Archive of Our Own

Eddie was already starting to regret this.

He hadn’t considered the logistics of it all until he was standing at the bottom of the loft’s stairs, duffel in hand. He already missed Chris something fierce— he knew it was for the best, logically, but he was still only human. They were going to call and Facetime every day, and he was going to personally make sure Chris got sick of how many texts Eddie sent.

Still, Buck being chronically single and therefore the only childless one among them made his apartment the natural conclusion for a space to bubble up together safely. But standing there with his hands on his hips with Hen and Chim, he couldn’t help but start to wonder—

“So, where the hell are we going to sleep?” Chimney asks, reading Eddie’s mind.

“Oh,” Buck says, circling around the island in his kitchen. He had been very excitedly pointing out everything he’d picked up at Costco, enormous pallets of drinks and snacks and frozen food for them to share. He even got a dozen of their enormous corn muffins, Eddie’s favorite. “Uh, the couch turns into a pullout, and I’ve got an air mattress down in storage. Uh, plus, y’know— my bed. I don’t mind sharing.”

Hen and Chim bring their fingers up to their nose in a coordinated flash, as if to say, not it. Eddie does a double-take, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

“Wha— hey, c’mon,” he complains.

“Gotta be quicker on the draw,” Hen grins, manicured finger still smugly planted on the tip of her nose.

“Yeah, you snooze, you lose,” Chim adds, grinning when he and Hen make eye-contact. “Or, I guess in this case, ‘you lose, you snooze with Buck.’”

“Great,” Eddie grouses, running one exasperated hand over his face.

“Hey, c’mon, it’ll be fun,” Buck tries, slapping Eddie’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Eddie levels him with a deadpan expression.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Chim jeers. “Now, about that air mattress—”

Eddie had never gotten the college experience. He’d gone from high school straight into the military, so it’s not like he had zero experience living in close quarters with other people. Army bunkers were just a little different than Buck’s loft, though, and sharing a fridge was already getting on his nerves.

He honestly hadn’t even minded his sleeping quarters in the army, was usually so exhausted by the end of the day that any extraneous noise hadn’t even registered to him, passed out and oblivious to the world. Here, though? Eddie can’t help but toss and turn. He’s used to the creature comforts he has at home, his own bed and his favorite pillows with just the right amount of stuffing. Buck’s pillows are too soft, which is probably why he snores so loudly.

“We are getting a white noise machine,” Chimney had vowed that first morning, puffy dark circles adorning each eye. “Two, just to be safe.”

They’re both on downstairs, drowning out Chim and Hen’s ears. Eddie is not so lucky.

He sighs, flipping onto his back. He’s too wound up to sleep, frustrated and nervous about the state of the world, a constant low-level anxiety about Christopher’s health omnipresent. It rests in his gut all day, text after text sent to Carla checking in. Bless her heart, she responds to every single one, but Eddie is sure she’s getting annoyed. He can’t help himself.

Buck rips an egregiously loud snore next to him, and the sound of it grates on his nerves. Eddie gently slaps him on the chin to startle him awake, and Buck sucks in a quick breath, bleary eyes cracking open. “Huh—whuh?” he asks eloquently.

“You’re killing me, man,” Eddie sighs. His legs shift restlessly, trying to get comfortable.

“Oh— sorry,” Buck rasps, voice thick with sleep. “I’ll try to sleep on my side. Wake me up again if it’s bad.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, digging his head into the pillow. Buck rolls onto his right side, facing Eddie, and then he’s out like a light again, face going slack.

Lucky bastard. Eddie stares up at the ceiling until his eyelids burn, the relentless hamster wheel of his mind spinning and spinning.

He’s warm when he wakes up.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but he’d succumbed to it inevitably, his eyes still painfully tired. He doesn’t bother opening them, content to fall back asleep until the alarm goes off, when he realizes there’s an arm slung around him.

Eddie quickly inhales, his body startling. Buck is clinging to him, passed out face-down into his pillow, a small puddle of drool staining the pillowcase where his mouth is dropped open just a fraction.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers harshly. He tries to lift Buck’s arm off of him, but Buck’s got his fingers clenched tightly around Eddie’s tank top. “Buck, wake up.”

Buck hums, smacking his lips, drawing closer to Eddie. He tenses when Buck’s nose presses gently to the skin of his shoulder, one quick drag like he’s— like he’s nuzzling him. “Hmm?” he hums again sleepily.

“Dude,” Eddie says urgently.

Buck’s brain obviously comes online a bit, because he freezes before tearing his arm away, eyes cracked open now. “Shit, sorry, sorry,” he whispers, backing away and creating as much space as he can. “Force of habit. Used to, uh, sharing my beds with— y’know. Girlfriends.”

Eddie pinches his eyes shut, sighing heavily. “For both our sakes, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

Buck chuckles nervously, easing the tension a bit. Eddie resists the urge to shake his head.

“What time is it?” Buck asks, voice still pitched low. Eddie fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, squinting against the bright assault against his eyes.

“Almost 6:30,” Eddie whispers back.

Buck groans. “Well, I was gonna get up soon anyway, I guess. You, uh— mind if I take the first shower?”

The other burden he’s been saddled with. Sharing a bathroom again. His place at South Bedford only had one, but— nine year olds didn’t tend to loiter in the bathroom too long. Not his nine year old, at any rate. “Go for it,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands over his tired face.

“Thanks,” Buck says, gracefully rolling out of bed. His sweatpants are slung low on his hips— Eddie tears his eyes away and prays his face doesn’t flush at the embarrassment that spikes through him. He and Buck have seen a lot of each other— hard not to when you share a communal shower at work— but never like this. Never first thing in the morning, soft and vulnerable and groggy, the warmth of the shared blankets still clinging to them both. It makes his chest do something— weird and tight and fluttery.

When the sound of the shower turns on, Eddie grabs his phone to send his morning check-in texts. Carla is checking Christopher’s temperature twice a day at Eddie’s behest— seriously, where would Eddie be without her?— and she’s overly indulgent when he grills her about Chris’ new school schedule. They’re going back and forth about a good time to video chat later when Buck re-emerges from the bathroom in just a towel, steam pouring out of the open door behind him.

Eddie’s thumbs pause over his phone's keyboard to look at him, eyebrows raising up to his hairline.

“Sorry,” Buck says sheepishly, hair wet and curling and dripping down his forehead. His skin is flushed pink, but Eddie isn’t sure if it’s from the hot water or the embarrassment. “Forgot I needed to bring my clothes with me into the bathroom. Not totally used to having roomies again.”

Eddie dismisses him with a little sarcastic wave, ushering him over to the dresser and pointedly looking back down at his phone. He’s not looking. He’s definitely not looking when he sees Buck drop his towel in his peripheral vision, bending at the hips to slip into his boxers. The cursor in his outgoing message box blinks and blinks and blinks, waiting for the next prompt.

Despite feeling a bit like sardines shoved in a can, Eddie will concede that Buck is a good host. He tries his level best to make their self-imposed exile seem fun and easygoing, always pulling out his phone to show off videos of people trying out quarantine hobbies. There’s a valiant attempt at making sourdough, the first two starter doughs deflating and molding before they really get a chance to live. Buck calls Bobby on the third attempt, and Eddie plays the dutiful role of sous chef, jotting down every piece of advice Bobby gives with elegant, looping handwriting. We wouldn’t be able to read your chicken scratch, he teases, dodging the floury towel Buck whips his way.

Buck hosts extravagant movie nights for them, spending hours in the kitchen burning his fingertips to make homemade caramel corn and chocolate covered pretzels and pigs in a blanket. He does his best to cook up familiar recipes, some from Bobby and some from the internet, jotting down completely unsubtle and conspicuous notes on his phone anytime someone says something like man, I miss the corned beef hash from Archie’s, or, remember the birria from Pobres, or, did you hear that little ramen shop closed down? Man, I loved their cucumber salad.

They’d caught onto him pretty quickly, daring each other to come up with more and more extravagant dishes, and Buck is only onto them when Chim sighs wistfully and says, you know what sounds great right now? Fugu. He nods with pinched brows, pulling out his phone and frowning down at Google for a moment while Eddie and Hen snicker, before Buck says, okay, very funny.

He constantly volunteers to run laundry down to the basement, too, arms full after everyone has bemoaned the lack of in-unit machines, out of breath when he hauls it back upstairs. They tease him for it, but they’re grateful, and Buck always ducks his head shyly at the sincere gratitude they extend, whether it’s from clean sheets or fresh biscuits or even just their favorite drink from the vending machine in the lobby. It’s clear that he wants to make this as easy as possible for them all.

Still, there’s no replacement for their families, and Eddie puts on a smile every time he Facetimes with Chris, but it falls as soon as the screen goes dark. He knows Hen is in the same boat, has seen her lingering out on the balcony with stiff shoulders during her allotted time, missing her son and her wife and praying for the day it feels safe to go home. There are moments, when he’s grinning at his phone while Chris regales him about whatever game he’s playing or book he’s reading, that Eddie thinks: maybe soon.

But then they’ll all pile into Buck’s Jeep the next morning and go to work, and they’ll wipe down every surface of the firehouse and the ambulance with bleach, and they’ll drive infected patients down to Mercy whose lungs heave and shudder and rattle through the disposable oxygen mask. They’ll stop and stare at the refrigerated morgue trucks that pull into the hospital’s parking lot, watch them back up into their designated spot, cozied up between two other trucks that are already full, and he’ll think: no way. Not yet.

It’s not all bad, though. It’d be easy to drown themselves in hopelessness and despair, to be jaded and bitter and exhausted at the state of the world, but they always manage to scrape up just a little bit of joy: A home cooked meal. A funny comedy special. Maybe even just a hug.

Buck snort-chuckles beside him in bed, lying flat on his back with his phone hovering above his head. He shoves it between Eddie’s face and his own phone, interrupting his riveting game of Candy Crush to show him the TikTok that made him laugh. It’s one of those videos of people making tiny food for their hamsters— Eddie watches the entire clip with a fond smile, grin widening when Buck says, “Chris would love a huge stack of tiny pancakes.”

“Oh, he’d lose his mind,” Eddie agrees, stretching out the kinks in his ankles. “You can serve it with one of those teeny four ounce bottles of syrup.”

Buck’s eyes light up at that, cheek dimpling with the stretch of his smile. “Oh my god, you’re so right. Okay, when things are normal again, I’m so making miniature pancakes.”

Normal, Eddie thinks to himself. Should be any day now.

They’ve been sharing a bed for about a month when Eddie is awoken sometime during the night.

