nothing that Eddie could ask him of him, that he wouldn’t do.

Because he was completely and inconceivably in love with his best friend. Tommy was right—and Buck hated that, a little bit. And Maddie was right—Buck hated that less, of course, but still resented how well she knew him. Hell, even that Christmas elf Buck recalls from years ago, was right.

They all saw it. And now he does, too.

He sees it. Sees how Eddie has become the most important person in his life; has become his person, full stop. And he doesn’t know when it happened, doesn’t think he can pinpoint a single moment where he looked at Eddie and thought oh, you’re it for me.

And it doesn’t matter. Because Eddie is it, for him. Even if Eddie never feels the same way.

Which means, he’ll do whatever Eddie asks of him; would break his own heart a million times over, if it meant being with Eddie, even for a moment. Would leave his heart battered and bruised, fractured beyond repair, because it was Eddie's. To do with what he wants.

And Buck knows Eddie would never intentionally hurt him; would never do anything that would cause Buck pain. Which is why Buck won’t say anything. Won’t make it awkward, with his messy and ill-advised feelings. Can keep this completely platonic. He won’t make this about him.

So, yes, Buck was prepared. Or so he thought.

“Do you want to?” Eddie trails off, his eyes darting down to Buck’s lap; he shifts so his body is facing Buck’s, while his hand moves up the side of Buck’s neck, thumb brushing his pulse point. Buck’s heart flutters at the familiar touch, aching for more.

“Yeah,” Buck says all too quickly. He hopes Eddie will let him repay the favour. Has gotten himself off a few times the last few days, at the thought of sucking Eddie’s dick; Eddie’s name falling from his lips as he thinks about how Eddie would taste, how Eddie would sound as Buck swallows him down. “Like before, or—”

Eddie stops him, his eyes catching Buck’s, his gaze intense as he says, “actually, I was thinking we could do something else.”

Buck blue screens. Something else. Something else?

What else could they…?

“You want to fuck me?” He exclaims, a tad too loudly. He winces, sending out a silent apology to his neighbours.

“No, Buck,” Eddie leans in further, till he’s close enough that Buck could count every single one of his lashes. He opens his mouth, his breath ghosting across Buck’s face, voice barely above a whisper as he says, “I want you to fuck me.”

Buck knows Eddie feels how quickly his heart is beating through his neck, if the way Eddie’s grip tightens is anything to go by, his eyes steady on Buck, as he waits for his answer.

“Are you sure?” He whispers back in lieu of answering.

“Yes, Buck, I’m sure.” Eddie replies, thumb still pressed against his pulse.

“Then, okay.”

“Yeah?”

Buck nods.

Eddie pulls back and stands up, offering his hand which Buck takes wordlessly, letting himself be led through the patio doors that connect to his bedroom. Eddie drops his hand once they are inside and Buck makes quick work of closing the curtains, before moving to his side table, grabbing a condom and a bottle of lube.

Eddie looks down at the lube in Buck’s hand, his cheeks turning pink in the soft light of the room, lit only by Buck’s bedside lamp.

“I, um.” Eddie pauses, letting out a shaky laugh. His eyes flit away from Buck’s, looking past him as he wrings his hands together in front of him, clenching and unclenching— suddenly shy, such a dramatic shift from how he was acting a moment ago— and Buck watches, fascinated, as the apples of his cheeks turn an even brighter pink. “I already…”

Eddie trails off, the end of his sentence nothing more than a mumble. Buck tilts his head, confused.

“What?”

“I already, uh—” Eddie coughs, the blush spreading up to the tips of his ears. “Prepped.”

Buck blinks, his ears ringing, the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

He shakes his head; he obviously misheard him.

“You?”

“Prepped.”

“Prepped?” Buck breathes.

“Prepped.”

“Oh,” Buck says faintly, his voice sounding far away in his ears. “Okay.”

Eddie prepped. Eddie came here with the intention of asking Buck to fuck him; Eddie sat beside him, on his back patio, casually, as if he wasn’t loose and ready for Buck to fuck him. He knows he’s staring at Eddie, a dumbfounded— heavy emphasis on the dumb— expression on his face, and whatever his face is doing must be amusing, as it makes Eddie laugh. A soft breathless sound, a sound that Buck wants to bottle so he could listen to it again and again; Buck can see the tension melting from Eddie’s body as he gives Buck a fond smile.

