Archive of Our Own

“‘M gonna die,” Buck mumbles into a pillow. He’s been sprawled facedown on the bed for nearly five minutes now, which, by Eddie’s estimation, is five minutes longer than necessary. 

He’s in no mood to egg Buck on when he’s already taken to rolling over, like he’s trying to fuse with the bedding. It’s eerily similar to the way slime sometimes melts into surfaces when left unattended. 

He’s also blatantly ignoring the movie, like the twenty minutes Eddie had spent setting up Buck’s laptop means nothing to him. The laptop which he’d propped up between them, in Buck’s bed, because Buck had insisted that watching a movie would remain a bed-activity until he buys a TV. Eddie isn't going to complain. Eddie really likes Buck's bed. 

The thing is this: Eddie had been the one to suggest a night in. It's been difficult seeing Buck outside of work as of late, and he misses him. With Christopher at a sleepover, Eddie had figured that this — spending time together away from distraction — was something they both wanted. 

So they’re here. In. Hanging out in Buck’s new house. Buck had agreed to this, but now, for whatever reason, Buck is huffing and puffing like a dog. 

Side-eyeing Buck, Eddie takes another pull of his beer. He remains silent. Strategically. On the laptop, Cars 3 — Buck’s recently acquired obsession — plays on. Privately, Eddie’s wondered if Buck's fascination with the movie has anything to do with the its tagline: From this moment, everything will change. It's not over until lightning strikes. 

Like his favourite movie isn’t on right now, Buck sighs. Eddie ignores him. 

A mere five seconds later, Buck sighs again, this time with what can only be described as gusto. 

Eddie pauses the movie. “Okay, what?” 

Rolling onto his side, Buck blinks blearily at him. The honeyed light of the lamp catches his eyes, making them look darker than they are. “I’m bored.” 

Eddie huffs a laugh. “You picked the movie, bud.” 

“You shouldn’t have let me,” Buck tells him seriously. Despite himself, Eddie cracks a smile. 

“My bad.” He reaches out, tugging gently at one of Buck’s curls. “Wanna put something else on?” 

Buck heaves another great sigh, rubbing at his forehead. He takes a moment to think about it before shaking his head, pushing himself up against the headboard again. “No, I— sorry. I think I’m just— I don’t know.” 

“You’re…?” Eddie prompts. 

“Just,” Buck flaps a hand in the air. “Restless.” 

“Restless.” 

“Pent up,” Buck amends. 

Oh. 

Eddie’s eyes dart to Buck’s cheeks, watching a rosy flush spread atop his cheekbones. 

Oh. 

“Pent up?” Eddie echoes, caught between amused and incredulous. 

“Can we go out?” Buck asks instead of elaborating, gaze tripping over to the window. Eddie wonders if he’s considering an act of self-defenestration. “I just— I need to move.” 

“Because you’re pent up?” 

Buck groans, tipping his head back. “I haven’t had sex in months, man.” 

Good, Eddie thinks, a little meanly. 

It’s not good. Not really. Eddie’s just— he’s overprotective. And not entirely sympathetic to Buck’s plight, when his plight has to do with getting his dick wet. He’s also, maybe, a little annoyed with Buck right now. The last time they went out, dragging Ravi with them, Buck had sworn up and down that he was going to wingman Eddie. Which didn’t work out, thankfully. But he got himself laid, which was almost as bad as scoring Eddie a date with a woman. 

Because Eddie doesn’t want to date women. He also really, really doesn’t want to hear about all the sex Buck’s having, given Eddie’s whole— predicament. 

The predicament being the whole oh-God-I’m-so-fucking-in-love-with-him thing. 

Eddie’s processed it. He is fully aware of his homosexuality and entirely unwilling to do anything about it. Or— well. He’s willing. With the right person. But the right person has been through a lot recently, and Eddie can’t devote more than a few minutes at a time to thinking about having sex with him or— fuck, holding his hand, without getting dizzy. 

So. Baby steps. 

He’s come out to Christopher, at least. Frank is proud of him, even though Eddie hasn’t told a single other person. 

“Neither have I,” Eddie reminds him, wiping his suddenly-sweaty palms on his thighs. “You don’t see me complaining.” 

“Because you don’t do that,” Buck shoots back. “You don’t do casual sex, or— or, like, regular sex. You’re well-adjusted.” 

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Buck — clever, perceptive Buck — regularly draws conclusions like that. It’s as though he sees Eddie through some secret, rose-coloured lens. Claiming that Eddie is well-adjusted is akin to claiming Mothman is real— which is to say that evidence points to no, but saying so definitively might cause some upset. (In Buck. And Christopher, probably.) (And, maybe, a portion of West Virginia.) 