He’s not sure exactly why, at first; instinct and his internal clock tells him that it’s still well before their alarm is supposed to go off, no other incriminating noises of the others shuffling around downstairs as they slog through their morning routine. He keeps his eyes closed and his body still, clinging to the sleep that’s still lingering behind heavy eyelids. For all of his initial grumbling about the pillows, Eddie’s got to admit that Buck’s mattress is heavenly, his heavy-duty duvet trapping Eddie in a warm cocoon beneath shockingly high thread-count sheets. He wonders if Maddie helped pick them out.

Another rustle of fabric beside him, and Eddie’s ears perk up, catching on the noise. Buck is shuffling beside him, restless movements that give away that he’s awake. Trying to get comfortable, maybe? Buck is many things, but he is not and never has been subtle or stealthy. Even just shifting his long legs against the sheets quakes the entire mattress— a veritable bull in a china shop. The corners of Eddie’s lips quirk up at the thought.

His eyelids burn. Eddie’s brain is still a bit foggy, and he digs the crown of his head back into the pillow with a quiet sigh, chest deflating and making his limbs heavy. All movement freezes beside him, and Eddie begins to drift again, just on the precipice of slipping back into aimless, wandering sleep, when—

“Nnn,” Buck grunts beside him, soft as a whisper, barely audible as if smothered into the pillow or the plush skin of his lower lip. The movements start up again, slow but rhythmic, and something cold and unforgiving settles into his guts, weighing him down like a ball of lead. Buck isn’t— he can’t possibly be—

His stomach flips. That ugly, dreadful feeling billows out to all of his limbs, the flesh of his arms and thighs pimpling with goosebumps. Eddie keeps himself consciously, painfully still, lungs aching with the effort of holding his breath, straining for noise. There’s the rustling of the blankets, dull where Buck has clearly kicked the sheets away, but underneath that— skin on skin. The unmistakable cadence of a tight fist slowly pumping around a cock.

Eddie swallows as quietly as he can, his mouth nervously flooding with saliva. He can feel the racing thump of his heartbeat in the roof of his mouth, his tongue swollen and fat where it’s jammed up against it. It takes every ounce of concentration to keep his breathing steady— but he’s not quite sure why. He could feign waking up, could roll over or roll out of bed entirely, sleepily make his way to the bathroom and lock it tight behind him. He doesn’t, for some reason, and it’s easy to blame the late hour.

Buck sucks in a quiet breath beside him, hissing through his teeth, and Eddie feels his face heat up with waves of roiling heat that make him feel unsteady and nauseous. He’s grateful for the cover of darkness, although— although Buck obviously wouldn’t be looking at him, anyway. Buck is probably rolled over onto his side, facing away from Eddie, hand shoved into his shorts and mouth smearing onto the pillow below him.

Unless he’s looking right at Eddie, scrutinizing every twitch of his muscles, ready to rip his hand away at a moment’s notice.

His gut flips again. He shouldn’t care, really, and it’s hardly the first time something like this has happened to him. Eddie thinks about being twenty years old, about the first time he’d awoken in his neatly made bunk bed in the barracks, the sound of skin clapping against skin much less hidden, much less thoughtful, less careful—

Buck makes a soft choking noise beside him, and it’s so inconspicuous, just an air bubble caught in his throat, really, but it makes Eddie’s jaw clench. He feels like somebody has poured ink all over him, cold and thick and settling into his skin, lying as still as a corpse while his best friend lays beside him, not a foot away, touching himself and muffling all the sounds.

The next exhale Buck lets loose is quivery. Muffling them as best he can, anyway.

Eddie sends up a prayer to whoever is listening, willing sleep to take him again, but Buck beats him to it. Buck’s body tenses, and then Eddie can hear the frantic scrambling of a tissue being torn from the box on Buck’s nightstand. His body flushes violently hot, chasing away the cold, sinking his canines into his cheek. Buck’s breathing has gone ragged and unsteady, and he bites down one last grunt before stilling completely, and Eddie’s mind goes hot with panic at the implication. Buck is coming, he’s right there, like Eddie’s not a foot away from him, like Eddie couldn’t stretch his foot out and knock it into his leg with minimal effort, and he’s fucking smearing his come into a tissue while he grits his teeth and labors for air.

Does it feel better, Eddie wonders dazedly, knowing he could be caught at any moment? Knowing Eddie could be the one to catch him?

Buck sighs, full-bodied, and pulls the blankets back up to his chest. Eddie lies there, trapped in his body, trapped in the now smothering heat of his blanket cocoon, anxiously counting the rows of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. Buck settles back into sleep before he does, soft snores muffled into the pillow, and Eddie despairs to find his own cock half-hard and pushing against the suffocating fabric of his sweats.

Sleep doesn’t come to him for a long, long time.

“You look like hell.”

Eddie looks up at Chimney from his crossword, hunched over at the head of the dining table. “Thanks,” he says dryly, rubbing at his brow self-consciously. He feels like it, too, and the dark circles he’d found in the mirror that morning have persisted well into the afternoon.

“Trouble in paradise?” Chim teases, swinging a chair around to straddle it backwards, arms resting over the back. His gum pops obnoxiously, and Eddie gets a whiff of spicy cinnamon, hot and sweet. “I take it Buckley isn’t the greatest bedmate.”

“He’s…” Eddie starts, a mild wince twitching at his eye socket. “A bit restless,” is all he says to that. “I’m kind of a light sleeper.”

“We could add it to the chore wheel,” Chimney offers, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “‘Share the load’ or whatever Sam says in Return of the King.”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head and dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. It’s an unfortunate choice of words— not that Chimney knows that. His inner teenage boy finds it hilarious. “I wouldn’t wanna inflict that on Hen,” he says, and both of their eyes cut away to fondly imagine her in full evening garb; flannel pajamas, silk eye mask, ear plugs to muffle all the noise. She still wakes up visibly groggy most mornings.

“We’ll swing by a drug store on the way home and get you some ambien,” Chim jokes, slapping him firmly on the back, and Eddie laughs and seriously considers it before thinking; but what if he does it again?

The next time he’s awoken, it’s to an abrupt recoil at his back. The sudden movement doesn’t help, jerky and uncoordinated, but Eddie’s pretty sure it’s the loss of heat that really startles him awake. There’s a fading imprint of it at his waist and all along his back, and the cold air that rushes in behind it makes a shiver run up his spine, freezing compared to the warm, sweaty contact of skin on skin.

“Wha…?” he manages, his throat thick with sleep and saliva. Eddie cranes his neck back with crusted eyes to take in the sight of Buck, lying stock still and staring up at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body is clenched tight, growing impossibly stiffer when Eddie rolls back far enough to connect their shoulders. “Y’ good?” he says with a clumsy tongue.

“Yeah, fine,” Buck hisses, throat gulping when he swallows. “Didn’t mean to wake you, sorry.”

Eddie hums, eyes closing and head falling back onto Buck’s arm. “‘Sokay,” he mutters, his spine contorted awkwardly, his body instinctually seeking out the lost warmth. It’s radiating off of Buck like a space heater. He easily and gently drifts back into his dreams, his brain fuzzy and his limbs curled up, and he should be groaning about Buck’s bony knees or his stabbing toenails but the truth is— he feels comfortable and warm. They fit surprisingly well together.

Not— like that, Eddie thinks, before the thought melts away into the puddle of his brain, lost to the whirlpool of his dreaming mind.

He thought maybe it was a fluke, but it’s only a week or so later when he wakes up again to the clap of skin on skin, hurried and frantic and echoed by unsteady exhales, and Eddie’s first thought is: wow, he must really need it.

It makes something dark and warm coil within him. Once was happenstance— twice was a pattern. He was hoping to avoid this conversation, and he can’t even really begin to fathom how or when he would bring it up. Hey, nice save back there, he imagines, the resounding clap of his hand landing on Buck’s shoulder, echoing off the tall ceiling of the station. By the way, I can hear you touching yourself at night. I can hear you making yourself come a foot away from me.

A low buzz starts to build at the base of his spine, only made worse by the increasingly wet sound of Buck tugging at his cock behind him. He feels trapped— he doesn’t want to shame Buck or anything, wants to spare them both the embarrassment, but now he’s picturing the violent red flush on Buck’s face at getting caught, the drop of his mouth, lips pink and full and—

His own dick lurches in his boxers. Not quite hard yet, but— getting there. Could get there with just a little encouragement.

Maybe it’s the pandemic, he thinks bleakly, ears straining for every shift of fabric. Maybe it’s making everybody crazy. He thinks about Chimney’s suggestion, about switching out who has to sleep in the bed— but surely Buck wouldn’t be doing this if he was sharing with Chim or Hen, right?

There’s a twinge in his gut when Buck lets out one steady, rushing exhale through his nostrils, the sound of his hand stilling. He’s coming, Eddie is positive, spilling over his knuckles where they’re stuffed beneath the blanket. The blanket that Eddie is currently under right now, too.

He sinks his canines into his lower lip and curls his toes in his cotton socks until they cramp up with the effort.

Eddie’s exhausted.

He’s been exhausted all day, and it’s not just from a lack of proper sleep. Everything just seems to pile on today, and it grates at his nerves until they’re raw and bleeding; he misses his bed. He misses his shower, with the perfect water pressure and perfect heat and detachable head. He misses his coffee maker, and his usual spot on the couch, and he misses his weekly basketball game and going to the movies and his nightly telenovelas with Chris. God, he misses Chris.

Most of all, he wishes he could be alone. He would never describe himself as anything close to introverted, but he finds himself aching for a chance to be alone with his thoughts, to occupy a space and know that he’ll be free from prying eyes. If only for a little while. They give each other space as best they can, spreading out as much as Buck’s loft will allow them, books and headphones and private Facetimes with their families out on the balcony. It works until it doesn’t.

Their last call on today’s twenty-four is to a retirement community. It’s not all that uncommon for them; there was always a flood of 9-1-1 calls after the nurses swap shifts in the morning. They rush downtown in the engine with the ambulance not far behind, sirens blasting while they fumble with their equipment. This time, it was full face shields and respirators, sterile latex gloves tugged on before they’d even left the truck.

It’s eerily quiet as they rush down the carpeted halls, like something out of a horror movie, everyone confined to their rooms and locked away from the danger they impose just by being there. The small handful of custodians and nurses that are in the halls give them a wide berth, flinching away while they fiddle with their masks. It’s exhausting, Eddie thinks, and awfully lonesome, to be heralded as some sort of hero by the very same people who wince away from their presence in fear. Thanks for saving lives, but please don’t come near mine.

They load the patient onto the gurney, every movement clumsy beneath sterile gowns, protective goggles digging into the bridge of his nose. It’s too late, anyway— she’s in asystole before they’ve even finished getting her outside, and Eddie stops his CPR to lift a questioning eyebrow to Bobby, huffing with the effort. “DNR?” he asks, muffled behind layers of plastic. Sweat is starting to accumulate in the divot of his upper lip.

