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It starts, as most of their bad ideas do, with a six pack split between them and Buck's absurdly competitive tendencies. Eddie'd like to say he had nothing to do with it, but the truth is he knows himself better than that, even if he pretends otherwise. He's never been able to resist a goad.
Romance is the subject at hand. Something forgettable on the screen, Buck three beers in and gesturing with the bottle to illustrate his points as he rants about his dating woes.
"—and Ravi's trying to get me to go to this speed-dating thing, which, I don't know, I guess it sounds fun—"
"Sounds like hell on earth to me, man," Eddie interjects, leaning forward to rescue the remote before Buck can knock it on the floor.
"That's because you suck at dating."
"I do not suck at dating," Eddie protests, and Buck gives him a skeptical eyebrow but doesn't provide any evidence to the contrary, despite the fact that they both know he could. "I just don't see how that's enjoyable. You barely even have time to have a conversation with someone. How are you supposed to know if there's a spark?"
"I mean, it's a spark. You either feel it or you don't."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works."
"Okay, so, when I was on the apps—"
"Ugh," Eddie interjects, downing the last of his beer. He contemplates getting up for another one, but he's a little too comfortable, ensconced on Buck's couch with the lights and the TV down low, the glimmering little strings of lights in the backyard though the window, Buck happily ranting on the seat next to him. He's missed this. He's really missed this.
"When I was on the apps," Buck repeats, "it was always like—even before meeting someone in person, you could tell if there was a spark. You know?"
"Pretty sure dick pics don't count as a spark," Eddie says.
Buck sputters. "Okay, listen, I have never sent an unsolicited dick pick to anyone."
"But you have sent dick pics before. Firehose."
"Yeah, well, truth in advertising," Buck says smugly, not a shred of shame to be found.
Eddie rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right."
"What, you think I'm making it up?"
"No, I'm just saying, like, I've seen you. We share a locker room."
"So?" Buck demands, hilariously outraged.
"Just saying." Eddie shrugs, grin tugging at his mouth, and goes in for the kill. "You know, nothing to be ashamed of, but I'm pretty sure I'm bigger."
"Oh, the hell you are."
"Just because you've got your ego tied up in it—"
"It's not ego," Buck squawks, and Eddie gives up on his struggle to contain his laughter. Buck points at him with his beer, bright red and indignant. "Okay, you so don't know what you're talking about."
"I've seen your dick," Eddie points out.
"Not hard, you haven't. Show-ers versus growers. So there."
"How do you know I'm not a grower?"
"Oh—oh, really, you're gonna play it like that?"
Eddie shrugs again. "You don't know. Is all I'm saying."
"Okay, fine. You want me to get a ruler out?"
And that's the moment, probably, right there, when Eddie should put a stop to it. He should. But he can't stop laughing, and Buck's eyes are sparkling with laughter too, even with how offended he is, and so he says, "Sure, if that'll make you feel better."
"Oh, it's on," Buck says, and sets his beer down with an exaggerated thump, and climbs off of the couch. Eddie doubles over laughing, watching him stomp into the kitchen. A light comes on, a drawer slams open, and there are a few minutes of loud rummaging that makes Eddie laugh even harder before Buck makes a triumphant noise and marches back in with a ruler clutched in one hand.
"Really?" Eddie says, but he's already unbuckling his belt.
"Oh, yeah, really." Buck drops onto the couch next to him, shoving his joggers down. He's got on light gray boxer briefs underneath, and Eddie can see the swell of his soft cock through the thin fabric. Something prickles through him, briefly, as he unzips and pushes his jeans down.
"So who's going first?"
"Me," Buck says, pushing his underwear out of the way. Eddie cracks up laughing, and he adds, "Hey, don't be rude."
"You're ridiculous," Eddie manages, watching Buck lay his soft dick out against his thigh. It is, he will admit privately, a pretty nice dick as far as those things go, pink and plump, gingery-gold pubic hair neatly trimmed. If Eddie were into dicks, he'd probably appreciate the sight. Buck holds the ruler alongside himself, marking off the measurement with his finger. Seven inches, or a hint over; not bad, but nothing to shout about, either.
"See?" Buck says.
"Mine's still bigger."
"Fine, prove it."