“Did I break you?” Eddie’s hands come up and settle carefully on Buck’s chest, the touch jolting his entire body, his heart beating double time at the contact.

Buck doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to. So, he doesn’t, at least not with words. Before he realizes what’s happening, his arms are moving, closing what little space is left between them as he cups Eddie’s face in his hands, and pulls Eddie’s lips to his.

And, oh.

Buck has had his fair share of first kisses—soft and hesitant, hot and heavy, between strangers and familiar people alike— but absolutely nothing compares to the feeling of Eddie’s lips beneath his. And yes, it’s a little awkward; the angle is off and their noses are squished together, and Eddie’s lips are pursed in a truly comical way, because Buck is squashing his cheeks in his hands. But still, it’s perfect. It’s only then that his mind catches up with the rest of his body and he abruptly pulls away, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“Fuck, Eddie.” Buck says, his voice panicked. He just kissed Eddie. Oh, god. “Was that, okay? I’m so sorry—”

“Buck,” Eddie cuts him off abruptly; his hands, which had still been pressed against Buck’s chest, were now clenched tightly in Buck’s shirt, fisting the fabric, and he uses his grip on him to pull Buck closer, till their noses brush. Buck shivers at the contact. “Please, shut up.”

He doesn’t say anymore, just crashes their mouths together; a surprised moan escaping Buck, his mouth dropping open on the sound, as his hands find purchase on Eddie’s shoulder. His knees buckle, his legs threatening to give out, as Eddie uses the opportunity to dip his tongue into Buck’s mouth, meeting Buck’s own in a hot glide.

Buck clings tighter, his hands moving down Eddie’s body, mapping out the hard lines of his muscles and the ridges of his spine, till he reaches Eddie’s waist, his grip turning possessive as he walks them back, till he has Eddie crowded against his bedroom door.

Eddie arches against him, his body going pliant against the wooden door as he continues to lick into Buck’s mouth, one of his hands moving up to tangle in Buck’s curls while the other settles on his pulse. The touch against his pulse, so achingly familiar, takes on new meaning, new importance, and the thought sends heat licking up and down his spine, as he adjusts his hold on Eddie, his palms finding purchase on his ass, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Buck,” his name falls from Eddie’s lips, voice throaty and raw, as he breaks the kiss, “clothes— off. Get them off.”

Buck can only nod, hating that he has to take his hands off Eddie for even a second to get his shirt over his head, but then, they’re both shirtless. And Buck seen Eddie shirtless countless of times, has even let himself look a time or two— he only has so much self restraint— but now he’s not only allowed to look, but to touch.

And touch he does.

He runs his hands down Eddie’s chest, his fingers trailing long his pecks, down between his abs, to his stomach. Eddie lets out a keening noise, grasping Buck’s arm tightly, his hands hot against Buck’s skin.

Their eyes meet, and it’s like time stands still for a moment, with nothing but the sound of their laboured breathing filling the otherwise silent space, and then they’re kissing again; it’s more intense, it’s hot and dirty, and Buck feels like he’s drowning, drowning in Eddie’s taste and sound and touch.

Buck’s hands move back to Eddie’s waist, turning Eddie away from the wall and backing them up till they hit his bed. Eddie lets himself fall back onto the mattress, looking up at Buck with a look in his eyes that makes Buck’s heart race. Eddie’s hands reach out, his hands toying with the strings on Buck’s sweats.

“Can I?” Eddie asks quietly, looking up at Buck through his lashes.

Buck’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He can only nod, a little too enthusiastically if the amused smile Eddie gives him is anything to go by.

Eddie pulls down Buck’s pants and briefs in one go, and his cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. He moans low as Eddie grabs him at the base, his whole body shuddering as Eddie’s hand pumps him a few times, his grip firm, more sure than the first time he did this.

Because of course it only took Eddie one blow job to figure out exactly how to make Buck feel good.

He feels a pull low in his gut— and oh, god, he’s already close. Embarrassingly close. He reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist, stopping him.