He’s not about to point that out, though, lest he blow his whole Tell Buck You’re Gay & Maybe, Possibly, Definitely In Gay Love With Him In A Subtle And Cool Way operation. 

“You don’t do casual either.” 

Buck blows a raspberry. “Honestly, I think I could, at this point. I know I want something serious, but I’m— I’m just so—” 

Horny, Eddie fills in for him, in the privacy of his own mind. Buck’s horny, and it’s distracting him. That much is clear. This isn’t even the first time it’s happened in Eddie’s vicinity— though it is the first time since Eddie had his big, very scary, and late revelation. 

It doesn’t matter. Like the last few times, Eddie needs to come up with a solution. 

“You could just,” Eddie says, waving his hands in the air to stall. “Jerk off here.” 

Okay. So, that wasn’t what Eddie had been planning on saying. But it’s out there now. 

Next to him, Buck makes a noise like he’s swallowed a trumpet. “Eddie, I can’t— that’s insane. No.” 

“Why not?” Eddie asks, even though he knows very well why not. Insanely, he adds, “I’ve done it before.” 

This gives Buck pause. He blinks at Eddie, mouth parting ever so slightly. “W-what?” 

“With other people in the room,” Eddie clarifies. “Back when I was in the military.” 

“Okay, Eddie,” Buck says, voice deceptively even. “So, um. The thing is, we’re not. In the military. So.” 

“I know.” 

He does not know. Eddie knows nothing. He is a vat of anti-knowledge. 

“Okay. S-so, you get it then. I’m not in— in the barracks with you. I could just have sex. W-with someone else, in another location.” 

Something fiery and upset flares to life in Eddie’s gut, coiling like a snake. He doesn’t want Buck to go have anonymous sex, or to go, period. It’s not often he gets Buck to himself — this week notwithstanding — and he’d like to make the most of it. 

He doesn’t understand why his best friend’s sex drive has to get in the way of that. Not if there’s a simple solution. 

“Do it in the bathroom,” Eddie suggests. 

Buck groans, burying his face in his hands. Through his fingers, he says, “I’m not doing that.” 

He picks up his phone, pretending it doesn’t very nearly slip out of his clammy hands, and opens Instagram. He needs to appear unaffected. He’s unbothered by the predicament he’s found himself in; Buck’s libido does not matter to him whatsoever. “Do it here, then.” 

Buck sighs through his nose, lifting his head again. Eddie flickers his eyes up to look at him, noting the soft pink of his cheeks, and the shine of his lips, like he’s been licking them. 

He looks good. He looks really, really good. This is the worst possible thing that could be happening to Eddie, and he manufactured it. He made this situation happen. There is nobody but himself to blame. 

Eddie lowers his phone. 

“Come on,” Eddie says, softening his voice. “I want to hang out with you. If… clearing the pipes’ll make that happen, then I’m all for it.” 

Buck’s teeth dig into his lower lip, fingers twisting around the hem of his shirt. It rides up a little, revealing a sliver of pale skin, and Eddie valiantly ignores the heat pooling in his gut. 

Mumbling, Buck says, “I guess I am pretty pent up.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “So do it.” 

“I— I’d need, um.” Buck picks an invisible piece of lint off of the duvet. “I need material. Porn, or whatever. To— to get there.” 

The thing is, Eddie’s always been kind of curious about what kind of porn Buck watches. The few times he’s let himself dwell on it, he’s imagined Buck watching all sorts of porn— bondage films, solo films, homemade films. Buck’s a curious guy, so it would make sense for him to watch whatever catches his eye in the heat of the moment. But what turned him on? What makes his orgasms so good that he revisits the genre? 

Affecting indifference, Eddie shrugs. “Put some on.” 

Almost desperately, Buck says, “I’m not watching porn right next to you.” 

And— that’s fair. It is. Eddie wouldn’t pressure Buck into doing that. Buck wouldn’t fold if he didn’t want to, anyway. 

It’s just that… Eddie’s pretty sure that Buck does want to. They’ve known each other for nearly a decade; reading him is second nature to him. 

There’s a line, is the thing. A line Eddie has quietly been toeing for years. He’s been trying to be patient with himself, letting himself approach it a few times to dispel the notion that dangerous territory lies beyond it. Because the territory is— well. It’s Buck. It’s Buck, and what he makes Eddie feel. Which is a lot. Objectively. 