Bobby nods solemnly, and Eddie pulls away with a defeated slump of his shoulders, chest heaving while he catches his breath. How lonely, he thinks, to live this many years on Earth only to die alone and isolated, confined to a carpeted room. It’s enough to make his throat grow tight, every swallow painful and dry. He wants to tear his gloves and gown off, wants to throw them to the ground in frustration, wants to run his hands through his hair and over his face— but he can’t. They have to be decontaminated, first.

So, he’s tired. He’s got sweat drying on his forehead and the small of his back, and he’s got irritated red lines along the sides of his face where the plastic dug in too tight, and he really just wants to go home and curl up next to Christopher on the couch with a dumb movie.

But he can’t.

“Okay,” Hen says in the Jeep on the way back to Buck’s loft. It breaks the bubble they’d formed, uncomfortably tranquil silence as they drive through too-quiet streets. “Today was tough on all of us, and I dunno about you guys, but I need to go see my family. Even if it’s from fifty feet away as I wave from the front yard.”

“Yeah, I’ll second that,” Chim says from the passenger seat, elbow propped against the door. “Maddie’s got her first ultrasound today. I wasn’t gonna go, but after that last call… I think I’ll at least lurk outside the window, or Facetime her from the parking lot, or something. Need a reminder that there’s still good in this world.”

“Eddie?” Hen prods, like she’s saying, you too?

He considers it for all of five seconds, before— “I dunno. I’m still—” nervous, he bites down, terrified, worried, anxious horrified exhausted—

“I need a nap first, at least,” he finishes lamely. “I’m wiped. And I don’t want to distract Christopher from school.” Not a lie, technically— although ‘school’ isn’t quite how Eddie would describe that setup. 

“Yeah, I’m dead on my feet,” Buck sighs, yanking the key out of the ignition when they park.

“Call if you need us to grab anything,” Hen says warmly, Chimney glued to her side as they make their way to her car in Buck’s guest spot, and Eddie and Buck wave them off with stilted smiles.

For all his crippling exhaustion, Eddie still can’t fall asleep.

He can blame it on many things— the bright morning light coming through ceiling-high windows, the restless, incessant ticking of his mind, the uncomfortable tickle of heat where Buck doesn’t keep the AC low enough. He fights to not kick his legs out in frustration, tries to focus his breathing and soothe his mind, mellow out his muscles one stiff limb at a time. It almost works, actually, and he can feel his mind starting to empty, starts to feel his mouth go slack, when—

A sigh is let loose somewhere behind Eddie, and it’s too full to be pulled from somebody truly asleep. He can’t seriously be…

Buck shifts his weight, jostling the mattress, and Eddie bites down on his tongue, soft and full and squishy where it rests in his mouth. The sound is louder now, the friction of skin against skin, interspersed with soft, quivering sighs. He can ignore this, he can, he’ll talk about it with Buck later, he just needs to get some fucking sleep so he can properly think. So he can broach the subject with some level of tact.

Buck spits into his hand, loud and wet and utterly tactless, and it rocks through Eddie’s nerves like a jolt from an electric fence.

“Buck, for fuck’s sake,” he groans into the pillow, whipping himself around to finally face him, and Buck is—

Well, god. He’s feverish, bright red and getting redder, mouth gaping dumbly around the shape of the words he just can’t seem to get out. He’s got his forearm pressed over his cock, like he’s trying to hide it, inching away from Eddie despite the fact that there’s nowhere to go. It makes Eddie feel a little crazy, a little numb; he feels like he’s hovering outside of his own body, watching this all happen from afar.

“Eddie, I— fuck, I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep,” he says, bumbling through his words and trying to angle his lap away from Eddie’s prying eyes to no avail.

“I almost was,” Eddie says testily, eyes still glued to Buck’s crotch. His skin feels hot and itchy and restless, and he’s glued to the way Buck anxiously squirms against the mattress. He’s sleep deprived and emotionally fragile— that’s his excuse, anyway, for why he says what he says next, danger trickling in and making his body go taut. “Well, go on, then. Since you can’t wait.”

Buck shudders, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry at the way his hips flex up subtly, pushing into the pressure of his arm. “I— what?” he asks dumbly.

“I need to get some sleep, and you clearly need to get off, so…” he trails off, cutting his eyes up to meet Buck’s. They’re fever-bright, shimmering as they look back and forth between Eddie’s with a gaping mouth, like he’s waiting for the punchline. “How many times is this now? Three?”

“What?” Buck says again, wincing and finally looking away towards the wall. “You— you heard that? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to be polite,” Eddie says, but even that kind of… feels only partially true. He studies the side of Buck’s face, red and nervous and squirming, perfect white teeth digging into plush pink lips. His gut stirs with something— weird and uncomfortable and tingly. Hedonistic. “Hurry up.”

Buck’s stomach clenches, and it makes that funny feeling grow even hotter. “I-I can’t— Eddie, I can’t jerk off while you’re watching me.”

Oh, but you can jerk off while you watch me, Eddie thinks, but instead he says, “I could pretend to be asleep again, if that helps.”

Buck groans, knees knocking inwards where they’d hitched up in an attempt to hide himself. “I’m sorry, Eddie, really, I’m so sorry, I never thought—”

“That I would notice?” Eddie finishes, his breathing a little shallow now. He props himself up on his elbows, his shirt riding up and showing off the strip of skin above his waistband. Buck eyes it shamelessly, the cavern of his mouth wet and wide and open. It feels like his whole body wants to contract under the look.

“Yeah,” Buck says weakly, and his forearm starts to rub back and forth, soothing over the length of his cock gently and rhythmically, eyelashes fluttering. “I thought if I— if I did it in the shower or the bathroom at night, that— that you guys would all know what I was doing.”

Eddie’s lungs hitch, heat bubbling where it’s starting to accumulate below his navel. He spreads his legs wider on the mattress, making space for the suddenly suffocating heat of his thighs and groin. His throat bobs when Buck’s fingers find the base of his own cock. It looks— nice. Eddie doesn’t— he’s not— but he has eyes. He can watch porn and admit to himself when the guy has a nice cock. And Buck’s is— yeah. It’s nice. Definitely gets the job done. “Yeah, Buck, we’d know,” he says with a thin voice, and that makes Buck grunt and pull at himself a little harder, and it feels like butterflies are fluttering around in Eddie’s guts. He fights the urge to writhe into the mattress. “We’d all know that you were in there beating yourself off and making a mess. We’d—” he swallows, his throat thick and dry, his head buzzing at the base of his skull. He’s crazy. They’re both fucking crazy. “We’d probably smell it, after.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Buck hisses, his tone garbled and wavering. He pumps his dick faster, stripping over the length of it now, the head getting wet and ruddy and making a mess of his knuckles. His hips cant up softly, funneling his cock into the tight grip of his fist. “Eddie, c’mon,” he huffs, biceps bunching and releasing with the cadence.

“What?” Eddie breathes, his own cock chubby and pulsing beneath the cupped warmth of his palm through his shorts. Oh, he hadn’t even noticed he’d started touching himself.

“Let me see,” Buck begs, pausing to drag his thumb through the bubbling slit, mercilessly rubbing at it. “I’ll grovel later, I swear, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do all your chores for a week, just please—”

Eddie shudders on his next exhale, brows pinching together as he paws at the shape of his cock. The whole world has gone mad, he decides, hitching his hips up to rip his shorts down to his thighs, cock bobbing and resting against his hip.

“Whoa,” Buck says, shamelessly eyeing him with a sparkling expression. Heat floods through his veins. “Jesus, Eddie, you’re— is that thing real?”

A laugh is startled out of him, bubbling up out of his throat. “What?” he huffs, taking himself in hand, soothing the ache with calloused fingers. His eyes close at the relief, at the pulse of heat that washes over his skin, half arousal and half embarrassment. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Seriously,” Buck says, husky and teasing. Eddie keeps his eyes closed; safe under the cover of darkness, one-sided as it may be. “That thing is a work of art. Kinda— selfish to be keeping it all to yourself.”

Eddie’s abdomen cramps up tight, and he grits his teeth at the spike of arousal that drives right through his core, hot all over at the implication of sharing the wealth. He pulls at himself languidly, matching Buck’s rhythm through sound alone. Buck is indulgent, now, strokes himself all slow and wet while the pleasure flares up, molten where it sits in his guts. Nothing like he’d been under the cover of nighttime, rushed and muffled. Maybe Buck was shy, Eddie thinks, but in all likelihood— maybe now he was just showing off. Taking his time.

The sounds coming from Buck are obscene— not just the half-bitten grunts and quivering inhales, but the slick sound of his fist where it’s pulsing over the spongy head of his cock. The friction from Eddie’s palm aches a bit, and with a reedy little whine he bites out, “got— got anything wet for me, bud?”

Buck sucks in a breath beside him, startled almost, and Eddie’s eyes crack open. Buck is— he looks lost and dazed, brows pinched together with his eyes squeezed shut, mindlessly pumping at his cock. “Not, uh— no lube, I-I hid everything down in storage before you guys came over.” He huffs out a wet laugh, flopping his head to the side to look at Eddie. His birthmark is flushed dark red with exertion, like a bright lipstick stain against fever-hot skin. “You know how nosy Chim is.”

Eddie’s eyes cut down to Buck’s lap, drawn to the messy little puddle that’s accumulating on his stomach. “So that’s— all you?” he chokes out, tugging at himself harder now, breaking the rhythm he and Buck had been matching. His face crumples, tightening his fist and dropping his mouth open. “Jesus. You’re like a—” he stops himself, gut flipping at the filthy thought. Like a girl.

What the fuck are they doing? Eddie recoils with startling clarity, the spotlight of the sun beating down on them, but the awareness just makes him burn all the hotter. The sheets are kicked off of them both, tangled at the foot of the bed, nothing in the way to hide the view. Their breathing has gone ragged and shaky, bodies convulsing as they frantically work their hips up into their fists, elbows knocking together, and all Eddie can think is: Buck is gonna watch me come. Buck is gonna make me come.

Buck drags his free hand down to his balls, full and swaying with every twist of his hips, his thighs flexing as he spreads his knees wide. “Might— might have something wet for you in a second,” Buck grits out, catching Eddie’s eyes, tongue licking over his lips with a salacious grin. “You still want it?”

Eddie’s cock jerks in his hand. “Yeah,” he manages, barely audible, and Buck nods to himself with a little fucked-out groan. He’s so wet, the shine of his precome catching the light where it pools on his stomach, thighs trembling and quaking and making the entire frame shake.

Eddie’s own hand stills, too focused on Buck’s body, on his glassy eyes and his rutting hips. Buck is about to come, he’s sure of it, and just before he hits his peak he reaches over and pulls Eddie’s hand off of his cock, dragging it over to his own lap to cup over the wet, jerking head.

