Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eddie really is trying to come around to the idea of Buck moving out. He understands that, logically, Buck might want his own space again—for privacy, for storage, for… a potential future relationship. Whatever. Eddie understands the hypothetical why of it all.

It’s just that, on paper, it doesn’t make sense.

They’re co-workers. They spend most of their free time together. Before he moved in, Buck used to spend more nights at the Diaz house than not—except when he was dating. Even then, though, Eddie never felt like he was competing for his attention. It was just… different when Buck had someone in his bed every other night.

And Buck’s credit score is shot!

And Eddie and Chris only just got back to LA. They’ve barely settled in, and already Buck is dropping down on the couch every night with an iPad in his lap, scrolling through real estate websites and sending off emails.

Eddie’s developed a Pavlovian response to seeing Buck type the words Thanks! Kind regards, Evan Buckley. He sees them, and he seethes. Eddie knows it’s dramatic. It’s not his place to say anything. But still, there he is on the couch each night, quietly and embarrassingly seething.

It would be simpler for Buck to stay a little longer; that’s all he’s saying. For everyone involved. He doesn’t understand why Buck is so against the idea—Buck’s the self-identified clinger. Not that Eddie is really expressing it as an idea, but… there’s an implication. And no matter how much Eddie implies, how many times he assures Buck he doesn’t need to rush out the door, Buck keeps strapping on his running shoes.

The truth is that just imagining Buck leaving makes his stomach turn like he’s going to be sick.

It’s gotten so bad that just hearing the words real estate makes his chest tighten. This, he would like to clarify, is bad. You’re not supposed to miss friends, even best friends, like a limb when they’ll only be a fifteen or thirty-minute drive away, Eddie. I wouldn’t go far, I promise.

It’s fine. Pending phantom limb syndrome aside—it’s fine. It’s going to be fine. Eddie’s going to come to terms with it. He’s decided as much, because—he has to be fine with it.

Because Buck is leaving. He won’t be there when Eddie wakes up, and he won’t bump hips with Eddie in the kitchen as he makes them breakfast and Eddie makes Chris’ lunch, and he won’t—

Fuck.

Whatever.

Buck is going to leave. Eddie has to accept the facts.

He can’t keep thinking about it—can’t keep getting lost in the spiral of worry, in the preemptive grief over the space Buck’s absence will create once he carries the last box of his personal effects out of Eddie’s home.

He especially can’t spiral now, not when he looks up from his phone and sees Hen, who is sitting across from him in the truck, levelling him with an analytical, searching look. Her gaze is flickering all over his tight features—his set jaw, his knitted eyebrows.

Eddie smooths out the crease in his brow and drops his shoulder an inch. Unsurprisingly, she does not look particularly convinced. The look she’s shooting him does stop burning into him, though, because instead she turns to Buck, who is mid-conversation with Ravi through their headsets.

Then, unfortunately, in his periphery, Eddie catches her gaze dipping low. It lands on where his and Buck’s legs are pressed together, compressed tight, thigh to knee.

He feels seen. Exposed. Like a blinding spotlight is being shone down upon them. He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he looks out of the window. The truck is moving fast—weaving through traffic that parts as they close in. Eddie stares at the sunset, watching as the sky bleeds from blue to pink to orange.

It’s beautiful. He missed the LA skyline, missed this truck, this team, this job. He’s happy to be back, but—

His chest feels tight again. He still feels unmoored and unwell. Thoughts swirling, he remembers tomorrow morning, Buck is going to a handful of showings, and Eddie promised to accompany him after school drop-off.

Eddie will go. Of course, he will. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Buck. Even if, to get through it, he’ll have to shoot daggers at the back of the real estate agent's head when no one is looking.

Buck’s knee knocks into his as the truck jolts to a stop. Eddie glances up, and Buck is already looking at him, eyes soft and smile warm.

He’s beautiful. Eddie’s chest tightens further.

He takes the cowardly way out and looks a little to the left of Buck’s eyes, resisting the urge to shake himself like a dog. There is no getting rid of the constant, droning thoughts he shouldn’t be having, all crooning Buck, Buck, Buck. He’s learned that, over the years—it’s best to ignore them entirely.

It’s gotten worse, though. It’s difficult, turning a blind eye to it now that he’s looked it in the face, just once, and now he’s stuck with it. Stuck with this hungry, pulsing want. Stuck with the greedy ache to have Buck close, even as Buck pulls further and further away.

But the show must go on. Eddie can make peace with the fact that he’s not an honest man, internally or externally. Not when it comes to his own feelings, at least. Compartmentalising is a skill he’s honed, and he knows he’s good at it because Frank, his therapist, always looks disappointed when Eddie simply refuses to acknowledge that something hurts to look at. He’s not sure why Frank disapproves, if it works. What’s so wrong with wanting to close the lid on it all and move on with his day?

It’s better this way.

That’s what he’s been telling himself for years.

He doesn’t know who taught him that. His parents, maybe. It doesn’t matter.

“Get ready,” Chim says from the front, and Eddie squares his shoulders.

The second the truck comes to a full stop, Eddie jumps out, saddled by Hen’s side.

He keeps an eye on Buck and Ravi as they prepare to scale down the side of the cliff, listening intently as Chim repeats what he’d said in the truck: fallen hikers, one injured, both stranded on the side of the cliff. Move fast and efficiently; don’t take any risks.

It’s procedural. They’ve done this before.

Eddie watches as Buck does up his harness. He watches Buck turn to Ravi, just like he used to turn to Eddie, to be double-checked. Ravi does it. Tugs at the straps that hug over Buck’s thighs, his hips. His hands don’t linger.

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s still staring. He clears his throat, pulling blue latex gloves on as Chimney barks orders to Ravi and Buck.

“He’ll be fine,” Hen reassures him.

“Yeah,” he says, fiddling with the glove. “I know.”

It takes them less than two minutes to set everything up, the ropes attached to Buck and Ravi held by two probies that Eddie’s not entirely sure about just yet. But he doesn’t get a say.

And then, just like that, Buck and Ravi are over the cliffside.

With Hen close by his side, he braces himself.

Sidling up beside him, Chim peers over the cliff. He lifts a hand to his radio. “Buckley, Panikkar, how are we looking?”