Eddie sometimes wonders how Buck hasn’t noticed it. There’s a self-replenishing cistern of the stuff, of love and trust and fondness reserved for Buck, in Eddie, always threatening to spill over the brim. 

Eddie loves him. He loves him so much that he does crazy, reckless things about it. 

Case in point: 

“You’re an ass guy, right?” Eddie asks. 

Wearily, Buck narrows his eyes. “Yeah?” 

Nodding, Eddie hands Buck his phone and rolls over onto his stomach, folding his arms beneath him. 

“Um.” 

“Put on whatever you like,” Eddie says, nodding at his phone in Buck’s slack hands. 

Buck fishmouths at him, eyes wide. Voice edging on hysterical, Buck manages, “You’re lying down— why?” 

Stomach swooping, Eddie instructs, “Sit on me.” 

It’s an insane thing to offer. Logically, Eddie knows this. Nobody in their right mind would do what he’s about to do, but Eddie’s starting to think maybe he isn’t in his right mind. 

“Sit on you?” 

“On my thighs,” Eddie explains, voice wavering. “That way you, uh. You know. You can touch.” 

“Your ass?” 

Eddie nods. 

A small, wheezy laugh slips past Buck’s lips. “You want me to sit on you and j-jerk off to porn?” 

“And touch,” Eddie adds. 

“What the fuck,” Buck breathes, staring at Eddie like he’s grown a second head. 

Maybe he has. Maybe Eddie’s officially flown off the rails. 

It's a syllogistic fallacy kind of moment. No behavioural scientists are sharks. Sharks are not mammals. Therefore, no behavioural scientists are mammals.

Eddie Diaz is a cowardly man. Eddie Diaz propositioned his best friend in spite of his sweaty palms. Therefore, Eddie Diaz cannot be a cowardly man.

As if Eddie could have gone about this in a more cowardly way. Frank would give him a long look if he were here. 

“You don’t want to?” Eddie asks, trying to keep the self-doubt and disappointment out of his voice. “It’s okay if—” 

“Of course I want to,” Buck says immediately, eyes flickering from Eddie’s ass to his eyes. Eddie’s stomach untwists. “I— I just. Eddie.” 

“Buck,” Eddie says, unintentionally soft.

“It won’t make things weird?” 

He shakes his head. “Not if we don’t let it.” 

Buck searches his face, eyebrows drawn taut. Then, tongue darting out to wet his lips, he says, “Okay.” 

It feels like victory. Eddie kind of wants to get up and do a little dance. But that would be unbecoming. And also, probably, deeply unsexy. 

He tenses as Buck clears his throat, typing something on Eddie’s phone. He doesn’t seem to know where to look, eyes darting up to Eddie’s face, then to the phone, then back to Eddie again. It probably shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. 

Clearing his throat again, Buck shuffles over to Eddie, visibly steeling himself before swinging his leg over him. He hovers there, thighs on either side of Eddie, and Eddie inhales long and slow to keep from twitching. 

Behind him, Buck taps away on Eddie’s phone, and then— audio. A man, speaking softly, and an answering whine. 

Okay, so. Buck has selected the porn he’s going to jerk off to. While sitting on top of Eddie. 

There is a chance Eddie did not, in fact, think this through. 

He almost says something, but Buck shifts on top of him, enough to remind Eddie that it’s Buck. That it’s his best friend, the man he’s worked beside for nearly a decade, that’s on top of him. It’s Buck who’s pent up enough to agree to this, whose eyes are going to watch the porn and whose cock is going to grow hard because of it. 

Eddie closes his mouth. Then, carefully, Buck puts the phone down on Eddie’s back. 

The soft, unmistakable cadence of masculine moans fill the air, and goosebumps erupt on Eddie’s skin. 

“Do, uh,” Eddie starts, voice thick. “Do you usually watch this kind of thing?” 

“Gay porn?” Buck asks, almost breezily— like he’s trying really, really hard to sound casual. There’s the sound of rustling— a soft, shaky sigh, and then: “Yeah. I— I alternate, I guess. I like the homemade stuff.” 

Eddie knew it. If he’d had to bet on it, he would have guessed homemade films are Buck’s favourite. It makes perfect sense: he’s a homey guy. Sweet, and loyal. Of course he’d prefer porn that feels like real sex, with a real connection behind it. 

“Just gonna—” Buck says, grunting as he adjusts. Slowly, he sinks down, until he’s sitting on the back of Eddie’s thighs. Eddie can feel Buck’s balls, resting heavily just below Eddie’s ass. 