“Fuck, coming,” Buck hisses, eyes slamming shut, and Eddie feels it before he sees it. Buck’s come stripes over his palm, in-between his fingers, thick and sticky and wet, Buck’s fingers tightly circling his wrist to keep his hand in place. Eddie feels as if he’s been dipped in acid, as if he’s swallowed coke and mentos, bubbling and frothing up his guts until it overflows, desperation pouring out of him with nowhere else to go. His own neglected cock thrashes against his hip, lurching like a wild animal, hips bucking up to catch any semblance of friction.

The excess spills out onto Buck’s abdomen, back onto the sticky head of his cock, and when Buck finally deflates and releases Eddie’s wrist he feels shaky and uneven. Eddie wastes no time in dragging his now come-slick hand back to his own cock, and the noise that escapes him is nothing less than whiny. Fuck, there’s so much, wet and nasty where he’s smoothing it over the shaft, the head, every pull gloriously slippery. He sets a punishing rhythm that makes the tingles shiver up his spine in hot bursts. “Fuck,” he grunts, face reddening impossibly further, his features pinched up tight. His thick thighs spread wide, his knee knocking into Buck’s. It’s messy— it’s so filthy—

“Better?” Buck murmurs, words slurred with exhaustion, blinking at him all slow and syrupy and stupid, and Eddie nods with furrowed brows and a fucked-dumb gaping mouth.

“I’m gonna,” is all Eddie manages before the wave crashes over him, and he’s sputtering and coming and gasping for breath while he spills and spills and spills.

He floats there for a while, slow to return back to his body, lost in a hazy, foggy daze. Christ. He hasn’t—

It’s been a while, that’s all. That has to be the reason why he’s still heaving in shuddering breaths while the sweat cools where it's accumulated at his temples and the backs of his knees. A stray aftershock makes his thighs clench up tight, and he distantly registers the bed dipping next to him as Buck swings his legs over the side, trudging to the bathroom. When the sink turns on, the sound of gushing water echoing off of ceramic tile, Eddie flexes his twice come-soaked hand and thinks, what the fuck did I just do?

We, he petulantly self-corrects. It takes two to tango.

The faucet squeaks off, a spray of droplets hitting porcelain like Buck is shaking his hands dry. That horrible dread makes itself known again, cloying in the back of his throat where it crawls up from his stomach. Like thick, flavorless ink coating the muscle of his tongue. He frantically moves to pull his boxers back up, shoving his sticky and still softening cock back safely behind fabric.

Buck pokes his head around the corner, fingers coiled tightly around the frame of the open door. “Uh— all yours,” he says awkwardly, face pink and freshly scrubbed. “I’m actually kinda wired, I might make a run to the store.”

It’s painfully transparent, but as Eddie stands on unsteady feet, he finds himself grateful for the space. “Yeah, okay,” Eddie nods, eyes still ducked to the ground. He almost pats Buck’s shoulders as they squeeze past each other, but he aborts the gesture at the last second when he remembers the sticky state of his palm, bumping him with his knuckles instead. “Have— fun,” he stumbles, face screwing up in disbelief at himself when Buck is safely facing away from him. Have fun? He slams the door firmly shut before Buck has a chance to give an equally graceless response.

Eddie blindly cranks the shower knob on, slouching forward to rest his forearms at the sink, head knocking into the counter. His breathing is still a little uneven, lungs juddering at the end of every breath, shaky and sore. Panic, dark and familiar, tickles at the floor of his guts. His eyes catch something; resting in a heap on the tile floor, just beside the half-full basket of laundry, there’s a still-damp washcloth. 

It could just be the one Buck used to wash his face, he thinks naively. Could be nothing more in there than microscopic flakes of skin.

He inches his foot forward, toeing at the edge of the cloth. It’s still warm. Warm from the hot water of the sink. Warm from the heat of Buck’s body. The mental image floods in like an intrusive thought; Buck gripping the cloth with white knuckles, scrubbing at the mess crusting on his navel. Running it along the length of his still sensitive cock.

Eddie bends down to pick it up with his clean hand, dizziness spotting his vision in little black dots, and scrubs at the congealing come on his other palm.

Chimney and Hen beat Buck home, and they’re about to gather around the table for dinner without him by the time he finally stumbles through the door with a sheepish expression. He meets Eddie’s eye for a millisecond before darting away just as quickly, enthusiastically grilling Hen and Chim about their family visits. Way too enthusiastically. Buck doesn’t let a single second go by that isn’t filled with mindless, almost nervous chatter.

He spends eternity in the bathroom later, too, maybe hoping that Eddie would be asleep by the time he’s finished. His face visibly falls when he steps out to find Eddie stubbornly propped up against the headboard, hands modestly crossed in his lap and eyebrows impatiently raised. They need to talk about it, before—

Before it becomes a big deal.

“Uh— hey,” Buck says, lips scrunching up awkwardly, a parody of nonchalance. His hands wring together in front of him as he makes his way to the bed, hesitantly pulling back his corner of the sheets with a thoughtful expression. He props himself on the edge of the mattress, looking like a startled animal about to flee. “Listen, about earlier—”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, but Buck’s words bowl on ahead without him.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, emphasizing each word with wide hand gestures. “I mean truly, really sorry. If you want me to, like, sleep on the floor—”

“Buck,” he says again, softer, and Buck leans forward to bury his head in one hand. His face is quickly flushing under the lamplight. There’s a million things he could say, but he can see the anguish creeping in on Buck’s profile, and he decides maybe simple is best. “Stop apologizing. We’re good.”

Buck picks his head up to warily eye Eddie, head tilting ever so slightly. “Uh… we are?” he says, voice pitched up and bewildered. Eddie is half expecting him to say, come again? with a studio audience laugh track to follow.

Eddie shrugs, heart fluttering in his chest and making it skip a beat or three. He stubbornly picks at a cuticle on his right hand. “I’m not mad. I mean… hell, I’ve lived on an army base, you’ve lived in a frat house… we’ve both probably seen and heard much worse.”

A nervous, relieved chuckle is let out at that. Buck licks at his lips. “Right. But the, uh, the rest of it…” he trails off.

The memories wash over him, making his gut clench up tight— Buck’s hand encircling his wrist, pulling it to his lap, the wet splash of—

Eddie clears his throat, an awkward rumble that grates on his vocal cords. “Don’t worry about it,” he clips out, socked feet shifting against the sheets. “I hadn’t… y’know,” he gestures vaguely, pivoting to tug at his ear. “In a while. So it was…” kinda nice, “needed. Uh. For me, too.”

“Oh,” Buck blinks. A boyish grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, though he’s clearly fighting it. “Yeah?”

Eddie shrugs again, casually bumping him on the arm, his own mouth tugging up as well. He can’t help it; it’s infectious. When your best friend smiles, so do you. “Yeah, whatever. A little stress relief definitely doesn’t hurt.”

Buck lets out a soft snort. “Well, in that case… my door’s always open. If you ever want to, uh… relieve some more.”

“You don’t have a door,” Eddie says, aiming for playful and ignoring the way his mouth goes a little dry.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Buck grumbles, pulling the blankets up around him properly. “Let’s definitely wait ‘til we have the place to ourselves again,” he says, punching his pillow into submission, fluffing it like Eddie isn’t suddenly dizzy and breathing unsteadily beside him. Like it was an inevitability. Like Eddie had already agreed to it.

Getting ahead of yourself there, cowboy? Eddie almost says, but he licks his lips and feels his blood prime and croaks out “yeah,” instead.

It’s not weird, he tells himself, lying in the dark and staring up at the ceiling and losing his mind. He’s lonely, and he’s touch-starved, and he’s stressed— he hasn’t been with anyone since Shannon. Hasn’t ever really been with anyone but Shannon. It’s only natural that he feels like this after a little contact, wired and antsy, skin tight and awash with pinpricks. It doesn’t matter that they’re both— because Buck’s in the same boat as him. And Buck would be acting weird if it meant something bigger. Weird like he was when he came home earlier.

But they’re fine now. They’re Buck and Eddie. They’ve been through worse.

They don’t talk about it for a while, and Eddie wonders if maybe they’ll forget about it completely. The awkwardness only lingers for about a day, uncomfortably avoiding eye contact and finding excuses to be busy at work when they find themselves alone— you know what, uh, I better go help Chim with the hoses— but it’s not quite dread that settles in Eddie’s guts. It feels softer and warmer. Anticipation, maybe.

Well— there’s a little bit of dread. There’s always a little bit of dread. It sounds a bit like his mother, if he listens too closely, but he’s practiced at ignoring it when it flares up.

The awkwardness disappears when they’re called out to do a rope rescue— an overzealous rock climber who didn’t have his usual hiking companion— and Buck and Eddie are Buck and Eddie again, moving in-sync as they ease down the cliff side and carefully haul the guy up back to safe, dry land. He’s getting up in Buck’s space before he’s even realized he’s doing it, gripping him by the shoulder and hauling him closer while Buck fumbles with his harness and saying, “nice work, Buckley.”

“Another win for the dream team,” Hen teases as they load the patient onto the gurney.

Buck ducks his head with a fond grin, and he shakes Eddie off with a playful shrug of his occupied shoulder. “What can I say?” He says with faux-smugness, straightening his spine. “I’ve made ‘great strides in my ability to work well with others.’”

”There’s still time to re-submit that assessment,” Bobby warns, but his lips are quirked up, too.

It’s only a couple of weeks later— ten days, really, but who’s counting— when they’re working out in the station’s gym and Hen wanders by and says, “anyone up for a trip to the park today? Or maybe a hike? I’m feeling a little stir-crazy.”

Chimney grunts where he’s lowering himself from his pull-ups, landing with a huff of exertion. “You want to go on a hike? Miss ‘I Wear Sweatpants To The Grocery Store’?”

“It’s called a tracksuit, Chim, and it’s high fashion,” Hen chides.

“I’m just saying, that’s how you know it’s bad,” Chim ribs. He stretches out his shoulders, groaning when they pop. “Yeah, you know what, why not. I could go for some fresh air. Buck’s apartment is getting a little stale. Feel like I’m being slowly marinated in some sort of twisted concoction made out of Axe body spray and yeast.”

Buck’s face screws up indignantly, lowering his gloves where he was wailing on the punching bag while Eddie held it still. “It’s Old Spice.”

“Kids these days,” Chim says to Hen, and then he’s jerking his chin in Eddie’s direction. “How about it, Diaz? Fancy a little venture into the great outdoors?”