“Won’t be hard,” Buck says, voice crackly. “Girl’s— girl’s in worse shape. Ground’s stable, so I’ll check her over quickly before bringing her up.”

“Copy that,” Eddie says. “Injuries?”

Buck takes a moment to reply, and Eddie cranes his neck to see him side-step a jagged rock expertly.

“Small laceration on the forehead,” Buck relays easily. “Bleeding pretty heavy, but, uh—she says she feels fine.”

“Got it,” Hen says into her own radio.

“She scraped her side pretty bad on the rocks,” Buck continues, “but—the wound’s superficial.”

“We’ll check for internal injuries when you’re back on solid ground,” says Hen.

“Ravi’s got the boyfriend,” Buck informs them. Then, a beat later, “Dave, I mean. I’ve got Vanessa.”

“Ready for you,” Chim tells him, and Eddie wishes he were the one manning Buck’s ropes. His latex-covered hands twitch by his sides, aching to reach for the familiar fibres. He wills them into submission.

He’s sweating by the time Ravi crests the jagged cliffedge.

“You got Dave?” Hen asks.

Reluctantly, Eddie nods. He’d rather wait for Buck, but this is his job. He can’t do whatever he wants.

Once Ravi’s over the edge, hauled up by Eddie and a probie, Eddie leads Dave toward the ambulance.

Frantic, Dave begins saying, “Vanessa—”

“Is fine,” Eddie tells him immediately, voice even and professional. “Buck’s got her.”

Vision clearly bleary, Dave slowly blinks a few times, then squints. “Buck?”

“Firefighter Buckley,” Eddie clarifies, “He’s our best.” He retrieves his penlight, shining the light in Dave’s eyes, relieved to find his pupils equal and reactive.

He pauses when his radio crackles again.

“Buck,” Chim says. “All good?”

“Yeah,” Buck grunts. “All good. Just took a sec to strap in.”

Eddie’s still sweating. Beads of it have formed on the back of his neck and are sliding down the back of his turnouts, dancing down his spine uncomfortably.

It’s hot out. The hottest day of the season so far. With some fluids, Dave will be fine, he thinks. By the worried look in his eye, even if he were perfectly stable, he’d still want to tag along with them to the hospital anyway.

“Okay, slight— um, slight problem,” Buck says, and Eddie’s heart stutters, his hand freezing where it’s holding Dave’s shoulder steady. “My rope’s stuck on something, but I’m right on the edge. Can someone grab Vanessa for me?”

“On it,” one of the probies says, and Eddie can’t let himself look. He’s on the job. Abandoning a patient when he’s not been ordered to help elsewhere is not who he is.

He focuses on Dave. He’s got a small cut on his forearm, so Eddie tears open the gauze and makes quick work of cleaning it.

“You’ll want to keep an eye on that,” Eddie says, carefully placing a bandage over the wound. “Have them check it at the hospital, just to be–”

Behind him, something snaps.

Having served in the military and having worked as a firefighter for nearly a decade has sharpened Eddie’s reaction-time. He knows this, and he knows that, right now, he needs to react.

He freezes.

Someone’s yelling, and Eddie’s not fucking moving, listening instead to a series of frantic, muffled noises.

Crumbling earth. Metal hinges groaning. Finally, a spine-chilling scream.

Eddie knows. Instantly, he knows.

He knows that scream. He’d know it anywhere. He’s heard it before.

He blinks, and he’s stumbling over to Hen again, vision tunnelling. Vanessa is safely in the arms of a probie, but Buck— Buck is nowhere in sight.

Eddie’s stomach plummets.

Ravi’s eyes are wide and frantic as he unhooks himself, Chimney sweeping in to lead Vanessa away from the cliffside and toward the truck, to Dave. The space where Buck’s winch was buried in the ground is gone. Not just the winch—but the earth it had been buried into itself is gone.

The whole world goes silent. He stops hearing Hen’s voice, stops hearing everything but a high-pitched, blood-curdling ringing in his ears.

His gaze lifts, finding Hen’s. She’s already looking at him, a familiar panic in her eyes flaring that he’s sure is mirrored in his own.

He moves.

“Eddie, wait—” Hen grabs his arm, but Eddie shrugs out of her grip, taking a stumbling step forward.

“I,” Eddie starts, voice thready. “I need to get him.”

“Together,” Hen says. “We do this together.” They snap into action. They’ve started moving in sync; it didn’t take long to learn the way the others' mind works over the last few weeks—likely because they’ve been working together for years.

Eddie’s grateful for it now.

He sprints. The noise of even his own footsteps is drowned out by the familiar ringing in his ears, increasing tenfold, slashing against his eardrums.

Distantly, he thinks he hears Chimney yelling. Maybe at him. Maybe instructions to Ravi. He doesn’t know. He can’t fucking hear anything. His pulse is jackhammering, adrenaline pumping like lava as it scorches through his veins, burning every inch of his nervous system on its way through him.

Every second it takes for Eddie to get there, a dozen new images of carnage and death flash through his brain. Buck, speared on a branch. Buck, head caved in. Buck, rolled off the side of the ledge and down the cliff. Buck, lifeless and dangling from a rope. Buck—

Eddie’s feet come to a halt.

Ravi is already halfway down the side of the cliff by the time Eddie gets there. He’s a good firefighter. Eddie trusts him. He does.

It’s just—it’s Buck. It’s Eddie’s Buck.

It’s always different when it’s Buck.

His chest heaves with the effort of every shallow breath, bones aching with a familiar sharpness. It’s the same sharpness he felt the day he was lowering Buck from the ladder after he’d been struck, watching helplessly as Buck’s body hung limp and lifeless from the rope.

“Buck!” he yells, hands scrabbling for the rope, Hen by his side.

Buck doesn’t answer.

Eddie wants to go down there himself, but it would take too much time to strap in. Ravi’s already on it — and he catches Ravi’s eye, who seems to know exactly what Eddie is thinking, and nods at him. Eddie nods back.

Dread warring with his need to make sure Buck’s alive, Eddie peers over the edge.

Buck is curled in on himself, face pressed against the dirt. It looks like he’s groaning, trying to shift himself up and failing. He’s cradling his arm to his chest, his lips parted like every breath is a struggle.