“Eds,” he laughs breathlessly. “I’m gonna come if you keep touching me.”

Eddie’s breath hitches at that, his eyes turning dark. He releases his grip on Buck, and shuffles up the bed, not breaking eye contact as he removes his own bottoms.

And oh.

Eddie’s naked. And also, very hard.

And of course, Eddie’s cock is as pretty as the rest of him. Buck shouldn’t be surprised. It’s long and thick, flushed a beautiful shade of pink, and Buck’s mouth waters at the sight of it.

Buck climbs on top of Eddie and the other man doesn’t wait before pulling him into another kiss, pulling Buck’s full weight on top of him. 

Buck reaches blindly between them, passing over Eddie’s cock until he reaches Eddie’s rim, circling it teasingly before pushing a finger in. And fuck, Eddie wasn’t lying. He did prep.

Eddie fingered himself before coming here, Buck is dizzy with want. He presses in further, adding another finger, as he pumps in and out.

He feels Eddie shake under him and he quickly adds a third finger, stretching the digits, adjusting his angle slightly, searching for—

“Fuck!” Eddie groans out, his mouth disconnecting from Buck’s as Buck continues to hit his prostate with his fingers. “Buck, please. I’m ready. I’m—”

“Okay,” Buck doesn’t remove his fingers as he leans over to grab the condom from where he left it on the bed, but Eddie stops him, pulling his mouth back to Eddie’s for a quick kiss.

“No condom,” Eddie pants out, words hot against Buck’s mouth. “I want to feel you.”

“Are you sure—?”

“Yes.” He moans, his mouth dropping in a silent cry as Buck hits his prostate again in quick succession before pulling away. He tries to push back, his face twisted in frustration as he tries to keep Buck’s fingers against him, but Buck quickly retracts them, removing his fingers completely. Buck stares in awe, blinking dumbly as Eddie’s hole clenches down on nothing. 

Fuck.

Eddie opens his eyes to glare at him and Buck has to stifle a laugh.

“Buckley, if you don’t get in me right now, I swear to god—” Buck silences him with another kiss, a thrill going up his spine at the fact that he’s allowed to do that.

Eddie goes pliant immediately, licking into Buck’s mouth as Buck moves them into a better position, never once separating their lips. He settles between Eddie’s thighs, hooking one of his arms under Eddie’s knee to spread his legs wider to accommodate him.

He grabs his cock, holding himself at the base— squeezing, holding off his release, not entirely sure he’s not immediately going to come the second he’s in Eddie— as he pushes his head against Eddie’s rim.

He feels Eddie tense under him, bracing for the intrusion, and whispers against his lips, “relax for me, Eds. I got you,” and Eddie shivers, nodding as he uses his hands, which had settled in Buck’s curls, to pull his lips back to Eddie’s.

And oh, oh fuck, Eddie truly wasn’t lying. He did prep. Buck slides in, Eddie’s body fully embracing— no, devouring— him, opening up for Buck so perfectly until he’s fully seated, his hips pressed firmly against Eddie’s ass.

“Oh, god,” Eddie gasps out, disconnecting his lips from Buck’s as he drops his head back against the pillow below him, his body going taunt as he adjusts to the fullness. He laughs wetly, a hiccup escaping him as he says. “I can feel you throbbing inside me.”

it takes every ounce of self control he has not to move. His eyes are still closed, his head spinning as Eddie shifts slightly, experimentally clenching down as he gets used to the stretch. Buck takes a few deep breaths, bracing himself, before opening his eyes, taking in the man spread out underneath him.

And he immediately regrets it.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, his lips swollen, and his redden cheeks—the blush that has spread down his neck and across his chest. Eddie looks like every single wet dream that Buck’s never allowed himself to think about ever having, come to life. He’s overwhelmed as he leans in, pressing kisses along Eddie’s cheek, down the side of his throat, across his pecks; he follows the path of the flushed skin with his lips, licking and sucking at the skin as he savours the taste of salt and musk and Eddie.

Eddie begins to squirm under him, clenching down on Buck, halting Buck’s tongue as it dips into the hollow curve of his collarbone.