Eddie tilts his head back and forth in consideration, and he’s opening his mouth to reply favorably when he catches Buck’s eyes. They’re bright and expectant, mouth parting to let his teeth and his tongue show through, and something seismic rocks through Eddie’s body. Oh. Buck wants to—

“Sorry, uh, no can do,” Eddie fumbles. “I was gonna…”

“Help Chris with his science project,” Buck quickly supplies, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Yeah, they’re uh, they’re growing these plants without dirt, we said we’d help him set things up on Facetime.”

Eddie digs his canines into the flesh of his cheek to bite down a smile. Buck’s pulling these plans out of his ass, but he’s not even wrong— Chris is learning about this in science. The fact that he remembers what Chris is learning about, that he’s taken such a genuine interest in his son’s life…

Eddie’s mind flashes to the papers he’d worked up with his lawyer, and he feels more confident in his decision than ever. And Buck still doesn’t even know.

“Right,” Chim deadpans, fitting his hands to the notch of his hips. “It’s a three man job to put a few seeds in a cup of water?”

“Nutrient enhanced water,” Buck says dryly.

“Suit yourself,” Hen says. “Just don’t come crying to us about feeling left out when you smell milkshakes on our breath later.”

“Don’t tell him,” Chim hisses with a little shit-eating grin, trailing after her when she walks away with an amused cackle.

Buck watches them leave, before turning to Eddie with a mischievous little smirk, nodding to himself with his tongue poking out between his teeth. Like they just got away with something.

Eddie retreats to the showers to hide the simmering flush that crawls up his neck.

He’s antsy the entire car ride home, knee bouncing carelessly where he’s sitting in the passenger seat, one finger rubbing restlessly over his dry, cracked lips. Buck chatters away like he always does, filling the empty space and completely oblivious to the way Eddie’s palms are getting clammy, rubbing the excess sweat off on his jeans. Relieving stress. That’s all they’re doing.

When Buck is digging out his keys at the front door, Eddie finds himself wondering how they’ll even start— but then Buck is kicking his shoes off in the entryway and blindly rushing up the stairs while he tugs his shirt off, and Eddie is already shaking his head fondly at Buck’s overt eagerness and following him up to the bedroom. He’s feeling eager, too.

“I, uh,” Buck starts, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh. “Do you… want anything?”

Eddie pauses where he’s halfway through tugging at the neckline of his shirt, jeans already abandoned, brows knitting together high on his forehead. “Like… what? A glass of water?”

Buck gives a more sincere snort at that, fumbling with his belt buckle. “No, smartass. I mean, do you, like… want any— uh. Masturbatory aids?”

“Mas—” Eddie flatly starts to echo, before catching himself. “What, like a dirty magazine?” he deadpans.

“No,” Buck says, mouth quirked up with giddy amusement. “I went down to storage the other day and, uh… retrieved my— y’know. My stuff.” He squats down then, screwing his face up in concentration as he blindly paws underneath the bed frame, eyes lighting up when he finds what he’s looking for. “Aha!” he exclaims, pulling out an old Nike shoebox and flipping off the lid, tossing the box towards the center of the mattress.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters, eyes widening in shock when he cranes his neck to peek at the contents. His heart flutters wildly against his ribs, going warm just at the sight. Sex toys. It’s sex toys, of course, he was foolish to assume otherwise— garishly colored and filled nearly to the brim. He almost ducks his head away; it’s instinct to save himself the embarrassment. To preserve Buck’s shame. But Buck is shameless, of course, grinning wildly and boyishly, eyes bright while he raises his brows like, eh?

Eddie’s throat bobs with a nervous gulp, curiosity overriding the hot-wrong-sick feeling permeating in his chest. Eddie hasn’t— he hasn’t had the most adventurous sex life, and toys were never a big part of his relationship with Shannon. They were just kids, and then they had their own, and then all of their rendezvous were quick and dirty, clandestine—

His pinky edges at the corner of a ring, thick and metal and far too large for a finger. He doesn’t completely live under a rock, though.

“They’re all totally clean,” Buck assures, and Eddie nods dazedly down at the box, still staring into the abyss. It’s bad, isn’t it, that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind? Whether this was sanitary? He’s a medic, for god’s sake.

He moves a coil of beads out of the way, heady at the thought of where they’ve been. God is long gone now.

“Isn’t this—” Eddie starts, cutting himself off, reaching for the black velvet pouch buried at the bottom. He pulls out the vibrator inside, and his suspicions are confirmed. It’s not any old vibrator; it’s a wand. “…For women?” he finishes. Eddie turns it over in his hand before he blanches, adding, “oh, god, tell me you don’t put this thing inside you.”

“No, god,” Buck laughs, bright and twinkly, stretching out on the bed where he’s finished undressing minus his socks. Eddie’s eyes dart down to his naked cock, soft and pink where it rests on his thigh, looking away with a little startle. His face burns hot.

“So, why do you…” Eddie trails off, shaking his head in disbelief. “I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a partner who wants to use a secondhand vibrator.”

Buck fluffs the pillows behind him, propped up against the headboard. He scratches at his jaw awkwardly. “It’s… not for girlfriends. It’s for me.”

“For you,” Eddie repeats flatly, eyes moving back down against his will. Buck’s cock is starting to plump up a bit, the head spasming under Eddie’s watchful gaze, thick and pink. “On your…?” he jerks his head towards Buck’s lap. He can’t quite seem to finish any of his sentences.

“Yeah,” Buck says, shrugging his shoulders, and when Eddie looks back up at his face he finds Buck already looking back, pupils starting to blow while he licks at his lips in a nervous tic.

“Isn’t that… kind of intense?” Eddie asks. “Seems like it would hurt.”

“Nah,” Buck says easily, white teeth digging into his plush lower lip. “It feels awesome. Especially when you also use this,” he huffs, digging one hand through the box and pulling out a small transparent sleeve. Eddie’s nervous system flashes hot, lighting him up like a Christmas tree. Like somebody flipped the breaker when he wasn’t looking. “Fleshlight,” Buck offers when Eddie just gapes at it and doesn’t say anything in response.

“I know what a fleshlight is,” he chokes out, mouth stuffed with cotton. A dirty thrill runs up his spine; his cockhead is starting to feel a bit strangled by the cotton fabric of his boxers. “Yeesh. And here I’ve just been using my hand my whole life,” Eddie says, aiming for something lighthearted, his chest heaving a little shallowly now. Buck is still holding the silicone sleeve, hand outstretched like he’s offering it to Eddie.

“Now that’s a tragedy if I’ve ever heard one,” Buck jokes back, and they both exhale in amusement, nervously avoiding eye contact. “You wanna try it?” Buck says breathlessly, shaking the proffered toy like it’s a feather and Eddie is a cat. “If your dick’ll even fit in there.”

He flushes cold and then hot at that, heat suffusing out from his core until he’s warm all over. “Shut up,” he says, exasperated but still fond, ripping the toy from Buck’s hand. Electricity sparks up his hand when their fingers bump together. “Like yours isn’t—” he gestures vaguely at Buck’s cock, groaning in frustration when Buck grins wildly and hitches his eyebrows up. “Shut up,” he repeats.

Buck puffs his chest out, an exaggerated faux-swagger that makes Eddie’s gut tickle with concealed laughter. “You sayin’ I’ve got a big dick?” he croons, a boyish smolder that makes his gut tickle with something… new. Something hot and dark. He laughs it off.

“Like you need me to stroke your ego, Firehose,” he teases, turning and hitching his hips up to rid himself of his last layer of clothing. His cock sways and then slaps back down against his belly, more than halfway hard and begging for some friction. He ignores the feeling of Buck’s eyes burning a hole into the side of his face. “Lube?”

“Uh— yeah, yeah, here,” Buck says, digging through the shoebox again, and Eddie holds his free hand out expecting Buck to pass it to him. Buck takes the toy back instead, flipping the cap off and squeezing the contents of the bottle straight into the sleeve.

A small shiver builds at the base of his spine, and Eddie grinds his molars together in an effort to still his trembling muscles. Buck makes an absolute mess of it, using his fingers to smear the lube around both openings, tucking his fingers into the sleeve and crooking them. The toy is see-through, transparent silicone that gives Eddie an unobstructed view of Buck’s wet fingers, pushing the slick through tight plastic walls. His cock pulses needily where it lays neglected against his hip, throbbing with every wet shlick of Buck’s palm. He’s being thorough— way too thorough— making it slick and hot and wet. For Eddie.

That’s how Buck’s fingers would look inside someone, Eddie thinks headily, depravity quashing decency. How they’d look carving space inside a filthy wet hole.

“Think that’s good,” Eddie croaks out, swallowing fruitlessly against the scratchy, dry sheath of his throat. Flames lick at his face and ears, seconds away from ripping the toy straight out of Buck’s hands. He feels a little woozy.

Buck hums in agreement, pulling his fingers free with one final twist, and the sucking sound the sleeve makes is obscene. His middle and ring fingers are soaked, gooey trails of slick running down to his palm, and when he hands Eddie the toy again Buck immediately runs those wet fingers up the underside of his own hard cock. They leave a shiny little snail trail that catches on the light, like a beacon for Eddie’s eyes to fixate on. Buck’s cock lurches when he reaches the ruddy head, hissing between clenched teeth as he makes himself wet. Wetter, Eddie thinks, slack mouthed and glued to the bead of moisture bubbling up out of the slit.

Eddie leans back, all too conscientious of the eyes burning into his skin, and slips the toy over the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice deep and throaty, eyes falling shut at the feel of slick, tight silicone. The static ramps up between his ears as he sinks the sleeve down to the base of his cock, smothering his shaft with mind-meltingly wet pressure, still a bit warm from the heat of Buck’s hand.

“Good, right?” Buck breathes beside him, shifting infinitesimally closer, legs bumping together now. “Not as warm as the real thing, but still, uh— nice and soft.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie garbles, hissing when he languidly drags it back up to the head, cracking his eyes open to watch. Buck has used this toy before, he thinks dizzily, head swimming as he smooths the toy up and down. He’s laid right here, in this very bed, and massaged this exact toy over his cock until he spilled all over himself. He wonders how often Buck uses it— how often Buck needs it— how often Buck itches for it, hard and squirming and aching for a soft, wet hole—

Eddie feels a little delirious, watching his cockhead poke out of the tight sheathe, biting back a grunt at the violent pulse of heat beneath his navel. “Yeah, ‘s good,” Eddie bites out, words slurring with the effort.

His mind slips away from him a bit, heat coiling low as he pumps the sleeve over his aching cock, slow and indulgent. Ecstasy knits itself into his skin, weaving between his vertebrae as he lets the pleasure roll through him. Buck is breathing heavily beside him, watching Eddie’s every move with sparkling eyes and red lips and a thick, wet cock. Fuck.

“Where, uh,” Eddie starts, face crumpling while his spine quivers, throbbing into the wet clutch of the toy. Fuck, it feels good, wet and squishy and electric where he drags it over his sensitive cock. “Where’s yours?” he asks, eyes cutting to the box still lying haphazardly on the mattress.