But he’s breathing. Alive. The tightness in Eddie’s chest eases, just an inch, just enough that he’s able to drag in a real breath into his lungs. Eddie would restart Buck’s heart a thousand times if he had to. But he doesn’t want to. Fuck, haven’t they suffered enough? Eddie already had to live three minutes and seventeen seconds on a planet that didn’t have Evan Buckley alive and breathing on it once. He’s not sure he’d survive it a second time.

The second Eddie steps back, bracing himself with the rope in hand, Ravi moves. Barely a minute passes before he’s got Buck secured to him, and they’re tugged back up the side of the cliff. Chimney moves in with a steadying hand, pulling them both the last way up. Hen’s close by, but Eddie is quicker.

He still can’t hear anything. He feels like he’s the one who’s been clocked over the head. The ringing is duller now, vibrating through his eardrums and his entire damn skeletal system, blocking out every single voice that is aimed his way.

Even Buck’s. Buck, who is blinking blearily at him. Buck, who follows Eddie’s guiding hands till he’s lowered to sit on the step at the side of the truck.

Buck’s mouth is moving. Eddie can’t hear him. He stares at the gravel-covered scrape on the side of his face with panic pulsing in his teeth.

Breathe, Buck mouths at him, and Eddie tries.

He tries until he can, heart tripping over itself as it slows. His body comes back to him, knees barking in protest where he’s leaning on the ground, hovering over Buck. He sucks in another ragged breath.

“Yeah,” Buck says, voice soft. “Like that. Just like that, Eddie.”

Okay. Panic attack aside, Eddie can be professional.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks. His voice comes out hoarse and small.

“I’m fine,” Buck assures him, too quickly.

Without conscious effort, Eddie’s hand lifts, palm curving around Buck’s unmarred cheek—the left one. He plays it off, tilting Buck’s head to look at the scrape on the side of his head, his skin dotted red. There’s a shallow wound, just below his ear. It looks painful.

“The truth, please,” Eddie says.

Buck pushes up a little, wincing. Eddie doesn’t miss the way he avoids using his right arm entirely.

“My side,” Buck admits. “I—I hit a boulder kind of hard on the way down.”

“Okay.” Horribly, a pulse of relief blooms in Eddie’s gut, knowing there’s something to fix. “I’ve got you.”

Around them, the world starts moving again. Eddie senses Hen hovering nearby, checking over Vanessa. Chim’s talking to Ravi, who’s looking at Eddie with an unreadable expression. Eddie’s own gaze doesn’t linger there long enough to decipher it.

Attention back on Buck, Eddie’s heart aches a little at the cloudy look in Buck’s eyes that tells him he’s in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

“Hospital,” Eddie says. “Come on.”

He slips a hand under Buck’s left arm. Gritting his teeth, Buck nods.

“And, Buck,” Eddie says, eyes flickering between his. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Buck barks a surprised laugh. “What, fall off a cliff? Did I scare you?”

You scared the hell out of me, Eddie doesn’t say.

“We’re getting old, bud,” he says. “Brittle bones.”

“Fuck off,” Buck says, delighted despite the way his voice shakes.

Eddie huffs weakly and steadies himself, preparing to lift. “Never.”

—

While in the hospital, waiting for the X-ray results to come back, Buck turns to him with a worried look, mouth opening then closing like he’s not quite sure what to say.

Finally, breaking the silence, Buck says, “Maddie’s on her way.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow.

His phone is resting against his stomach, put down more than a minute ago. Surely Buck wasn’t gearing up to say that, not for a full sixty seconds. And the information is… it’s nothing. It’s expected. Then, it clicks. Eddie sighs, sinking into the uncomfortable hospital chair.

Buck’s worried about being bothersome in his recovery, in taking up space in a place he doesn’t seem to comprehend he’s more than welcome. Likely, Buck is mere seconds away from suggesting he crash on Maddie’s and Chimney’s couch until his shoulder is healed up. Which is stupid, because the space in Eddie’s bed he’s been occupying since Eddie got back isn’t any less available than it was yesterday.

He’s not going to argue with Buck about this.

Eddie says, “You’re not moving out.”

Buck looks away, head lolling back against the single pillow propped behind his head. He sighs, and Eddie can’t tell if he’s relieved or resigned.

“I’m not moving out,” Buck echoes.

And that’s that.

As it turns out, Buck does have brittle bones. A brittle bone, to be precise.

His arm broke in two separate places. They put him in a cast, and Buck stares at it with so much condemnation that Eddie forgets, momentarily, that he’d had a panic attack in front of his entire team about the very fall that led to it.

It’s only been four days since Buck was released from the hospital, and he’s already going stir crazy. He’s had guests here and there—Maddie and the kids swung by with pre-cooked meals, and made sure that before they left, Buck’s shiny new cast had been thoroughly drawn on, sharks and flowers done by Jee and vague squiggles done by Nash. They had left a space there for Christopher, right on the outside of Buck’s forearm, without even being asked. Eddie caught the way Buck’s eyes glistened when Jee informed him as much.

It’s just the two of them today, though they spent the morning at the doctor’s office, where Eddie had parked himself on a chair just outside the door to give him some privacy. Buck had offered for him to come in, but Eddie’s basically living in his back pocket right now—he figured a moment to do something by himself would be good for him. Buck had smiled at him wryly, brushing their biceps together as he scooted past and into the room.

The appointment had gone as well as it could have. Buck steps back into the hallway scowling, telling Eddie things he already knew: no work, no strenuous activity, needs to stick to his prescribed medicine. And also, most importantly, he will need help with day-to-day tasks.

Eddie takes the time off without a second thought, apologising to Chimney, who seems to have expected this anyway, because he’d already been putting out feelers to B and C shifts to see who was looking for overtime.

Buck tells him it’s not necessary, but Eddie knows it is. Without him, Buck risks straining himself, fumbling around in Eddie’s home while Eddie is off at work, worrying himself out of his mind about Buck’s well-being. It’s better for everyone this way.

This way, he’s here to help Buck with anything he needs—including showering, which is the next task they’re taking on before Buck’s energy plummets too hard. Buck, frankly, smells a little ripe.