"Fine," Eddie says, shoving his underwear down. The thought occurs to him, as Buck passes him the ruler, that Buck is actually into dick, and maybe that makes this weird. Weirder. But backing out now would be weirder still, and—fine, maybe it's not just Buck who's got a little bit of ego riding on this. He pulls himself out, holds the ruler up.
"You gotta hold it at the base."
"I am," Eddie says, but he shifts the ruler up a quarter inch anyway. "Happy?"
He glances up. Buck is watching him like a hawk, but the ruler doesn't lie; Eddie's got a solid half inch on him. He holds it up triumphantly.
"Okay, still doesn't count," Buck says.
"How does it not count?"
"Neither of us is hard. So—"
Eddie scoffs. "Fine. That's how you wanna play it?"
"What?" Buck says, the end of the word stuttering out as Eddie takes himself in hand again, squeezing the way he does when he's alone in the shower. His dick begins to fill, stiffening against his palm, and he hears Buck make another strange little stuttering noise and looks up to see Buck staring at the motion of his hand. He's not even touching himself yet and his dick is already at half-chub, turning a darker shade of pink against the pallor of his upper thigh. Something surges through Eddie, like triumph, or pride.
"Well?" he says, a little breathless already. "You wanna prove me wrong, right?"
"Jesus," Buck breathes. His hands shift, flutter a little, and then he laughs, brief and unsteady. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Eddie watches him slide his hand down, wrapping blunt fingers around his cock. He's less rough about it than Eddie is with himself, his thumb teasing a little over the head as it starts to thicken. He lets out another shaky little noise. It figures, Eddie thinks, that Buck would be loud in bed. Or on the couch, as the case may be.
"Good," he murmurs. Encouragement, or something, only it makes Buck tilt his head back with a low moan, his hips shifting, pushing his cock up into the circle of his fist. Pearly fluid beads at the head, and Eddie watches with some fascination as Buck's thumb catches it in a practiced swipe to spread it down the thick shaft. He might actually be thicker than Eddie, not that Eddie's going to point that out. "You get really wet."
"Uh huh." It's shaky, punched out, and so is the little breath of laughter that follows. "Another reason for the name."
"Does it feel good?" He doesn't know why he asked that. It's jerking off. Obviously it feels good.
"Y-yeah," Buck says, and there's another surge of triumph at that, at how unsteady he sounds already. "You don't—you don't use any lube?"
"No need." He's been neglecting himself, watching Buck. He slides his palm down, pulling his foreskin back. "Feels good just like this."
"Okay but it's better—nnh—better if it's wet. Don't you think?"
"Wouldn't know. I always do it like this."
"Jesus, Eddie," Buck says, sounding absurdly exasperated for how out of breath he is. "Not even spit?"
Eddie shrugs, tightening his grip, shuddering at the sensation. "Works just fine."
"Unbelievable," Buck mutters. His cock slides in his grip, shiny wet, still oozing beads of precome. Eddie has a brief flash of a thought—wonder what that tastes like—then shakes it off. He's just. Getting his wires crossed. That's all.
"Why, you wanna show me?" he asks, before he knows he's going to say it. It comes out challenging, low.
Buck's hips stutter, his breath punched out of him. Eddie glances up to see Buck staring at him, color high in his cheeks, eyes dark and huge. His lower lip is shiny, like he's been biting at it. He looks—
"Well?" Eddie says.
"I," Buck says, and then as if in a dream he lets go of his cock, brings his hand to his mouth, wetly licks his palm. Eddie tracks the motion of it as he hesitates, eyes still on Eddie's face, then brings it down, slowly enough that Eddie could absolutely bat it away if he wanted to. He doesn't. He lets go of himself instead, flattens his palm against his thigh as Buck's wet fingers wrap around his cock.
It's tentative, only for a moment. Eddie takes a quick, sharp breath, hips shifting, and Buck firms his grip, sliding down to meet the movement.
"Fuck," Eddie breathes.
"It's better, right?" Buck says, quiet. He's not looking at Eddie's face now; instead, he's watching the motion of his hand on Eddie's cock, slippery-wet and shiny now from Buck's spit and precome.
"Yeah," Eddie manages. It is better. The wet slide, the unfamiliar warmth of Buck's fingers, the slight difference in the way he touches from how Eddie does it himself. "It's. It's better, yeah."
"Yeah," Buck says. His cock twitches, untouched, another bead of precome oozing from the slit. And well—fair's fair, right? Before he can think too much about it, Eddie reaches out and wraps his fingers around Buck's cock.