“I’ll wait my turn,” Buck says with a thin voice, long fingers framing the base of his cock, and Eddie cants his hips up into the sleeve. Moisture bubbles up out of his tip, one fat bead that dribbles down and disappears into the toy. “You want the—?” Buck drops his dick to pick up the discarded wand, aiming the head towards Eddie’s lap.

His stomach tightens, hand gripping the toy with white knuckles and pumping faster. An unidentifiable feeling drives through his core— anticipation, fear, heat, shame, greed. It’s like his body has sprinkled in a little bit of each, and they all serve to make his brain fuzzy and his limbs loose and his cock ache. “Yeah, okay,” he breathes, and he swallows once, twice as Buck clicks it on and fills the room with a soft buzzing noise.

“I’ll be gentle,” Buck coos, a soft whisper like— like Eddie’s his girlfriend, or something, like they’re teenagers fumbling in the back of a dark car, and his mouth drops open as he watches Buck move the head of the toy to his ruddy, leaking cockhead.

“Oh,” Eddie gasps when the vibrator connects, lurching away from the intense contact. His stomach cramps up tight, too tight, thighs quivering as the sensation washes through him. Buck chases his cock with the toy, running it just under the sensitive spot below the head, and Eddie sucks in a shuddering breath like he’s been slammed right in the solar plexus. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezes, guttural.

“Yeah, right?” Buck asks shakily beside him. He’s even closer now, pressed right up against him, thigh to hip while their ankles bump together. Eddie nods deliriously, half-lidded eyes locked on to the way Buck runs the wand all over the tip of his cock. “How does it feel?” Buck prods, his voice wet with saliva.

Eddie shudders violently, gritting his teeth at the sensation. How does it feel? It feels… hot and wet and intense, it feels like every nerve in his body is being shocked, like he’s grabbing an electric fence and holding on tight while every jolt sends waves of blistering heat pulsing through his body. From the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his scalp, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing. It feels like he’s been struck by fucking lightning.

“Feels so fucking good,” he slurs, and he feels something in his gut come loose. He feels crazy.

“Move your hand, too,” Buck encourages, circling the head clockwise, and Eddie’s hips jerk helplessly. He listens, knuckles aching where they’d been locked up tight, pumping the sleeve with little minute twists of his wrist, and oh, god.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, ragged and desperate. He’s not gonna last— he’s going to fucking explode at the vibrations tickling the head of his cock, a full-body throb that makes his hips squirm. Buck pulls the wand away, and Eddie’s throat rumbles with a guttural noise of shock as the sensations suddenly cease, gut dropping. “No—”

“Shhh,” Buck shushes, and Eddie quakes at the tremors rocking through his body, thighs flexing and clenching. His toes curl up. “Just trust me.”

I do, Eddie thinks, brows pushing together pathetically as his face twists up in agony. He dutifully continues pumping the sleeve over his cock, soothing the dull, throbbing ache. I trust you with my cock, I trust you with my life, I trust you with my friendship and my heart— I trust you with my son—

Buck clicks the button again and amps up the buzzing, pressing the toy back to Eddie’s cock, intensity slamming into him like a crash test dummy into a brick wall. Eddie’s face screws up, pleasure-slack mouth gaping while he gasps for air, fidgeting helplessly against the sheets.

“Buck,” he warns, the pressure building beneath his gut and making him convulse. It’s ramping up fast, too fast, too fierce, and something akin to fear makes his gut run a little cold. He’s gonna— it’s going to be too much, too intense, too big—

“Too much, too much,” he’s mumbling, head thrashing against the headboard, slumped where he’s melting back against the frame. The head of his cock is practically purple, thrashing up against the buzz of the vibrator, sticky and throbbing and lurching in the wet grip of the sleeve. Buck ducks his head down to rest in the divot between Eddie’s neck and shoulder, softly biting at the skin there, tilting his head to stare down at Eddie’s cock where they’re both working him over. “Gonna come, pull it off, please.”

“You got this,” is all Buck says in response, and Eddie’s eyes roll up into his head, lips mashed together to muffle the throaty whine that threatens to escape. The pleasure flares up, tight and hot, too hot, cresting, dangling, floating way, way past the cliff’s edge of what he thought was possible, and he tilts his own head to smush his cheek into Buck’s unkempt hair.

Every muscle locks up painfully tight, and he grits out a shivery little “Buck, I’m,” before everything crashes down over him.

His face screws up like he’s on the precipice of a sneeze, nostrils flaring and mouth dropped open, eyebrows knit together pathetically tight. Come pulses out of his dick in thick ropes and makes a mess of the sleeve, painfully intense, every spurt forced out by the too-severe vibrations still glued to his sensitive cockhead. He gasps, shaky and loud, limbs thrashing while Buck keeps the toy right where it is, chasing him through every wild flail while he makes a mess of himself. It seems to go on forever, lacing over his stomach and gumming up his pubes and the head of the wand, firmly trapped in his body while his head floats up, up, up into the sky.

Eddie sucks in a gasping inhale when it’s over, lungs shuddering for air where he’d been holding his breath, collapsing in a boneless heap against the bedframe and the pillows. He’s shaking all over, unsteady and overstimulated where Buck still has the vibrations pressed against him. “Buck,” he croaks, weakly pawing at his arm in an attempt to get him to stop. “Hurts.”

“Eddie, fuck, that was so good,” Buck breathes, lips pillowing over Eddie’s collarbone. “All swollen and full in that little toy— Jesus Christ. Still looks full.” He rubs the wand in little firm circles right under the sticky head, and Eddie garbles out another slurred plea, oversensitivity making his molars grind together. It’s torture, every nerve lighting up, like a bright, intense pain that billows out from his core and branches out to all his limbs.

“Can’t,” he grits out, lurching up at a particularly intense pulse. His arms are numb, too weak to pull the toy off and push Buck away. His cock is still red and half-stiff, full of hot, rushing blood and too tight where he’s still crammed in the wet sleeve. There’s an odd tickling at the base of his spine, shuddering up his back and making his tongue loll out of his still slack mouth. It can’t be possible, but he feels— it builds up like—

The vibrations finally stop, and Eddie exhales with a full, deep sigh, relief flooding in after it, but then Buck is ducking his head down and slipping damp lips over the head of his inflamed cock, soothing the ache with his wet tongue.

“Oh, shit,” he cries, hand clumsily falling on top of Buck’s head. Eddie’s thumb finds the curve of Buck’s ear, soothing over the cartilage while Buck’s cheeks sink in, fluttering as he groans and sucks what he can. It makes Eddie’s body seize up, oversensitive and panting, writhing back into the bed. His hips pump up almost without his input, burying his length in the wet cavern of his mouth, Buck’s lips sinking down until they meet the edge of the sleeve. Buck groans, bringing one hand up to jerk the sleeve over the base of his cock, following the rhythm with his throat.

It hurts. His cock is too sensitive, smothered by wet heat, leaky and spasming over Buck’s pink tongue. “I can’t,” he says again, and then he’s wheezing out another shaky moan as his cock blurts out another orgasm, scooped from his guts like somebody scraped it up out of the bottom of a barrel. Buck moans over his length where it’s plugging up his mouth, throat working as he swallows, audible gulps that make Eddie’s head swim.

He hisses when Buck pulls off, hisses again when Buck finally pulls the fleshlight off too, one of his own hands flying down to cover his wet, achingly sore dick. Hiding or soothing, he’s not sure, but he’s helpless to just lie back and pant and eye the way Buck slips the sleeve over his own cock, the once translucent silicone now cloudy with lube and come.

“Jesus,” Buck gasps, mouth falling open, white teeth and red lips and a pink, swollen tongue. He looks over at Eddie again, biceps bunching faster when his eyes drag over his face, dipping down to his lap. “Eddie, fuck. Did you— did you like it?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says lamely, nodding dumbly. His brain cells have left the building. A stray aftershock rocks through his body, his wrung-dry cock spasming beneath his clammy palm.

“I’ve never—” Buck starts, interrupting himself with a guttural whine, pumping his cock with obscene, wet schlicks. “I’ve never sucked a dick before.”

Eddie’s stomach goes taut, and he lists over almost by instinct and leans into Buck’s space, forehead resting on his arm. His foot reaches out to bump Buck’s. “You like it?”

Buck’s foot knocks back, and Eddie tangles their ankles together, Buck’s still covered in white cotton socks.

“Yeah,” Buck sighs, moving the sleeve up to cover the tip, smothering the wet head with slippery, tight pressure. His voice has gone tight and small. “Yeah, I liked it. I like sucking cock.” Buck’s vulgar words only ramp him up higher, hips swaying as he ruts up into the toy.

“Good,” Eddie whispers, cheeks flushed and vaguely woozy. Buck sucks in the next breath through his teeth, thighs spreading wide as he fucks himself to the edge. Eddie gently nips at his shoulder, tongue tracing over the freckles that dot the skin there. His eyes are locked on to the way Buck’s stomach muscles flutter as they clench and relax in little fits, helpless against his imminent orgasm.

“Can I,” Buck huffs and pants, biting into the plush skin of his already bruised lower lip. “Can I kiss you?”

Eddie’s gut falls into his ass, whatever part of his brain that’s still online faintly registering the panic. He swallows it down and nods against Buck’s shoulder, and then a hand is scruffing the back of his neck and tugging him up towards Buck’s mouth, and he gasps at the tongue that bullies its way into his mouth.

It’s wet and sloppy and graceless, and he faintly registers the way Buck’s other hand pauses momentarily while they figure each other out, heads tilting to slot together. Buck’s breathing is harsh and shaky, puffs of warm air washing over Eddie’s skin while their tongues curl together. The faint taste of Eddie’s come is still sour where it's melting on Buck’s tastebuds. 

Buck’s hand speeds up again, and he pulls at Eddie’s lip with those perfect teeth before puffing out a shaky little “fuck,” eyes falling closed and mouth dropping open as he finally succumbs. Eddie’s eyes twitch down to his cock, watching with glassy eyes as Buck’s come spills up over the toy, wet and filthy and overflowing. The amount is almost obscene. Porn-worthy, he thinks cheekily.

Buck slumps when he’s finished, chest swelling and falling dramatically where he’s pulling in air in desperate, heaving gulps. “Holy shit,” he gasps, a grin spreading across his face, eyes bright when they make eye contact. He searches Eddie’s eyes almost hesitantly, darting back and forth between them, dropping down to his mouth for one hot, never-ending moment. He doesn’t break the contact even when he slips the toy off, carelessly tossing it onto the clean sheets. Filthy with both of their loads. Eddie nervously licks at his lips.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Holy shit.”