Buck is clearly embarrassed to need help doing this, but Buck would and has done the same thing for Eddie in the past. It’s really not a big deal, and Eddie will prove as much to Buck. This is a normal thing for best friends to do for each other.

“Okay, gonna take your shirt off,” Eddie informs him, working open the button of what is actually one of Eddie’s shirts.

Buck’s been exclusively wearing button-ups since the accident, purely for the ease of getting them on and off while sporting a cast. Unfortunately, Buck doesn’t really own that many—especially not since the wardrobe cleanout post Tommy, in which Buck got rid of any clothes that didn’t ‘spark joy’. They’d had to dig through the back of Eddie’s closet to find one. The one he’s wearing was a gift from Eddie’s Tia from a few years ago, soft green with white floral over the front of it. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever even worn it, except for when she’d insisted he try it on. It’d been three sizes too big, and she’d said it was the perfect shirt for relaxing in. Eddie has not relaxed a day in his life, but he’s sure he’d wear the shirt if that day were to ever come.

“I can do buttons one-handed, Eddie,” Buck huffs, cheeks flaming. Eddie’s gaze flits up, hands pausing. Slowly, he retracts them, gesturing for Buck to go ahead.

If there’s one thing he’s learned from raising a medically complex kid, it’s this: when someone does need help, let them ask for it, and when they don’t want it, let them try.

Buck shifts back, ass against the porcelain of the sink as he works from the third button down to the last. It takes longer than it would’ve if Eddie had done it for him, but Eddie doesn’t mind waiting. Once it’s undone, Buck’s eyes find his again, head nodding small for Eddie to jump back into action.

It’s the closest Buck actually gets to asking for help. Luckily, Eddie knows Buck like the back of his hand and doesn’t need the verbal cue.

Eddie helps him shrug the shirt off, folding it in half before dropping it atop the closed toilet seat. He glances down to the waistband of Buck’s shorts, then lets his gaze slide back up to meet Buck’s eyes.

“You or me?” He asks.

“Are you gonna laugh if I fall over doing it?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits, the corner of his mouth quirking. “—But only after I help you up. I’ve got manners.”

“Fine,” Buck sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “You do it.”

Dropping to a crouch so he’s eyelevel with the waistband, Eddie begins pulling them down, fingers hooked beneath both layers of clothing to bring his underwear down with the pants. Respectfully, Eddie keeps his eyes trained on the fabric as it’s lowered over Buck’s thighs, then calves, then down to his ankles. One foot at a time, Buck steps out of the shorts.

In the corner of Eddie’s eye, Buck’s cock is milky and soft against his thigh. Eddie very pointedly does not look directly at it, even as it swings with the movements of Buck’s legs. Eddie grabs the clothes once Buck is free of them and stands back up, folding them in half and placing them over the shirt.

Buck’s flush has spread down his throat, blotchy patches of pale skin ruddy with embarrassment. Eddie, politely, does not point this out even as the visual of it burns itself into his memory—for some reason. He grabs the medical tape and plastic bag and wraps it over Buck’s arm, sealing it just above the end of his cast at his bicep.

“Alright, we’re good to go,” Eddie says, pulling the shower curtain back.

“Are we just—gonna do this in silence?” Buck asks, eyes uneasy.

“Uh—I mean, I’m sure we’ll talk?”

“No, I mean … like music or something,” he explains. “I usually play a podcast or something when I’m in the shower. Or an audiobook.”

Eddie blinks. He’s never listened to anything in the shower before. He’s a very efficient showerer, always the last to do so in the household, to make sure no one but him ever has to face the wrath of bone-chilling water once the hot water runs out. Eddie, on average, is in and out in under four minutes. He’s not sure four minutes is enough time for much of a podcast anyway.

He imagines Buck’s usual routine is a lot different from what they’re doing now. Buck probably sets his speaker up on his basin, turning it to whatever book he’s currently making his way through. Maybe he lights a candle or something, for ambience. He imagines Buck takes his time to work his products through his curls, then soaping himself up and—

Okay.

Too much thinking.

“Music,” Eddie agrees, a beat too late. Swallowing, he steps around Buck’s naked body to grab his phone. He clicks through to Spotify, choosing a playlist he only has on his phone for when Buck wants his music on in Eddie’s car.

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac plays through the little speakers at the bottom of his phone. Eddie places it back down beside the little novelty duck-shaped soap dispenser.

“Okay, there you go: music,” Eddie says. “Let's rock and roll. No dawdling.”

Buck rolls his eyes, stepping over the lip of the shower and huddling up near the showerhead, making space for Eddie to follow in after him. “I’m not dawdling, Eddie. The music is—it’s imperative to the whole experience. I can’t just shower in silence.”

“Not even with your best friend there to help fill it?” Eddie hums, stripping his own shirt off and tossing it toward the door. He leaves his shorts on. That’s— too much. When Eddie steps inside, Buck’s eyes snap down to Eddie’s now bared chest, sweeping across the length of his torso.

Eddie’s core flexes beneath his gaze. “Uh—do you want me to—shirt?” Beautiful, Diaz. “I just…” He trails off, already lifting a foot to step back.

Buck shakes his head suddenly, eyes snapping up. “No, no. It’s um, it’s fine. Sorry. I don’t know why I expected you to be fully dressed. I wasn’t when we did this last time.”

And that Eddie remembers vividly—despite the heavy pain medication he’d been on at the time. Buck had stripped down to his underwear to help Eddie’s sluggish body get clean. He remembers the way Buck’s gentle fingers worked shampoo and then conditioner into his hair as Eddie slumped in the showerchair, eyes half-lidded. He’d apologised more than once that Buck had to do this, but Buck just kept telling him he really didn’t mind—that Eddie would do the same for him.

And now, here he is, wearing only a pair of basketball shorts and preparing to help Buck feel fresh and clean. Almost like Buck’s words had manifested this in some weird way. Which they hadn’t. Obviously.

Buck is the one who turns the shower on, adjusting the temperature before turning to face Eddie as he steps beneath the spray, the warm water cascading over his shoulders along the plush of his torso. Eddie, suddenly warm in the face, very carefully makes sure to only watch Buck’s face, which goes lax under the heat.