“Move, Buck. Move—Oh, fuck—” Eddie sobs as Buck pulls out halfway before pushing back in, achingly slow. He tries to maintain a slow, steady pace, let Eddie adjust to the stretch, but Eddie pushes back against him, using his hands against the sheets below him as leverage to move his hips back against Buck, until Buck is pumping in and out, fast and hard.

“Eddie—Eddie, fuck, you’re so tight.” Buck moans, picking up the pace, his hips slapping against Eddie.

Buck knows he’s leaking, can tell by how slippery the glide in and out of Eddie is. Eddie must be able to feel it to, his lips dropping open as he pants wetly, a steady stream of ‘ah ah ah’ leaving his lips as Buck continues to thrust.

God, I love him. He thinks, holding back a sob as he looks down at Eddie’s face, which is screwed up in pleasure.

Buck adjusts his angle, pushing Eddie’s knee further into his chest until he’s hitting Eddie’s prostate dead on. Eddie cries out, his body arching off the bed. He takes himself in his hand, only pumping once, twice, until he’s coming. And Buck doesn’t stop, keeps fucking Eddie through his orgasm, chasing his own release, until Eddie clenches down on him, hard, stopping his thrusts, till he’s buried to the hilt, groaning deep as he spills inside Eddie.

Eddie’s brings his hand up, gripping the side of Buck’s neck, his thumb pressed firmly against Buck’s pulse, as he pulls him into a kiss, swallowing the sounds that spill from Buck’s lips as he finishes.

They continue to trade kisses, their movements unhurried. Languid. So different from their previous kisses. Until Eddie pulls away, looking at Buck with a dimpled smile on his face, his cheeks still rosy.

“Wow,” Eddie says, a small laugh escaping him.

“Yeah—” Buck responds, his mind and heart racing as his breath evens out. “Wow.”

“Nap?” Eddie asks, his voice completely normal. Like it was an average day. Like Buck’s dick wasn’t still inside him.

“Y—Yeah, sure.”

Buck pulls away, pulling out of Eddie slowly. He drops down on the bed beside Eddie, careful to avoid crushing the other man with his weight. Eddie’s eyes have fluttered shut again as he stretches slightly, a content sigh leaving his lips, and Buck gives himself a moment to just look at him. His mused hair and flushed cheeks, his long lashes and the small mole under his eye, the scattering of bruises beginning to appear on his skin, along his throat and jaw, because of Buck. His heart flutters helplessly at the sight.

He turns his head away, looking up at his bedroom ceiling; the light fluttering in his chest is replaced with a heavy feeling of dread, as the reality of what they just did hits him.

Oh, no. What has he done?

~

Buck waits for the other shoe to drop.

They haven’t talked about what happened and it’s been over a week.

Nine days to be exact.

Nine days since Buck laid there, stiff as a board while Eddie slept soundly beside him. Laid there staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing a million miles a minute as he tried—and failed—to process what he had done. What he had let happen.

Eventually, Eddie stirred awake; Buck feigns sleep, keeping himself as still as possible as he feels Eddie leave the bed, heading to shower.

When Buck eventually joined him, also showered and changed, he finds Eddie lounging on his couch, pizza ordered with a movie queued up to watch. He was just sitting there, feet propped up on the coffee table, a can of soda in his hand. He was wearing Buck’s clothes—a pair of basketball shorts and a shirt that was normally oversized on Buck, which meant it was extra oversized on Eddie. He looked so relaxed and cozy, hair free of any product, soft and fluffy from being air dried.

He looks like he’s mine, Buck’s traitorous heart beats.

And that was that.

He joined Eddie on the couch. Watched the movie Eddie had chosen and ate the pizza that Eddie had ordered.

And that was that.

Eddie went home, never mentioning what happened between them.

And that was that.

And now, nine days later, Buck was at his breaking point.

~

In those nine days, Buck had returned to work. Which just so happens to also be the only time Buck had seen Eddie since that night.

And obviously, they weren’t going to discuss it while at work.

And, apparently, Eddie was determined to act like everything was normal. He interacted with Buck the same way he did before everything happened; greeting him with a smile as he walked into the station, offering to help Buck cook for the team, and even bumping fists with him during calls.