Buck swallows thickly, leaning back against the headboard, and Eddie really shouldn’t find it attractive, but— it is. Undeniably so. There’s something about the way Buck is looking at him right now that makes his skin feel too tight— boyish and flushed and nervous. A little cocky, a little hesitant, a little fucked-dumb.

Buck has looked at Eddie a lot of ways before. He’s looked at him with barely concealed jealousy; with unbridled joy; with exhausted, devastated tears. He’s looked at him with sheepish, apologetic hesitation. With fond laughter in his eyes.

Never like this. Never in a way that’s made Eddie’s stomach erupt with butterflies. They’re fluttering now, threatening to crawl up out of his throat, and Eddie swallows them back down to the spitting, acid-coated abyss that lies below.

Eddie brings his fist up with lethargic, clumsy limbs, holding it up for Buck. He can’t help the stupid grin that spreads across his face.

Buck eyes it, surprise coloring his features for half a moment, before he grins back with an amused little exhale. He lifts his own fist up to bump their knuckles together, and Eddie holds the contact for just a few seconds past acceptable.

“You, uh… want the first shower?” Buck offers, gesturing down at the mess of toys lying abandoned in the sheets. “I gotta clean all this up anyway.”

Eddie hums, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I mean… we are in a drought, you know,” he says, mock-seriously, like California is never not in a drought.

It takes Buck a moment to process the insinuation, but Eddie studies his every facial twitch like a hawk, chest going warm when recognition filters in and his eyes go bright. “Right. I mean… we’ve shared everything else,” he jokes, eyeing the fleshlight with one piqued brow.

“I’m not afraid of your cooties,” Eddie shoots back, and Buck snorts and shoves playfully at his chest, tacky from his drying sweat. Buck swings his legs over the edge of the bed with a clumsy sort of elegance, stark naked as he strides into the bathroom to get the water warmed up for their joint shower, ducking his head over his shoulder to grin manically at Eddie.

Eddie absentmindedly touches the skin of his chest, heart fluttering against his ribcage. The spot where Buck’s hand landed still sears with heat long after he’s pulled away.

It becomes something of a routine for them, minus the consistency. Privacy is rare; Hen goes to visit Karen and Denny from a distance at least once a week, but Chimney often stays behind, cluelessly lingering and puttering around the loft. 

At night, when they’re under the safe blanket of darkness and the roar of the white noise machines, sometimes Buck will get a hot look in his eye and a quirk in his brow and he’ll lick his lips and say, you wanna…? They’ll kick the blankets down and spit down into each other’s palms and wring themselves dry, Eddie flushed and writhing and biting down on the meat of his hand. Buck gets his mouth on him again a couple times, but the strangled noises pulled from his throat and from Buck’s wet lips are too revealing, too obvious in the painfully quiet loft and echoing ceiling. 

They get two hours to themselves one lazy Sunday morning, and they set an early alarm just to indulge themselves, panting soft breaths up at the ceiling and into the crook of each other’s necks. Eddie gets his hand on Buck’s cock for the first time after Buck shows him what his compact little prostate massager is— what is that, a fidget toy? and Buck huffs a laugh and says, no, it goes in my ass.

(In Eddie’s defense, it was a loud, overly gaudy bright blue color.)

He doesn’t last long enough to try it out himself, too worked up at Buck’s hands-on demonstration, too worked up at the feel of his thick cock making a mess of Eddie’s fist. He barely manages half a dozen strokes on his own dick, pressed up tightly against Buck’s flank, before he spills over Buck’s damp thighs, dizzy at the thought of that pulsating little toy going inside of him next.

It’s nice. It feels good, and it floods them both with happy feel-good hormones. Those are in short supply these days.

It’s weird, though. They haven’t kissed since that second time. He thinks, sometimes, that Buck is leaning in to connect their lips, but he always pivots to land somewhere else; his neck, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. He’s not sure which feeling is more powerful— the fear that Buck might actually kiss him, or the fear that Eddie might want him to.

His leg is nervously bouncing where he’s reclined in one of Buck’s deck chairs, phone propped up in the tight, white-knuckled grip of his fingers. The sun is already beginning to set in the distance, and it’s really quite a view from this high up, but it goes unappreciated by Eddie as he anxiously awaits Christopher’s call. He’s not even late— if anything, Eddie is early. He’s just really missing his kid today.

The phone lights up with Christopher’s name— he’d been adamantly and soul-clenchingly against the idea of getting his nine year old a cell phone, but then the world exploded and Eddie moved into his best friend’s bed, and, well— necessity demanded it. Carla and Pepa have been reminded time and time again not to let Chris use it completely unsupervised.

He hits the green button, lips quirking up at the sight of his son. Chris doesn’t notice he’s picked up for a moment, glancing distractedly at something off to the side, and Eddie is treated to the way his son’s face lights up when he looks back and sees him.

“Hi, Dad,” he says cheerfully, a smile already stretching his cheeks.

“Hey, pal,” Eddie greets easily, relief flooding his veins. “How was school today?” He leans back into his chair while Chris launches into a story about school, meticulously recounting every scheduled minute of his day, down to the exact lunch Carla made for him. Carrots and ranch, but Carla doesn’t like ranch, so she had blue cheese— it’s mundane and unexciting and so, so banal, and Eddie’s heart feels like it’s being shredded to a bloody pulp, like someone’s squeezing it in a tight, relentless fist. He misses his kid like he misses a phantom limb, like he turns every corner expecting him to be there, but it’s all just in his head. His eyes feel weirdly hot— he tamps it down so he doesn’t burst into tears halfway through Christopher’s riveting tale of how his social studies teacher accidentally turned on the zoom filter that made him look like a cat.

“I miss you, bud,” Eddie says when there’s a lull in the conversation, eyes fond and misty. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Leftover chili,” Chris says, eyes cutting down and arms curling inwards. “I miss you too. Can you come home soon?”

Eddie sighs, deflating. “Soon, buddy, I promise. Tía abuela is taking good care of you, right? Still reading you your bedtime stories?” His heart clenches up tight again— by the time he gets home, Chris might be too old for his bedtime stories. It makes his limbs feel cold.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t do the voices,” Chris says, and Eddie huffs out a wet laugh. His eyes catch movement in his periphery, and he averts his gaze to find Buck waving sheepishly through the glass windows, gesturing to the pot on the stove. Dinner is ready. 

Eddie smiles at him, slow and syrupy, and he waves Buck over with a crook of his fingers. “Hey, bud, you wanna say hi to Buck? I’m sure he’d love to catch up with you.”

“Yeah,” Chris says, face lighting up again. Buck hovers just inside the door, and Eddie hands him his phone with a little wry grin, hopelessly fond at the way a smile erupts over Buck’s face.

“Christopher!” he exclaims, pivoting blindly around Eddie to head out onto the balcony. “How’s your hydroponics project going? Still alive?”

“It grew a new leaf!” he hears Chris respond excitedly before the door shuts. He watches through the glass for a suspended moment in time as Buck gestures animatedly, every reaction exaggerated, grinning sunnily down at the phone all the while.

He’s been feeling it for a while now, but there’s a gentle clarity that washes over him as he’s standing there in Buck’s kitchen, setting sun streaming in through the windows, watching the fond, bright flush of Buck’s cheeks:

He needs to go home.

Eddie’s twiddling his thumbs in bed later, working up the courage to just spit it out, already: Buck, I think I’m going to pack up and head home tomorrow. He’s not sure why he’s so weirdly anxious until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye; the palm that Buck had been resting on his abdomen has finished its glacial trajectory down to his crotch, digging the heel of his hand over his thickening cock.

Eddie’s mouth goes dry. He cuts his gaze away back to the phone in his hand, pretending that he hasn’t noticed, thighs already going taut in anticipation. He knows what comes next; knows that Buck’s breathing will start to pick up, that he’ll nudge Eddie with his knee or his elbow, that his mouth will drop and he’ll suggestively drop his eyes down to Eddie’s lap with a little jerk of his chin. None of this is what makes him anxious. It’s the heavy, sour feeling permeating in his gut with the knowledge that this is the last time. Eddie will pop the bubble and shatter whatever weird, co-dependent dynamic they’ve been cultivating. They’ll go back to the real world, or some semblance of it, anyway: back to just regular old Buck and Eddie.

Normal. Whatever that looks like.

Buck grunts softly beside him. Can they really just go back to how they were before? Sharing a couple of beers on the couch? Will Eddie be able to see Buck’s lips wrap around the neck of a bottle, lap up the fizz and the condensation, and not think of this? Not go cross-eyed at the memories?

He fidgets, staring blank and unseeing at his phone. He wants things to go back to normal, the same way everyone does— wants to find comfort in the mundanity, the routine. The expected. His relationship with Buck used to be one of those things, but now he lies beside his best friend with panic sewing itself tight and itchy beneath his skin, wondering if the stitches are just that obvious.

Something else is laced with the panic— he wants. The want makes the panic that much more bitter.

Buck arches up into his touch, grinding the heel of his palm in little circles now. Eddie’s head has turned to watch, and Buck catches him looking with a little boyish grin, spreading his thighs in an effortlessly show-offy way. “You want to…?” he says quietly.

Eddie’s canines dig into the meat of his cheek, shifting up to turn his head in the direction of the living room downstairs. He can’t see either of them from this angle, but he can see that the lamp is still on down there, can hear the blast from the tv speakers of the show that Hen and Chim are watching. “Gotta be quiet,” he murmurs, and Buck’s eyes light up at that, mouth dropping open. Eddie adds, “get the light.”

The lamp clicks off before Eddie’s even finished dropping his phone on the nightstand. It’s not total darkness, thanks to the lamplight downstairs reflecting off the ceiling, but it’s dark enough to feel obscured and safe. Buck is struggling with his sweats where they’re getting tangled in his feet, and before he can go for his t-shirt, Eddie’s pushing him back against the pillows with one firm hand.

“Can I…” Eddie starts, face flushing white-hot under the cover of darkness. His stomach runs warm, too, antsy and nervous. “Wanna get my mouth on you,” he clips out, stilted and rushed. He says this all while avoiding Buck’s eyes, staring down at his best friend’s lap and the messy, eager twitch of his cock. He’s been so, so hesitant to cross this line— to go from plausible deniability to something totally, undeniably gay. A hand is one thing; licking your lips under the spray of the shower because you’re daydreaming about the slick, warm pressure of a dick between them is another.

“Yeah, are you kidding?” Buck breathes out, reaching down to hold himself by the base. He strips over his cock once, gently, like he just can’t help it. “Yeah,” he repeats, nodding dumbly, shifting so that he’s half-reclined against the headboard.

Eddie nods to himself, inching closer, swallowing against the gravel in his throat. There’s no way to go about this that doesn’t make flames lick oppressively at his throat and face; he scooches down the bed a bit and ducks his head down without fanfare, sucking the head of Buck’s cock into his hot, wet mouth.