Whirling his finger in a little circle between them, Eddie gestures for him to do a spin, and Buck complies with a nervous smile. Eddie grabs Buck’s fancy sulphate-free, coconut-scented shampoo and squirts it into his hand. He works it through Buck’s wet curls, massaging his scalp. It’s not exactly necessary, but he can’t imagine the relaxation will do any harm.

Exhaling slow, Buck relaxes beneath his touch. Eddie’s heart stumbles as Buck’s shoulders completely slump, like his tense muscles are finally loosening. Eddie finds himself smiling as he nudges Buck forward under the spray again, letting the shampoo rinse out.

Eddie is vaguely aware of the steps of Buck’s day-to-day curl routine—but Buck is tired, and sore, and they can worry about all of that the next time they do this. Right now, all Eddie’s worried about is making him feel cleaner. He grabs Buck’s normal conditioner, the one Eddie knows costs more than all of Eddie’s shower products combined, and squeezes out a quarter-sized dollop on his hand.

Once that’s worked in, he gets to work on cleaning Buck’s body instead, letting it settle in his hair for a bit.

The music drones on. Eddie’s not sure it’s doing much, for either of them.

He tries to keep it clinical, not letting himself linger too long over the swell of Buck’s bicep, or press his thumbs to the dimples in his back. He drags the washcloth over Buck’s shoulders, his neck, and his lower back before turning Buck back around again.

Wordlessly, he pumps more soap into his hand, cupping his hand to pour it into Buck’s palm.

Buck looks at him questioningly.

“For, uh. Your legs. Between ‘em,” Eddie explains. Then, not looking Buck in the eye, he turns around.

It would be juvenile to cover his ears, but it feels—invasive, listening to Buck.

In the background, the music plays on. Like a heartbeat drives you mad / In the stillness of remembering what you had / And what you lost / And what you had / Ooh, what you lost.

Over that, Eddie hears a splash, a small grunt, and then Buck clearing his throat.

“Done,” he says, and Eddie gives himself a moment before turning back around.

Buck looks the same as he did a minute ago, hair plastered to his face, mouth curving into a small smile.

“Your shorts are wet,” Buck points out.

“Shocker.”

Snickering, Buck reaches for the soap dispenser again, and Eddie’s eyes dart to the curve of his stomach, dipping with gravity before Buck straightens up again.

His side is a mottled canvas of bruises, purple and stark against his pale skin.

He’ll heal, Eddie reminds himself. He’ll heal, and I’ll be there next time. I won’t let him fall.

“I’ll grab the Bepanthen after this,” Eddie says, itching to trace the unmarred skin beside the worst of the scrape on Buck’s face. “And the Arnica.”

Mouth parting around a shallow inhale, Buck nods. “Okay.”

Beneath the gentle shower stream, folded into the steam accumulating in the room, Buck looks unfairly soft. Like something out of Eddie’s dreams.

Buck’s arm flexes as he bends it, trying to reach under his arm.

“Let me,” Eddie says, stepping forward. His thigh grazes Buck’s, and he takes a small step back.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Buck nods.

Instead of reaching around Buck for the soap, Eddie takes Buck’s hand, flipping it to smear the pearl-white soap onto his own hand.

He froths it between both of his hands, and Buck watches him silently, shoulders tensing like he’s bracing himself. Eddie wishes he could tell him he doesn’t have to brace. That he wants to do this, however crazy it might seem.

He doesn’t.

Instead, slow and gentle, Eddie slips his hands under Buck’s arms. His armpits are warm—warmer than the rest of him. He resists the urge to tug a little at the hair there, and tries very, very hard not to think about the fact that he has his hands in Buck’s armpits.

A shiver runs through Buck, and he giggles quietly.

“Ticklish?”

“No,” Buck lies.

Eddie huffs. Normally, he’d tease him a little. He’d definitely tickle him. But right now, Buck’s injured, and he’s trusting Eddie to wash him. So he resits, filing the information away for later use.

He does end up tugging lightly at the hairs under Buck’s right arm, smoothing over the sensitive skin when Buck jolts.

Jesus. Why did he do that?

He swallows. “Sorry.”

Buck’s eyes flutter shut. “‘S okay.”

Eddie should probably stop touching Buck’s armpits now. He’s definitely clean. No one needs to wash their armpits for two minutes straight.

Without thinking, Eddie tugs at his armpit hair. Again.

“O-okay, okay, stop,” Buck says, breath stuttering out of him.

Eddie freezes. Then, slowly, he retracts his hands. “You okay?”

A strangled laugh escapes Buck.

“I’m good.” Buck’s breath leaves him in a rush. Sluggishly, he blinks his eyes back open, pupils blowing wide when they find Eddie’s face. Something hot and needy coils in Eddie’s gut, a flush travelling up the length of his spine.

Buck wets his lips, good arm twitching. Then, words barely a whisper, he says, “‘M hard.”

Without his say so, Eddie’s gaze slips down, and—yeah.

Buck is hard. His cock, velvety-looking, cut, and pink, is right there. It juts out like it wants attention. Like it’s begging Eddie to touch it. He swears the thing is like a siren, singing out to him, dragging him closer.

Is he hard because of Eddie? Or… or is he just pent up? Being touched, Eddie knows, is something Buck’s always liked. He bends toward open palms like a flower bends toward the sun, never initiating contact, but always searching for a willing hand. So this – getting hard – is probably a reaction. Buck’s single, to boot, so he’s probably missing it. The small touches, the quiet intimacy of doing something as ordinary as showering together. Having someone take care of him.

Because that’s what Eddie’s doing. He’s taking care of him.

And apparently, Buck’s dick likes that. Buck’s dick, that Eddie is still making eye contact with.

It twitches, and Eddie blinks at it in Morse code.

S.O.S.

Buck makes a small noise, and Eddie, finally, tears his eyes away. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he bites his tongue.

“Sorry,” Buck says quickly. His cheeks are ruddy, blush spreading around the rough scrapes. “S-sorry, it’s just—it’s been a while, and the cast—and, you know, I’m right-handed, so I can’t, and sh-sharing a bed, it’s—”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says. His voice comes out clipped, which is not what he wants. Softer, but no less awkward, he says again, “It’s fine. It happens.”