Holy fuck. 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, heart racing. 

“O-okay,” Buck replies. Then, fingers fluttering over Eddie’s lower back, he says, “I’m gonna do it.” 

Despite his thundering heart, Eddie snorts. “Touch yourself?” 

“Yep,” Buck replies tightly. 

And then— well. Eddie has no witty comeback, because he hears it: the sound of Buck slipping himself out of his briefs, the stutter in his breath, the rustle of his sweatpants against Eddie’s own. 

Oh, jeez. 

Pressed into the mattress, Eddie’s dick stirs. Swells would be a better word for it, the way it hardens at the sound of Buck getting ready to pleasure himself. Like his dick is a dog, perking up at the sound of his owner coming home, running to the door as soon as he hears the keys jingle in the lock. Eager and obedient and ready to please.

Though, in this instance, Buck’s dick happens to be the key. And boy is Eddie eager, obedient, and ready to please.

For a long moment, nothing happens. The video, displayed on Eddie’s phone where it’s resting on Eddie’s back, plays, and the seconds drag on. 

“Go for it,” Eddie tells Buck softly, wondering if Buck’s watching the video or not. What if he’s looking at— at Eddie? At his back, his hair, his ass? God, Eddie hopes he is. He nearly wiggles a little, to draw attention to his best asset, but holds back. Barely. Just to keep the phone from slipping from its perch on his back.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Buck replies shakily. 

Again, Eddie loses whatever reply he had on the tip of his tongue, because Buck starts. Jerking off, that is. On top of Eddie.

It’s impossible to miss, if only for the way Buck goes preternaturally still. It’s remarkable, how still he can be, for all the frenetic energy he usually bustles around the world with. 

The soft sound of Buck’s fist tugging at his cock fills the room, barely loud enough to detect. Thoughts coming rapid-fire, Eddie wonders if Buck’s holding himself tight or loose, if Buck gets as wet as he used to joke he would get (back before Texas, after which something— shifted, between them, and they stopped talking about that sort of thing altogether), if he’s hard or getting there. 

He wants to ask. He wants to ask more than anything in the world, but he can’t. This isn’t about him. This is about Buck letting off some steam so they can go back to… 

To the movie. Right. So they can go back to watching the movie, Cars 3, and have a nice night in. 

He lets the sound of Buck tugging at his cock wash over him, focusing entirely on the drag of skin on skin. The drag that sounds—

“Dry?” Eddie asks, voice rumbling out of him. 

And, look. Eddie’s not a prude. He uses lube when he masturbates in bed (which isn’t something he indulges in often— preferring, usually, to take care of it in the shower, quick and efficient) like any self-respecting man would. He knows lube makes it better. 

“Y-yeah,” Buck admits, without stilling his hand. “A little.” 

Tongue heavy in his mouth, Eddie says, “Doesn’t have to be.” 

Buck’s hand stills. 

“I— are you sure?” Buck asks. “I don’t want it to— I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Chuckling breathlessly, Eddie says, “The sound of you jerking off isn’t going to scare me, bud.” 

It’ll do the exact opposite, actually, but that’s besides the point.

Buck huffs a laugh, but doesn’t reply. A moment later, the sound of him spitting into his hand rings through the room, and also Eddie’s skull, sort of like an explosion. It rocks through him, and he has to fight to keep from craning his neck and looking back just to see Buck wrap a split-slick hand around himself. 

Imagining it is almost as good, though. 

Spit seems like a very un-Buck choice, though. He’s been sexually active since Eddie met him. He once gave Eddie a twenty minute presentation on the best brands of lube on the market — including one called Sex Slime, with the tagline Feel The Monster In You — and Eddie had clenched his jaw and sat through the entire thing. Buck has a ring cutter in his kitchen, for fuck’s sake. Why would he opt for spit when he could use— 

“Lube?” 

"What?” 

“Lube,” Eddie repeats. “Do you have lube?” 

Buck pauses. “U-uh, I— I do.” 

Nothing happens. Buck makes no move to reach for his drawer. Eddie knows it’s there, had spotted the water-based bottle of lube with cinnamon extracts shoved between a notebook and tissues his very first time here because Eddie is a snooper who snoops and couldn’t help but open the drawer while he was— well. Snooping. 

Eddie hesitates for a second, knowing if Buck gets off of him there’s a chance he won’t get back on. But Eddie is nothing if not a good friend, and he wants Buck to enjoy this as much as possible. Because — because he’s so pent up. 