“Oh,” Buck gasps out, tight and quiet, thighs seizing up in surprise. Eddie’s ears burn, a hot-weird sensation rushing through his blood as Buck drops his cock to tangle his fingers through Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. It makes him feel warm and good all over, pleasant little tingles that skate down the length of his back. “Eddie, fuck, like that,” he sighs dreamily, encouraging Eddie down further with light pressure at the base of his neck.

Eddie hums, slipping more of Buck’s cock into his mouth. It feels overstuffed already, overwhelming and hot and sticky where it plugs up his lips, flexing like it’s trying to go even deeper. He closes his eyes and focuses only on the sensations; the stretch of his mouth, the flex of his tongue, the way his guts feel light and airy like whipped, spun sugar. His throat seizes up with a wet gag when he bobs too far, and it makes his own neglected cock ache with a pathetic, hot throb in his shorts.

“Eddie, Eddie, fuckfuckfuck,” Buck whispers, a quiet mantra, abdominal muscles flexing beneath Eddie’s palm. His other hand slides over Eddie’s back, tucking beneath the neck of his shirt, gently sliding his hand in big, soothing strokes all along the length of his spine. It tickles almost, something buzzy that shudders at the small of his back, sending waves of floaty, fuzzy warmth all through his core. He suckles harder, brows pushing together at the shivery feeling, pulling off to spit down on the leaky tip and chase it with his tongue.

That coaxes another soft groan from Buck, stuttering and muffled where he’s mashing his lips together to suppress the noise. Everything is wetter now, sloppy where the excess saliva has fallen past Eddie’s lips, slick and messy and obscene. He falls into a heady rhythm, his blood honey-thick and flaring up hot every time his throat clicks, little glucks that make his ears ring. He brings one hand up to twist the rest of Buck’s cock with his fist, and something about that feels particularly vulgar— his insides sizzle like they’re full of lava, searing him from the inside out and cranking everything up to eleven. The hands on Eddie’s body don’t stop, massaging his scalp and running reverently along every knob of his spine, making him burn even brighter.

His cock is throbbing steadily now, and he shifts to press it into the mattress, to soothe the ache. His hips start writhing down, in-sync with the bob of his throat, brainless with pleasure. A muffled grunt slips past his lips, but it’s pressed into the length of Buck’s cock, thick and full and pushing into the soft flesh of Eddie’s cheek.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” Buck hisses, too-loud, guiding Eddie’s head now into the rhythm he wants. His shorts are getting wet now, precome smearing the fabric as his hips stutter into the bed. “Eddie, Christ, your mouth is so soft, man,” he babbles, quiet and incoherent, and Eddie’s gut flips and he gags violently and for one horrifying, nauseating moment he thinks he’s going to be sick— and then a blast of sensation abruptly drives right through him, and come starts pouring out into his sleep shorts, hot and sudden, like someone cranked on the faucet and let it run.

Eddie shivers violently, pulling off of Buck’s drool-soaked cock to mouth at the meat of his thigh, air caught in his lungs. His face twists up in ecstasy, or maybe agony, teeth clenched as he jolts and shudders through every pulse of his orgasm, cock convulsing and spitting out come like it’s being forced out of him. The wet spot in his shorts quickly blooms into a filthy puddle, sticky wet fabric cradling the length of his cock and smearing the mess over his thighs. He hadn’t even felt it built up— had just felt feverishly hot all over, a consistent drumming ache in his hips and his tummy and his dick.

Above him, Buck grunts again, husky and deep, tugging his shirt up with one frantic, unsteady hand while the other pumps his cock with punishing strokes. Eddie watches with glassy eyes as Buck pulls himself right up to that precipice, fucked-out pathetic little groans punched out of his chest, his cock wet and red and sticky from Eddie’s mouth. 

I think I might be gay, he thinks, devastatingly, as Buck digs those perfect white teeth into his lower lip and knits his eyebrows together and comes, painting his skin with hot wet flecks of mess that Eddie feverishly wants to lap up with his tongue.

He looks in the mirror afterwards while he scrubs himself clean and thinks, I don’t feel any different.

Eddie hypes himself up all day, but it still comes out in a breathless, nervous rush when he finally spits the words out.

“I have to go home,” he says in the empty kitchen at the station.

They’re sitting around prepping for dinner— well, Buck is prepping, Eddie is just loitering near the cutting board and stealing little bits of carrot and celery out from under him— while everyone else hunkers down for a nap before the evening rush. Buck looks up from where he’d been staring down at his mirepoix with a shocked little double-take, confusion overtaking his features before they’re smoothed out into disappointment, shoulders falling minutely. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Eddie sighs, turning to lean back against the counter, eyes drilling holes in the sink across from him. Looking anywhere but directly at Buck. “I gotta go home, man. Like, today.”

Buck gingerly puts the knife down, turning to face him. “What about Chris?”

“I’m doing this for Chris,” he says, firm in his beliefs. “I know, I’ll have to work out some crazy system, get undressed in the garage or something every time I come home, but…” His mouth twists to the side, swallowing down the emotion that’s building in his throat. “His whole world keeps changing, and I just… I need to be there for him. I miss my kid.”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly, nodding to himself and ducking his head back towards the cutting board. “Yeah, of course,” he says a little more nonchalantly, waving his hand like it’s no big deal. “Chris probably misses you like crazy. He’ll be so stoked.” Eddie watches him pick up the knife again, resuming his steady, rhythmic chopping with a neutral expression. “Do you, uh— you want a ride later?”

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says, but Buck is shrugging him off before he’s even finished the sentence.

“No, please, I’ll save you the money for an Uber. Plus I can wave to Chris from the driveway.”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips and chewing down the bitter taste seeping into his mouth. “I appreciate it, man,” he says, letting his open palm fall on Buck’s shoulder. When Buck just keeps chopping he adds, “seriously.”

“What are friends for?” Buck says, and Eddie—

He doesn’t even know where to start.

It doesn’t take long to pack up his belongings, having fit everything into one duffel in the first place, so Buck just kind of hovers awkwardly while Eddie stuffs his clean, folded clothes into the bag from Buck’s dresser. “I can clean the dirty stuff and bring it to work tomorrow,” Buck offers, and Eddie thinks about the come-encrusted shorts stuffed into the half-full basket they share in the bathroom and tries not to let his heart start racing. He’s unsuccessful.

“Thanks,” he clips out, unplugging all of his chargers from the nightstand.

The drive back home is quiet; Buck fiddles with the radio for the first ten or so minutes before settling on a classic rock station, his stubby fingers tapping on the wheel to the beat. Eddie feels like there’s still something left unsaid, but for the life of him, he can’t quite say what. Maybe he just can’t bring himself to say it.

“Hen’ll probably be right after you,” Buck says apropos of nothing. They’re only a couple minutes away from South Bedford; the internal clock ticking down every mile that passes.

“Hm?” Eddie says, distractedly watching the scenery go past his window, his head propped up on his fist. He looks over at Buck. “What, you think she’ll head home, too?”

“Yeah, I’m kinda surprised you beat her to it,” Buck says with a wry little smile. He comes to a stop and turns his blinker on; the last turn before home. “It’s gonna be weird. You two not being there.”

Eddie gnaws at the corner of his lip. “You’ll still see us all the time at work.”

“Yeah, I know,” Buck says. “Guess I just… got used to you guys being around twenty-four seven. Didn’t, uh, realize how quiet it was before.”

His chest flashes hot and then cold, stomach churning and roiling with nerves. They’re pulling onto the street now— they’re running out of time. Eddie always feels, inexplicably, like he’s running out of time. “You don’t miss it? Having the place to yourself?” Having your bed to yourself?

“Nah,” Buck says easily. He pauses for one endless, staggering breath before he says, “I like having you guys around.” It should be lighthearted, something nice that makes his lips stretch into a smile, but there’s something about the way Buck says it— something about the way he sounds so… small, and lonely, like he’s a young boy and not a six foot two firefighter—

Eddie knows a thing or two about that. About being young and unsure and yearning for someone to see him. His hands ache with the need to preoccupy them; he’s not always good with words the first time around. Sometimes he needs to fuck it up a bit before he sets it right. But he’s pretty damn good at not using his words. Gestures, big and small: a comforting hand on a shoulder. Reassuring eye contact. A binding document, giving Buck his son.

Buck pulls up to the curb outside Eddie’s driveway, cranking the gear into park with a little flourish. “Home sweet home,” he says with a dimpling smile, swiveling his head ninety degrees to turn it towards Eddie, and really—

He’s giving Eddie no choice. Eddie has to kiss him.

Buck sucks in a startled breath when Eddie smears their lips together, and he doesn’t know what kind of panicked face Buck is making because his eyes are pinched shut, but then Buck relaxes into the kiss in increments; his shoulders fall, his breath escapes him, his mouth goes slack. Eddie hums and tilts his head to slot them together again, straining against the tight pull of the seatbelt, digging into his chest and neck while he curls his tongue into Buck’s perfect, wet mouth.

His heart thunders loudly in his chest, blood rushing in his ears and blocking out all the noise. Buck’s lips are soft, damp now from the press of Eddie’s tongue, and the thundering grows louder when Buck’s hand lifts up to gently cup Eddie’s cheek. He thumbs over Eddie’s cheekbone, the corner of his jaw, the delicate skin just below the lid of his eye. It makes him hot all over, the reverence with which Buck touches him, and he shudders into the kiss and exhales a shaky, damp breath into his mouth. Eddie brings his own hand up to trace his thumb over Buck’s lower lip and teeth, tugging his mouth open wider so that Eddie can feed him his tongue properly, thick deep strokes that make the both of them dizzy.

It’s sticky when they finally pull away to breathe properly, their faces stained pink with the effort, chests heaving shallowly with matching twin grins. Buck’s eyes have lit up entirely, sparkling practically, pupils blown to eclipse the soft, ocean blue. “Whoa,” Buck says softly, and god, Eddie wants nothing more than to drag him over the console and let Buck crawl his way into Eddie tongue-first, but they’ve got a lonely little boy inside who misses his Dad and his friend Buck, and— scooping up his kid into a sweeping, shrieking hug is far more enticing at the moment.

“You wanna come inside?” Eddie says, tongue darting out to soothe over the red, swollen flesh of his lower lip. Buck’s eyes track the movement. “We’ll have to decontaminate first. Showers, new clothes, the whole nine yards.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, blinking at him. He sags back into his seat a little bit, head falling lax against the headrest. “Are you sure?” It’s written plain as day on his face: you trust me? You’re not scared? You really want to let me in?

Hell yeah I’m scared, Eddie thinks, before nodding warmly and saying, “yeah, Buck. I’m sure.”