And, apparently, he was so focused on how completely normal Eddie was being, that it wasn’t until his third shift back that Buck noticed that the two of them hadn’t been alone together once. Someone—Ravi, Hen, Harry—was always there, acting like a buffer.  

But despite that, he has hope.

Hope is truly a terrifying and cruel thing, Buck muses. And, in the last few weeks, it had been dangling in front of him—like a horse with a carrot—stringing him along, Buck never quite managing to grasp it. But now, it digs it’s nails in him, claws at his insides, leaving him feeling hollow.

Nevertheless, his heart—his bruised and beaten heart—refused to give up. Refuses to let the hope go, no matter how much it hurts to keep holding on.

Which brings us to right now.

Buck was pacing.

He was on his first forty-eight off since his return to work. It was the weekend, too. It was Saturday afternoon and Buck had been up since dawn, sleep evading him again, much like it had been every night since he slept with Eddie.

He’d already went on a run and lifted weights in his backyard, ran some errands including picking up his dry cleaning and doing his grocery shopping for the week, and had done three loads of laundry.

After all of that, he should be tired. Should be able to lay down and nap for a few hours.

But no.

His brain wouldn’t turn off, wouldn’t give him a second of reprieve. Just kept replaying the events of that night over and over and over, driving himself insane.

Hence, the pacing.

As he was just about to lap his kitchen for the thirty-third time in the last hour, the doorbell rings, halting him in his tracks. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Could it be? He walks cautiously to the window, peering through his blinds.

Eddie.

His heart leaps in his chest at the sight of his best friend standing on his doorstep; he shuts the blinds quickly as he moves over to the door. He runs a nervous hand through his curls as he takes a deep breath. It’s fine, he thinks. It’s just Eddie.

Just your best friend, Eddie. Just the love of your life, Eddie.

He sighs, fixing a smile on his face as he opens the door.

“Eddie,” he says, his voice a tad breathless. He clears his throat. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Eddie replies, a hesitant smile on his face.

They both stand there, unmoving.

“Can I?” Eddie asks, voice trailing off as he gestures past the threshold.

“Oh!” Buck jumps, stepping aside to let Eddie in. “Right, of course. Come in.”

He closes the door, resisting the urge to open it again, and bolt. He instead wipes his hands on his pant legs, hands clammy.

“Buck, I—”

“Did you want—”

They both pause. Eddie’s lips quirk in bemusement, laughing softly.

Buck tries again. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Uh, sure. Got any juice?”

“Um, yes?” Buck’s brows furrow slightly at the request. Juice? “I just bought some orange juice this morning. Be right back.” Buck flees to the kitchen, heart in his throat. Eddie hadn’t been back to Buck’s house since that fateful day. What was he doing here now?

He opens the fridge, grabbing the fresh carton of orange juice. He crosses over to the cupboard and pulls out two glasses. He places them on the counter and grabs the carton, filling each glass, slowly. Very slowly, in fact. Buck is certain that absolutely no one has ever poured juice slower in the history of the world.

Yes, he’s stalling. Sue him.

He sighs, looking down at the two glasses of juice— both, finally, fully poured— as if they somehow held the answers to his many, many questions.

He walks back into the room, also very slowly, plastering what he can only hope is a convincing smile on his face, to find Eddie sitting at his dining table.

“Thanks,” Eddie says when Buck places the drink in front of him. Buck sits across the table, clutching his own glass tightly in his hands.

Eddie takes a sip of his juice, before pushing the glass aside, giving Buck his full attention. Buck holds his own glass tighter in front of him, a shield of sorts. As if pulp free orange juice could save him from this conversation.

“So,” Eddie starts, keeping his voice even. “I think we need to talk.”

“We do?” Buck asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. Nonchalant.

He may squeak, just a little.

Eddie gives him a dry look, choosing to ignore the squeak— for his own benefit or Buck’s, he’s not sure, but Buck’s grateful, nonetheless.

“Buck, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Buck’s resolve wanes and he feels his smile fall, cracking slightly around the edges.