Eddie has zero ulterior motives. If Buck just so happens to have the best orgasm of his life and subsequently gets hard at the sight of Eddie’s ass Pavlovian style moving forward, that’s just semantics. 

“Grab it, bud.” 

Buck lets out a shaky laugh. “Well, if you insist.” 

Almost soundlessly, Buck climbs off of Eddie, feet finding the floor with two solid thuds. Eddie turns his head without thinking, because he’s always had Buck’s back, which means he’s always watching his six, and— 

Right. Right, okay. That’s— that is Buck’s dick. 

Eddie’s got a face full of cock. Or— well. Not literally. He’d like it to be literally, but that’s not— whatever. 

Whatever. Buck’s grabbing the cinnamon-flavoured lube, which Eddie knows is meant to stimulate the blood flow or something, and create some sort of tingling feeling. It’s fine. It’s great. Buck’s penis is going to be well taken care of. Buck is grabbing the lube, per Eddie's suggestion, and he's doing this with his dick out, the waistband of his sweats tucked underneath his balls, and everything is fine. 

Buck’s got a big dick. 

That’s not exactly new information to Eddie. They’ve showered together before, they’ve helped each other get dressed while recovering from various different injuries. But he’s never seen Buck’s junk up close like this, and he’s never seen it in a state of arousal. 

Eddie is suddenly very happy he chose to lay face-and-crotch down.

“Gotcha,” Buck says, fingers closing around the bottle of lube. Eddie, like a coward, shuts his eyes quickly, resolving to resume watching his six later, and waits for Buck to climb back on top of him. 

Which Buck does. His strong, meaty thighs close around Eddie’s legs, tensing in a way that makes Eddie’s spine go molten. 

“Okay?” Buck checks. 

“Mm,” Eddie hums. He’s being so, so normal about this. 

Between his shoulder blades, the video on Eddie’s phone plays on, volume climbing steadily as whoever on camera is getting— well, fucked, moans louder. 

Jesus, it sounds like he’s getting plowed into the mattress. 

Eddie would like the record to show that he is not jealous. He’s never even been plowed into the mattress, so there’s nothing to be jealous of. Sure, he’s never had occasion, but still — he’s not jealous. This is about Buck.

“This really homemade?” Eddie asks, and Buck sucks in a sharp breath behind him. 

“Um,” Buck says. “Y-yeah. As far as I know.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows fly up. “Damn.” 

Voice strained, Buck says, “What, you’ve never fucked someone like that?” 

He hasn’t. The first time he had sex, he barely got himself over the edge, nervous and entirely dedicated to getting Shannon there. The next few times were… more of the same, really. He’s never been all that interested in being touched in return, which— makes sense. Given that he’s only ever had sex with women, and is a raging homosexual. For Buck, especially. But that is, again, besides the point. 

“I don’t know how they’re getting fucked,” Eddie says, even as a white, hot pulse of anticipation zings up his spine. “Can’t see what’s happening.” 

“Oh. Right,” Buck says, and— there. There’s the sound of him clicking the lube’s lid open, a wet squelch, him tossing the bottle aside, and— his fist wrapping around himself again. 

He’s doing it. Buck’s jerking off again, he’s doing it. And he’s being so careful, too— holding a conversation with Eddie at the same time, like he’s trying to be polite. Like the subtle, near-imperceptible way his body moves against Eddie with every harsh tug at his dick doesn’t give him away. 

Eddie wants to ask Buck to turn the volume down on the stupid porn. He bites his tongue instead. 

It’s crazy that this is even happening. That Eddie is lying here on his stomach, in Buck’s bed, with Buck on top of him, listening to him play with his cock. Listening to the porn he watches to — routinely — get himself off. He’s being let in, possibly in a way no one else ever has been— past lovers included. 

Who else would have done this for Buck? Who else would’ve let Buck climb on top of them, use them, just for his own pleasure? 

In the video, a man’s voice rings out, whiny and overwhelmed. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Buck breathes, so quietly Eddie’s not sure he was supposed to hear him. 

Some small, animalistic part of Eddie wants to part his legs. To present himself, to entice Buck, to— to get him to mount and fuck him properly. It’s by the skin of his teeth he manages to restrain himself. 

Turning his head ever so slightly, Eddie focuses instead on listening, letting his eyes flutter shut. The now-wet sound of Buck’s fist is— fuck. It’s hot. It’s hot, and it’s dirty, and almost— slow, like Buck’s savouring this. Fuck, Eddie hopes he’s savouring this. 