"Oh, fuck," Buck moans. He's so hot, stiff and throbbing in Eddie's hand. "Eddie."
"Feels good," Eddie says. His voice has gone strange, rough and uneven. He doesn't know if he's asking or confirming, or what he even means—the slick tight grip Buck has on his cock, the way Buck's cock feels in his hand.
"Yeah. Y-yeah, fuck."
"Yeah. Come on."
Buck's grip tightens a little, almost rough, and Eddie lets out a breathless, helpless sound. Watches more precome bead at the head of Buck's cock and—it's temporary insanity, or something like it, probably, that makes him lean down and lick it up, collecting the salt-bitter flavor on his tongue.
Buck cries out, wordless and broken, and it makes a hot thrill lick up Eddie's spine, makes him bold, or maybe crazy. He fits his lips around the head and sucks, moaning when Buck's free hand lands in his hair, fingers flexing, and Buck says, frantically, "Eddie, Eddie—"
His cock pulses on Eddie's tongue, a rush of heat and salt, and it registers to Eddie, an instant too late, that Buck's coming, in his mouth, and he pulls back with a breathless gasp and the last spurts of it smear across his lips and cheek.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Buck chants brokenly. His hips are still stuttering. He's trembling beneath Eddie's hands. "Oh fuck, oh my god, Eddie."
"Yeah," Eddie breathes, dazed. He lifts his head and meets Buck's eyes. Buck's flushed red, breathing like he's run a marathon, staring at Eddie's mouth. Eddie swipes at his cheek with his fingers, then licks them clean.
"Jesus," Buck moans, his head thumping back against the couch. His hand is still on Eddie's cock, fingers flexing convulsively. As if from a distance, Eddie hears a broken, needy little noise escape him.
Buck opens his eyes again. For a couple of seconds, he just stares at Eddie. Then he starts jerking him off again, long, slow strokes that feel so good Eddie can't fucking think. Buck's still watching him, wide-eyed and intent, and Eddie feels so pinned open and exposed that he can hardly stand it, but he can't look away.
Buck breathes out a little sound under his breath. Then his free hand is on Eddie's face, swiping at the mess of spit and come on his cheek. He hesitates, then pushes his fingers between Eddie's open lips, feeding his come into his mouth, and Eddie sucks hard, and slams his eyes shut as his orgasm rolls over him, obliterating everything in a wave of pleasure.
He doesn't know how long he rides it for, can barely hear the sounds coming out of his mouth, muffled around Buck's fingers. He's got a hand on Buck's arm, fingers digging in hard, bracing himself, and he sags, swaying into him as the aftershocks zing through him in twitchy little jolts.
Buck's fingers slip out of his mouth, leaving his lips wet. He lets go of Eddie, withdraws his hand. For a moment, there's just the sound of both of their breathing.
Eddie opens his eyes. Buck is watching him, cheeks red, eyes huge. His mouth works silently, but for once he can't seem to get the words out.
"Hey," Eddie breathes.
Buck presses his lips together and nods, blushing harder. It looks really pretty on him, Eddie thinks, and that's probably the kind of thought that means something. Considering.
"I, um," Buck says, and then seems to stall out.
"Yeah," Eddie says, helpfully.
Buck blinks a couple of times, then winces, and makes a move like he's about to pull back or stand up or start fucking panicking, so Eddie does the only thing that makes sense just then: he grabs Buck's jaw with the hand not currently covered in jizz, and pulls him into a kiss.
It's—a good kiss. It's a great kiss, especially once Buck gets with the program and starts kissing him back. His mouth is soft, and he's a really good kisser, and Eddie would like to keep doing this forever, actually. And he thinks—maybe this clarifies some things between them. Maybe a lot of things.
The kiss doesn't break, exactly, but after a moment Buck starts laughing against his mouth, and Eddie pulls back with some reluctance.
"What?" he asks, and it comes out in a tellingly fond tone that isn't even the first time his voice has done that around Buck. He might be a little slow on the uptake, actually.
"Nothing," Buck says, but he's laughing outright now. He smears a hand over his mouth, then grins at Eddie. "We just, um, we forgot to measure."
Eddie starts snickering too, which makes Buck laugh even harder. The ruler, he realizes, is abandoned on the couch between them.
"Next time," he says, and pulls Buck back in.