Eddie must notice, too, because he sighs, his shoulders dropping as he looks down at the table. His mouth is turned down in a frown, his expression pinched, and he looks… defeated? He looks sad and hurt and it’s Buck’s fault.

And no, that’s not okay. And now, Buck’s heart hurts, not just for himself and his own unrequited feelings, but it hurts for Eddie. Because the last thing Buck ever wants to see is Eddie hurt; and he never, ever, wants to be the reason for that hurt.

He reaches out, one hand dropping from the vice grip he has on his still full glass of juice, now damp from the condensation, and tentatively places his hand on Eddie’s. Eddie pulls back as if burned and, right, of course; of course, Eddie wouldn’t want Buck touching him. That makes sense. Buck’s heart pangs helplessly again, squeezing uncomfortably in his chest. And it hurts, it hurts so much, but Buck pushes on, ignoring the pain in his chest, his hand hovering awkwardly in the space between them.

“Eddie, I—”

Eddie doesn’t let him continue, just pushes his chair back, abruptly standing, the words dying on Buck’s lips as Eddie begins pacing the length of the table opposite him.

“I’ve tried waiting for you to come to me,” Eddie finally says, breaking the silence between them. He doesn’t stop moving, keeps pacing back and forth, on the same floor Buck had been pacing on before Eddie’s arrival, his shoes shuffling against the hardwood, squeaking every time he turns around to pace the opposite way. “Even though Karen and Hen said I should just talk to you about it. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to rush you.”

He talked to Hen and Karen about this? What did he tell them? Did he tell them what we did? Is that why Hen has been giving me those weird looks all week?

“But clearly, you’re avoiding me.” Eddie presses on, oblivious to Buck’s internal stream of questions.

“I’m avoiding you?” Buck blurts out, his mouth dropping open in shock as he looks at his best friend. Eddie thinks Buck’s avoiding him?

“Yes, and I understand it might be difficult to hear, but I need to say it, anyway.” Eddie has his determined face on; eyes slightly narrowed as he faces Buck head on. Chin up, shoulders back, with his arms planted firmly against his sides.

Such a solider, Buck thinks fondly.

It’s only then that Eddie’s words hit him and Buck feels his stomach drop. Oh, no. He’s here to reject me.

“Eddie, you don’t—” Buck starts to say, his voice shaking slightly, his mouth suddenly dry. He could drink his juice, still clutched in his hands, but he doesn’t move. Can’t move. He can feel his eyes starting to burn and he struggles to swallow around lump forming in his throat and— and no, absolutely not, Buck is not about to cry in front of Eddie. He can’t. He won’t.

He needs Eddie to leave. Immediately.

“Buck, please. Let me get this out.” He looks down at Eddie’s hands, watches as his hands clench and unclench, over and over, again and again.

“Eddie, it’s okay, I understand—”

“No, Buck. Listen.”

Buck opens his mouth to argue, still staring resolutely at Eddie’s hands, but Eddie pushes on.

“Buck, I’m in love with you.”

“Eddie, it’s okay—” Buck freezes, brain struggling to process Eddie’s words. His head snaps up to Eddie’s face. What? “What?”

“I’m in love with you.” Eddie repeats, slowly, his lips twitching slightly, as if fighting a smile. Oh, okay. Alright. That’s what Buck thought he heard the first time. Wait, what?

“No, you’re not.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow and he crosses his arms over his chest, defensive. “Yes, I am.”

Buck’s eyes flit to Eddie’s arms, the sleeves of his henley stretching obscenely against the muscles of his biceps—and no, Buck scolds himself, now is not the time. He shakes his head, his mouth dropping open, the words spilling out of him before he has time to think.

“But you’re straight.”

It’s now Eddie’s turn to blink at Buck in shock. No, not shock. Eddie’s completely taken aback, he’s stunned. Flabbergasted, even. And for several long, excruciating seconds, he just stares, in a flabbergasted way, at Buck. Seconds that feel like hours, where Buck can only hold his breath and try not to squirm while his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. Because, underneath Eddie’s look of shock, is a look of utter and ridiculous fondness that Buck has only ever seen directed towards himself. The fondness makes his heart want to leap across the table, give itself over to Eddie completely. It makes him, for a moment, forget about what they were talking about, until Eddie says.