On the next loud moan the video emits, Buck’s free hand lands on the small of Eddie’s back to brace himself. Eddie goes hot all over, full-body flushing as he imagines what it might feel like to have Buck paint his back in come, to have him moaning, pushing Eddie into the mattress like he’s dominating him. Like he’s marking his territory. 

Jesus. 

Buck doesn’t know. Buck has no idea that just the sound of him, his shuddery inhales and his hand on his wet, sticky cock is enough to make Eddie’s dick pulse with need. 

Eddie startles when Buck’s hand slides down to Eddie’s ass, squeezing almost tentatively. A moment later, Buck’s fist picks up the pace, stripping over his cock faster. 

Eddie’s head spins. 

The thought that his ass— that Eddie’s ass alone is enough to make Buck lose his composure is fucking intoxicating. 

“Good?” Eddie asks, subtly tilting his hips into the mattress. He can feel his foreskin, drawing tight with arousal, slip down the head, a blurt of pre-come soaking into the front of his sweatpants. 

Buck doesn’t know. 

“Fuck,” Buck exhales. “So fucking good. You feel—” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Buck says quickly. “Yeah, Eddie.” 

He’s pretty sure that a meteor could fly through the window and he wouldn’t notice, as honed in on the sloppy sound of Buck’s fist as he is. He wants to see it, wants it so bad his teeth ache.  

“Still wanna go out?” Eddie husks. “Still wanna find someone to bring home and—” 

“Eddie,” Buck interrupts, voice loud and almost— distraught. “No.” 

Arousal slams into Eddie. 

“You wouldn’t—” Eddie’s voice hitches, the schlick-schlick-schlick of Buck’s fist loud and unmistakable now. “You wouldn’t rather—” 

Get your dick wet? Fuck someone who’d roll over for you? Who’d make you come? 

But isn’t that what’s happening? 

Eddie changes gears. “You don’t miss it? Playing the field, bringing someone home?” 

A shaky breath whooshes out of Buck, even as he keeps his fist moving. “E-Eddie, I don’t think you want me to answer that.” 

Eddie’s core goes molten. 

He doesn’t know how Buck feels, but he knows Buck. He knows he wouldn’t say that, wouldn’t give Eddie an out unless it mattered. 

“Baby,” Eddie sighs. 

He means to say more, but Buck stutters out a hnng— fuck and tips forward, catching himself on an elbow next to Eddie’s arm. 

The phone on Eddie’s back topples onto the mattress, and atop him, Buck freezes. 

Yes, yes, finally, yes, Eddie’s brain chants, and for once, Eddie’s in agreement. 

This is it. This feels right. Buck should be closer. He should always be closer. 

Unfolding his arms, Eddie reaches behind him. He finds the hem of Buck’s shirt, tugging until Buck, reluctantly, gives in and lets his hips connect with Eddie’s ass. 

The hot line of his hard, dripping cock slots between Eddie’s cheeks, and it would be so easy for Buck to tug Eddie’s sweatpants down, so easy for him to dip spit-soaked fingers into him, so easy to press the head of his cock to Eddie’s hole and push until Eddie’s body yielded. 

Instead, Buck whimpers. 

“Baby,” Eddie says again, soft and slow. He tastes the word on his lips, and wants desperately to press it into Buck’s skin. Throbbing in his sweatpants, Eddie says, “Move. Please.” 

“E-Eddie,” Buck whispers, tone reverent. 

And then, finally, he does. 

Biting gently at the back of Eddie’s neck, like he’s scruffing him, Buck hitches his hips forward. The feel of his teeth grazing the vulnerable skin above his spine makes Eddie shudder violently, arching into the touch without meaning to. 

Buck groans against him, pressing his hips closer to Eddie, the jut of his cock digging into his ass. 

“Come on,” Eddie pants, voice barely above a whisper. “Pretend we’re— for real. Pretend you’re fucking me.” 

Buck’s voice cracks around a moan. Eddie arches again, relief nearly bowling him over when Buck takes the hint and rolls his hips. He does it again, and again, until he’s found a jerky rhythm. 

And then, suddenly, he pauses. 

“Fuck,” Buck chokes, fumbling for Eddie’s phone without stilling his hips. Buck is grabbing the phone like he means to put it somewhere he can see it, like the porn matters. “S-sorry.” 

Straining his neck, Eddie twists and slaps the phone out of Buck’s hand. They lock eyes. Almost like a cartoon character, Buck stutters to a halt, staring at Eddie with wide eyes. 

God, he looks good. Pupils blown, lips parted and shiny, birthmark a darker pink. He’s so close now. It would be easy to beckon him closer, to kiss him. 