“It happens,” Buck echoes. He’s blinking quickly, eyes glassy. Then, a little too fast, he turns around again.

Eddie watches him tip his head forward, water and conditioner sluicing over the strong plains of his back. His muscles flutter beneath the skin, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Fuck.

Taking a steadying breath, Eddie steps forward to thread his fingers through the curls at Buck’s neck, running his hand through his hair. Heat pools in his gut, which is insane, because—he’s just touching his hair. He’s just touching his hair, a man’s hair, and—

And he’s feeling absolutely nothing about it.

His heart’s beating too fast.

Pulling his hands away, he clears his throat. “All done, bud.”

He waits for Buck to turn around again before they both carefully step out of the shower. Eddie averts his gaze, helping Buck wrap a towel around his waist half-blind, because, he’s coming to realise, he’s a coward. Once Buck’s sitting on the toilet lid, Eddie grabs a smaller towel, squeezing the water out of Buck’s curls while being careful to maintain the shape of them.

Buck doesn’t ask, but Eddie squeezes some of Buck’s hair product into his hands anyway, scrunching the curls the way he’s seen Buck do a hundred times before. With careful hands, he then removes the tape and plastic bag wrapped around Buck’s cast, tossing it into the sink to dispose of later.

Eddie does not take his soaked shorts off because that would mean admitting he’s half-hard. And he honestly, truly, cannot look that realisation in the eye right now.

And then they’re done.

All that’s left to do is help Buck get dressed. But—

Eddie stalls.

Haltingly, he says, “I can come back.”

“What?”

“If you want to—” He gestures vaguely at Buck’s towel-clad waist. “You know.”

“O-oh, um.” Buck’s fingers twitch, tightening their hold on the towel. “No. No, I—thanks. But, no. I’m good.”

“Okay.” Eddie nods, then nods again for good measure. He claps his hands together. “Clothes?”

“Clothes,” Buck agrees, looking relieved.

Like some sort of vision, Eddie blinks and sees a flash of Buck’s dick again, like it’s been tattooed into the back of his eyelids.

Stop that, he tells his brain firmly.

Later that night, once Chris is tucked into bed, they settle on the couch together to watch a movie. Intermittently between scenes, Eddie glances over to check on him. Normally, even while injured, Eddie wouldn’t be paying so much attention and checking in so regularly, but the line of Buck’s jaw is unusually tense, and there’s a pinch between his brows that won’t go away no matter how long they sit there.

He wonders if his injury is bothering him, despite the fact that he’d watched him take his last dose of pain medication for the night, right before Eddie tucked Chris into bed.

A bright light flashes on the screen as a car flips and explodes, and Buck visibly winces.

Okay, that’s enough.

Eddie leans forward, grabbing the remote from the little wooden tray on the coffee table to pause the movie.

“Alright,” Eddie says as Buck turns to him, looking bewildered. “What’s going on?”

“Uh—” Buck’s brows crease deeper. “I think the bald guy just—blew that car up?”

Eddie's mouth flattens into a straight line. “Not asking what’s going on with Jason Statham, Buck. I’m asking about you. You’re all tense. Is it your arm?”

Suspiciously, Buck’s shoulders suddenly bunch up, rising toward his ears. “I’m fine.”

Waiting him out in silence, Eddie lifts a brow.

“My arm is fine,” Buck corrects.

“Okay, so what’s the problem? Do you not like the movie? We can put something else on. Chim recommended this in his must-see-while-sick list, but we don’t actually need to watch it.”

Shoulders slumping back down, Buck sinks against the plush of Eddie’s navy couch, eyes flitting away. Eddie brings a leg up, folding it half-underneath himself as he turns to face Buck, beaming lasers into the side of his head.

He’s worried, alright? Sue him. And, unfortunately for Buck, Eddie is far more stubborn than he is when it comes to waiting things out.

Predictably, after a beat, he sighs. “My head hurts, alright? It’s fine.”

Expression softening, Eddie grabs the remote from beside his leg, clicking through till he’s back at the Netflix home page. He taps around silently, seeking a less visually overstimulating piece of entertainment.

“Eddie, it’s fine,” Buck insists. “We can finish the movie.”

Eddie blatantly ignores him, continuing to click through till he gets to the documentary section. “Alright, we going with Chasing Coral or this one about the Sahara Desert?”

He can feel Buck looking at him now. He turns his head, meeting his gaze. The corner of Buck’s mouth curls up into a gentle smile. “Chasing Coral,” he answers.

Wordlessly, Eddie selects the movie. He stands then, quickly striding over to the wall and flicking the large lamp off, leaving only the small salt lamp Buck likes by the TV on. Then, he settles by Buck’s side again. Buck already looks visibly less tense.

The pain meds should ease the headache, too, with time. So, Eddie doesn’t bother offering to grab him something for it.

Softly, Buck says, “Thanks.”

Without thinking—like he’s done a hundred times with Chris—Eddie grabs one of the throw pillows and props it against his thigh. He taps it absently, an unconscious invitation for Buck to rest his head.

Then, in sync, they both freeze.

“Um,” Buck mumbles after a beat. “You want me to…?”

Eddie realises he has two options: Toss the pillow away and tell Buck not to worry about it, effectively laughing it off, or pretend that this is a perfectly normal thing for two platonic friends to do, and run his fingers through Buck’s hair until the headache fades.

Eddie, the eternal coward, chooses a secret third option: punting the decision back to Buck’s side of the court by asking, “Do you want to?”

Buck blinks at him, swallowing thickly. The TV glows across the room, the bright ocean blues flickering over Buck’s face, casting shifting shadows that make every small movement impossible to ignore. Eddie’s eyes catch on the bob of Buck’s Adam’s apple.

“Would it be weird?” Buck asks, voice faint.

Eddie’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He just lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, adjusting the pillow slightly. “No. I—” He falters, unsure of how to proceed, then just hoarsely repeats, “No.”

Slowly, careful to keep his injured arm tucked to his chest, Buck shifts around on the couch, tucking his legs up onto the far cushion and shuffling till he’s flat on his side. His head hovers for a second right over the pillow before he exhales, relaxing as he lowers himself.