“No, I’m not.”

“Not?” Buck says faintly, shaking his head to refocus on their conversation. Unfortunately for him, Eddie continues to look at him with his fond filled eyes— somehow even more fond filled than before— making it increasingly difficult. Buck pulls his eyes away, his attention momentarily catching on the mole under Eddie’s eye, but being still far too close to his eyes, he redirects to Eddie’s earlobe instead.

There. Earlobes are safe.

“Not straight, Buck.” Eddie confirms as he begins walking around the table to where Buck’s still sitting. “I’m gay.”

“Gay?”

“Gay.”

“You’re not gay.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Buck.”

“You’re not gay, Eddie! You can’t be gay.” Buck argues, his voice taking on a slightly hysterical tone. Suddenly he’s standing, the abrupt action making the legs of the wooden chair drag harshly across the floor, the sound cutting through the otherwise silent house.

Eddie freezes, halfway around the table, his eyes wide, stunned again. Buck doesn’t think, just quickly turns away, making his way back into the kitchen.

He knows Eddie’s going to follow him, but he just needs a second to breathe. A second to process. A second away from Eddie’s too fond eyes.

Buck places his glass in the sink—because of course, the orange juice was still in his hand as he made his quick exit—but doesn’t turn on the tap, just looks down at the still full glass of orange juice, unseeing. His hands move to grip the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white, as his head drops between his shoulders. He tries to take a few deep breaths, but they come out unsteady, his lungs apparently as shaken up as he is.

Buck, I’m in love with you.

Eddie loves him?

I’m gay.

Eddie’s gay?

“You okay?”

Buck turns around to find Eddie standing in the doorway.

“I’m so sorry for what I just said,” Buck pauses, taking a deep breath as he meets Eddie’s eyes again. He wants to do this right. No. Needs to do this right. “Thank you for telling me, Eds. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, bud.” Eddie replies, his eyes soft. Fond. Slightly exasperated.

Buck turns away, hope filling his chest. He can’t help but ask, just needing to be sure. “You’re really not straight?”

“Buck,” Eddie takes a step into the room, closing the distance between them. “We slept together. I gave you hickeys. I sucked on your neck—Buck, I sucked your cock.”

Buck’s cock jumps in his jeans, as if hearing Eddie mention it. Me? His cock asks.

“Yeah, so?” He says, ignoring his cock entirely. It twitches again, demanding attention.

“You were inside me.” Eddie deadpans.

“That doesn’t mean anything! A lot of straight men enjoy penetrative sex.” Buck argues, crossing his arms defensively. He himself enjoyed it quite a bit prior to discovering he was bi.

Eddie just blinks at him.

“Pegging exists, Eddie.”

Buck watches as Eddie closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a few slow, measured breaths. Eddie’s eyes snap open, the determined expression from before reappearing. Before he realizes what’s happening, Eddie’s in front of him, pulling Buck’s lips to his.

Buck’s arms, which were still crossed over his chest, drop immediately, his hands finding purchase on Eddie’s hips.

He feels his butt hit the counter as Eddie crowds into him, bullying his way in between Buck’s legs as he licks his way into Buck’s mouth, swallowing the moan he lets out as he feels Eddie’s denim covered cock brush against his own.

His hand moves instinctively down to Eddie’s ass, his palms squeezing him through his jeans as he tries to pull Eddie closer, grinding down, seeking friction.

Eddie whines, disconnecting his lips from Buck’s as he pants hotly in Buck’s face. “I’m gay, Buck. Very, very gay.”

The words hit Buck like a bucket of ice water and he pulls back, meeting Eddie’s eyes. 

“You’re gay?”

Eddie nods.

“And you’re in love with me?”

“So it would seem.”

“I love you, too.”

Eddie smiles shyly, dimple appearing on his cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Buck nods, ducking his head as he admits. “I am so in love with you, Eds. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Eddie hums, letting his hand cup the side of Buck’s neck, his fingers pressing against the familiar spot on Buck’s pulse. “Well, you can start by letting me love you back.”

Buck tilts his neck, leaning into the touch, his heart beating steadily in Eddie’s hold. 

“Okay.”