“Focus on me,” Eddie tells him. 

Swallowing convulsively, Buck nods. His gaze burns, so Eddie turns his face into the pillows again. 

This time, Buck’s rhythm doesn’t falter. His hips move fluidly, like he really is imagining fucking Eddie, like he’s moving his hips the way he would if he was trying to make it good for him, too. He’s so hard against Eddie— big in a way that thrills him, because— Jesus, he’d really have to work Eddie open to fit. He’d have to go so slow, the first time. 

Eddie imagines Buck sliding in to the hilt, hips flush against his, and promptly tucks that fantasy away for later. Presumably for the bathroom break he’s going to have to take after this to take care of himself. Away from prying eyes. 

Pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Eddie’s neck, Buck slips a hand under him, grabbing his pec. 

“You feeling me up?” Eddie manages, voice amused and undeniably horny. 

“You’re so—” Buck husks, slowing his frantic pace into a slow, sensual grind as he fondles Eddie’s tit. “You’re so fucking sexy. I don’t— I never needed the porn, I just—” 

Head spinning, Eddie reaches behind him, grabbing Buck’s forearm. He just needs to touch him. Needs to ground himself. “You just?” 

“I couldn’t jerk off next to you,” Buck says, breathing unevenly. “I woulda just stared at you the whole time.” 

Eddie groans, head growing fuzzy with arousal. “You— you can. You can look at me, Buck.” 

Buck kisses his neck again, messy and wet. Against his skin, he whimpers, “You’re gonna make me come so fucking hard.” 

Eddie flexes his cock, hands twitching with the urge to reach beneath himself and touch. “Ditto.” 

“What?” 

Eddie laughs hoarsely. “You think I’m unaffected?” 

“Oh.” Buck grinds against him tentatively, and Eddie’s eyelids flutter. Almost whispering, Buck says, “You're... you're hard?” 

Eddie’s face flushes. If he were a braver man, he’d tell Buck everything. He’d tell him how hard he gets, picturing Buck on his knees for him. How much he wants to wrap himself around Buck like a koala when he watches him cook in the kitchen. How he aches with it, with this love that’s gone unacknowledged for years. 

“Tell me more,” Eddie says instead. It’s deflection, and it’s not. He just— needs a moment. 

“Tell you what?” Buck asks, rolling his hips again. 

Eddie shakes his head, overwhelmed. “Anything.” 

“Your— your cock,” Buck says, quieter now, like he’s afraid Eddie might not want to hear it. “I know you’re big, I’ve seen you at work, and— fuck, Eddie, I want to blow you, I wanna make you feel good, and— and taste you, ‘n fucking choke on it— f-fuck—” 

Oh, God. Eddie’s going to come. He’s going to come completely untouched, hard enough to drill through metal where he’s lying, pressed to the mattress with nothing to grind against. 

“Holy shit,” he gasps, body jolting as Buck thrusts against him. 

“Yeah?” Buck whines, hips working faster. “Y-you want that? I’d do it, Eddie, I swear.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, unable to think. He does want that. He wants to come in Buck’s mouth, and on his face. Wants to tug him up and lick it off of him, wants to make Buck swallow to ensure that a part of Eddie’s inside of Buck, even when they’re no longer touching. 

“I could fuck you,” Buck pants, lips grazing Eddie’s ear. “I’d be so gentle, I’d make it so good for you. O-or you could fuck me, as hard as you wanna. Until the bed breaks, until I’m crying— I can take it, I love— love it, love getting fucked.” 

A loud, ragged moan tears out of Eddie. Buck’s voice, low and unabashedly horny, rolls over Eddie like thunder. It scates up his back, licks over his vertebrae one at a time, and douses him in want, in need, in arousal and pleasure all at once. Eddie’s shaking beneath him, cock straining against the mattress. 

“Inside,” Eddie rasps. “Want you inside me.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Buck’s breathing picks up as his hips kick into gear, rutting faster against Eddie. “Ho— holy shit, holy shit, ‘m gonna—” 

Eddie moans, wanton. “Please, baby.” 

“I’m coming,” Buck gasps. “Gonna— fuck, Eddie, baby— baby—” 

Eddie’s orgasm punches him in the face. That’s what it feels like. His cock jerks against the mattress, spurting come in hot pulses all over himself and the mattress. 

He moans like it, too— like his teeth have just been knocked out of his skull. His ears ring with it, with the frantic, overwhelmed quality of it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Buck whimpers, face buried in Eddie’s neck as his hips punch forward once, twice, before stilling. 