Despite being the one to (accidentally) suggest this in the first place, Eddie finds that he’s the one tensing up now, breath caught and stuck inside his chest. God, he can’t breathe. He’s going to turn blue, and Buck won’t even know it because the TV, depicting the dark ocean floor now, would disguise it.

After a beat of silence, Eddie finally finds the willpower to force his body to soften. Buck, in turn, seems to do the same—as if he’d been waiting. Eddie doesn’t want him to feel weird about this, so Eddie has to be normal about it. Buck is unwell, injured, and stuck one-handed; the least Eddie can do is make him feel at ease in his own home. Their own home.

So, he lifts a hand, resting it against the top of Buck’s shoulder. Despite the sound of the documentary, he hears Buck’s breath hitch. He slowly drifts his hand across the length of Buck’s shoulder, fingers grazing across his neck before he sinks them into Buck’s curls. Careful not to add too much pressure, he begins gently playing with Buck’s hair.

He realises, pained, that it’s been a long time since he’s had this kind of intimacy with a partner. The last time would’ve been with Marisol, and she mostly slept on his shoulder when they spent alone time together like this. The last partner to rest their head in his lap must’ve been Shannon, so many years ago.

Not that Buck is his partner, in any way, shape, or form these days, but—it’s intimate. More intimate than best friends probably should be. Unable to handle that, he tucks the thought away, letting his fingers drift behind Buck’s ear, thumb rubbing small circles into his skin.

A soft noise escapes Buck as he does so. Eddie pauses, eyes flitting down to see that the tips of Buck’s ears have pinkened. Okay, a noise of relaxation, not pain, judging by Buck’s embarrassment. Eddie pushes on, letting his fingers explore more than he probably should. At one point, his nails are just dragging up and down the back of Buck’s neck, goosebumps popping up on the pale sliver of skin between the sleeve of Buck’s shirt and his cast. Eddie watches them appear, ignoring the tug of shame that pulls at his insides when he realises he likes this, likes being the one to pull that kind of reaction from Buck.

They’re not like that. It’s not like … that. It’s just—Buck is so pent up and stressed. Eddie wants to help in any way he can. It’s not—he’s not being selfish. He can’t let his own thoughts, or wants, or… whatever, get in the way of that or sway what he does.

He returns to the safety of Buck’s hair, massaging there instead. Buck occasionally makes small, little half-moaning noises that Eddie dutifully ignores.

At one point, after a particularly pleasured sigh, Buck tenses and mumbles, “Sorry. It’s—”

Eddie cuts him off, saying, “It’s okay. You’re good, man. Just relax.”

And Buck, after only a second of hesitation, actually does.

Eventually, about thirty minutes into the documentary, Buck’s breathing has completely evened out, and then, predictably, a snore slips past his lips.

Eddie bites back a smile, fingers slowing before eventually stopping. He leaves his hand there for a few more minutes, a gust of wind from the fan above making the strands tickle the back of his hand.

Slowly, reluctantly, he retracts his hand from Buck’s hair and settles his arm along the back of the couch instead. He watches with only mild interest as the documentary plays on. Buck’s snoring begins to increase in volume, to the point of being akin to Eddie’s very old, very noisy lawnmower.

Eddie doesn’t mind. In truth, he finds himself drifting, too, at ease surrounded by the dark, with the weight of Buck on him, and the not-so-gentle snores filling the room.

He manages to stay awake till the end of Chasing Coral, only then slowly nudging the sleeping lump on his lap awake, leading a very sluggish Evan Buckley all the way down the hall and into the bed.

For the first time since he moved in, Buck doesn’t hesitate before curling up atop the mattress in Eddie’s room. Eddie brings the covers over him, making sure his arm is in a safe spot, before flicking the lamp off and crawling in beside him.

Eddie, through the dark, finds himself watching Buck’s face as he sleeps. It’s probably weird. Maybe a little stalker-adjacent. Despite that, he selfishly indulges for a few more minutes before his own eyes drift closed.

Another week passes, and Eddie sleeps through an entire night, waking just before ten o’clock.

It makes sense—he’s just come off a gruelling 24-hour shift — his first one back since Buck got hurt — and Buck would only answer his texts asking for updates with a thumbs up emoji, claiming everything was fine.

And it was. Buck had been fine. But now Eddie is home again, sleep-rumpled and wearing nothing but sweats, half-covered by the duvet in bed, and Buck is annoyingly elsewhere.

Eddie finds him in the kitchen. He’s eating Fruit Loops, reading something on his phone, which he’s placed on the table. Eddie watches Buck lean down to swipe the screen with his nose before using his good arm to feed himself another spoon of cereal.

Unbelievable.

“Morning,” Eddie says, amused.

Buck looks up at him, smiling as he swallows. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Tiredly, Eddie scrubs his hand through his hair. He hears Buck click off his phone as Eddie pours himself a cup of coffee, working on autopilot.

He grunts when he sits down, coffee and cereal secured.

“Chris still asleep?” he asks, and Buck shakes his head, curls bouncing with the movement. The sun streaming in from the window lights them up in a way that makes them look dark and golden.

“He’s working on a campaign with Chase M,” he says. “They’ve been at it for, like, an hour.”

“Chase is here?” Eddie asks, surprised.

“No,” Buck says, eyeing Eddie’s coffee. “They’re on a call.”

“Discord,” Eddie says, unable to hide his dislike. It’s embarrassing how many times he’s run down the hall and knocked on Chris’s door because he thought Chris was talking to him, only to find out he’s on a call with a friend. Always on Discord. Eddie doesn’t know why the youth of today are so against using phones. What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned phone call?

“Discord,” Buck confirms, clearly biting back a smile. Covertly, he pulls Eddie’s cup of coffee toward himself. Eddie lets him. “How was work?”

“Fine,” Eddie says. He thinks about it for a moment before adding, “Weird. Did you take your meds this morning?”

“I have,” Buck confirms. Then, “Work was weird?”

Eddie shrugs. He’s not entirely awake yet. “It’s always weird without you there.”