His cock pulses against Eddie, thick spurts of come seeping into Eddie’s sweats. Buck whines against him like it hurts, stomach contracting as he comes, and comes, and comes. 

The need to see Buck is suddenly acute. On trembling arms, Eddie pushes himself up, twisting until Buck shoves himself off of Eddie. He almost keeps going, rolling all the way over to his side of the bed, but Eddie catches him. 

For a moment, they simply stare at each other. Buck’s face, still slack with pleasure, grows unsure. Eddie’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. 

“C’mere,” he says softly. 

At once, Buck’s shoulders slump. He all but tackles Eddie, and Eddie catches him with an oof. Buck wraps his arms around him as he tucks his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie’s entire body goes warm as he holds Buck close to him. His heart is doing some sort of interpretive dance beneath his ribcage, pounding so hard he worries it might leap out of him, just for a chance to touch Buck too. 

Exhaling shakily, Buck makes a soft, puppy-like noise. Eddie never, ever wants to let go of him again. 

And. Okay. Eddie may have the emotional intelligence of a green bean — Chim once said the collective EQ in the room dipped below room temperature whenever he made an appearance — but he knows Buck. He knows his mind, and his heart, and his soul. He knows all of his idiosyncrasies— knows that he always puts his left shoe on right for good luck, and now, now, he knows his body, too. 

Buck knows Eddie too, is the thing. Buck knows Eddie doesn’t do casual. So all Eddie has to do is assure Buck that he didn’t do this, didn’t let Buck jerk off on top of him, out of the goodness of his heart. 

All he has to do is tell Buck that he, too, was horny. And gay. For Buck, specifically.

“‘M never going out again,” Buck mumbles against Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie laughs breathily, stroking his back languidly. “No?” 

Buck shakes his head. 

For a few minutes, they lapse into silence. It’s a breathable sort of quiet, a short reprieve more than anything else. 

Slowly, they come back to themselves and Buck, tensing in Eddie’s arms, lifts his head. 

His cheeks are still rosy, birthmark pinker than usual. 

“Are we okay?” Buck asks. 

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie breathes, so in love it physically aches. He slides his fingers into Buck’s curls and tugs him in, and Buck, sucking in a breath, lets Eddie slot their mouths together. 

Keening, Buck presses even closer, nose digging into Eddie’s cheek. Eddie responds in kind, because Buck’s intensity has always mirrored his own. He licks into Buck’s damp mouth, just to taste him, to know he’s been there. Buck melts against him, a soft moan tripping out of him when Eddie tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. 

It’s the best kiss Eddie’s ever had. It’s also the last first kiss of his life. 

He softens the kiss, mouth finding the corner of Buck’s mouth, his cheek, the side of his nose, and finally, his birthmark. 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, eyes fluttering open. He looks awestruck, and Eddie knows he probably looks the same. 

It’s you, Eddie’s heart sings. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you. 

“Don’t have casual sex,” Eddie tells him. And then, realising Buck can’t read his mind, he says, “I love you.” 

Buck’s eyes widen comedically before an awed laugh bursts out of him. “You— what?” 

“I love you,” Eddie says, unable to keep from smiling. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, leaning in to kiss him once, fiercely. “What— when did— what?” 

Eddie laughs, cupping Buck’s cheek with the palm of his hand. “I love you.” 

“O-oh.” It must register, then, what Eddie’s saying, because Buck’s face suddenly gets pinker. “Oh.” 

Eddie watches him blink, four times in rapid succession. 

“O-oh my God, you—” Buck flounders, pressing a fumbling hand to Eddie’s chest, right over his heart. “I love you. Eddie, I— I tried so hard not to, but you’re— you’re you,” Buck finishes helplessly. 

He’s staring at Eddie, willing him to understand, begging him to have his back. Eddie does. Eddie’s had Evan Buckley’s back since he climbed into the back of an ambulance with him to pull a live grenade out of a patient’s leg. 

“You tried not to?” Eddie asks, stroking his thumb over Buck’s cheekbone. 

Buck’s face twists into something stunned. “You’re straight.” 

Eddie arches an eyebrow. 

“You were straight,” Buck amends weakly. 

“I wasn’t ready,” Eddie corrects. He takes a breath, flickering his eyes between Buck’s. “But I’m ready now. Are you?” 

Quiet and devastating, Buck says, “I’ve been yours for years.” 

And, well. Eddie’s never been one for words, so, instead, he pulls Buck close and kisses him stupid.