Buck blinks at him, fingers shifting around on the handle of Eddie’s cup as he lowers it back down to the table. On the front of it, WORLD’S BEST DAD stares back at Eddie in a faded blue font. “It is?”

“Mmh.” Eddie steals his coffee back, taking a long sip of it. Around the rim, he says, “I can’t beat Hen at Mario Kart.”

“And that’s weird?”

He doesn’t know why Buck doesn’t understand. He explains, “It’s quiet, too.”

Buck’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “You like quiet.”

Not when it means you’re absent, Eddie thinks, but doesn’t say.

“I guess,” Eddie offers, taking a mouthful of cereal.

Buck finishes his breakfast before Eddie does, thumbing through his phone to find the article he had been reading, telling Eddie about Aye-Aye lemurs, who, apparently, have continuously growing teeth. Eddie, feeling so unbelievably content, just listens and chews on his breakfast.

He offers a question here or there, especially once Buck ducks away from the article to a semi-related Wikipedia page to look up the Aye-Aye’s very strange, long finger that they use to dig insects out of trees. This goes on till Eddie’s bowl is also empty.

He collects them both, rinsing them in the sink before setting them down. He makes a mental note to pop them in the dishwasher when he’s emptied it later. Behind him, Buck stirs from his spot, standing and stretching as he says, “I’m gonna go read. ‘S my book still on the coffee table?”

“Nope,” Eddie answers, grabbing his coffee and going to take the last sip, realising only once it’s pressed to his mouth that Buck finished it off. He lowers the mug again, and Buck looks at him a little sheepishly. Eddie rolls his eyes, placing it in the sink, too. “It’s on the bedside table. I moved it last night.”

Nodding, Buck says, “Got it.”

Then, he disappears down the hallway. Eddie rolls his shoulders, eyes falling closed for a second before he peels them back open.

The sun isn’t high enough for him to push mowing off till the afternoon, so he makes quick work of getting dressed, then heads out to the garage to drag the rickety lawnmower around the side of the house with him.

Before he’s even turned it on, Buck appears in the doorway, book in hand. Eddie slides his sunglasses down from on top of his head and reaches down to rip the cord back, kick-starting the mower. Despite its age, it purrs to life, rumbling loudly.

Nose scrunching, he pushes his little orange earplugs in, muffling the rumble to a less unpleasant buzz.

It’s a nice day, Eddie reflects. The sun’s out, and Buck’s lowering himself down onto the stoop, cracking his book open. Most days are nice when Buck’s around.

Eddie mows the lawn for thirty minutes under the beaming heat. He doesn’t see Buck turn the page once.

A week later, Eddie falls asleep on the couch.

This is an unusual occurrence—because, yes, Eddie’s prone to kicking back with his eyes closed, socked feet up on the coffee table, but he doesn’t actually fall asleep. He’s never relaxed enough to do that. Ever.

But he does, this time.

It’s late afternoon, and he’s not entirely sure what’s woken him up. Not until he hears it again—a soft groan, followed by a clatter.

Hauling himself off the couch, Eddie stumbles bleary-eyed toward the bathroom. He raps his knuckles on the half-closed door before popping his head in.

“You good?”

Buck, who is standing in front of the mirror with shaving cream on half of his face, peers at him like a deer in headlights. He’s shirtless, cast pressed tightly to his side. His broad chest is on display in the reflection, and Eddie lets himself look for 2.7 seconds.

“I’m really good,” Buck says. “Totally good.”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the razor in Buck’s hand, then back to the still-healing scrape on Buck’s face. “Right.”

Buck deflates. “Look, I just—it was itchy. And I figured, hey, how hard can it be? But, Eddie, it’s fucking hard. My left hand is—it won’t listen to me.”

“It’s not your dominant hand, bud,” Eddie tells him, sidling up close to him.

Eddie’s policy of waiting for Buck to ask for help is wearing a little thin, because the longer the healing process goes on, the longer Buck insists on not asking for help. Even when he clearly needs it, and wants it. Eddie’s had to improvise a strategy, butting in here and there until Buck tells him not to. This method seems to be working better, because, as it turns out, Buck’s a lot better at saying no than he is at saying yes.

Buck seems relieved by the change, anyhow. That’s all that matters. And Eddie gives him as much space as he can, careful not to be overbearing—just close and available.

Placing a gentle hand on the small of his back, Eddie steers him toward the tub. Buck looks unsure, but sits on the lip of it, something unreadable flickering over his face when Eddie sits down, too.

Wordlessly, Eddie grabs the shaving cream off of the sink. He foams his hand up, tilting Buck’s head with a thumb pressed to the front of his chin.

Buck chases his eyes, but Eddie keeps his gaze on the apple of Buck’s cheek. “You don’t have to—”

“Just let me,” Eddie tells him. He flickers his eyes up, meeting Buck’s eye momentarily.

Buck stares. Then, quietly, he says, “Okay.”

Eddie spreads the shaving cream over Buck’s cheeks with careful fingers, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. The quiet stretches between them—tense but not uncomfortable. Eddie wonders if Buck wants music on, like he did for the shower, but he doesn’t say anything as Eddie tilts his head back, applying the foam to the length of his throat.

Eddie drags the last of it across Buck’s cheekbone, his fingertips brushing against warm skin, the scrape of stubble rough against the pad of it.

“You missed your calling, Eddie,” Buck murmurs, “Very attentive barber.”

Eddie snorts. “You think so? I didn’t even get you a hot towel.”

Buck’s mouth twitches. “Would you?”

“No, the—Buck, the cream is already on. I’d have to wipe it off and put it back on again.”

That drags a short laugh out of Buck.

Eddie reaches behind himself, turning on the sink. He stretches, adjusting the nozzles till the water runs warm, not hot. Then he rinses the blades off, running his thumb over them to clear the stray hair out.

“Gotta be careful,” Eddie says, dragging the razor gently with the grain along Buck’s uninjured cheek.

The hair is thick there, much longer than Buck usually lets it get, not quite beard, but just past stubble.

“Y-yeah,” Buck breathes.

He tucks a knuckle under Buck’s chin, tilting his head back. Eddie sidles forward, his hand finding the meat of Buck’s thigh—just to brace himself on. Buck’s muscles jump under his palm, but he stays still.

He doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

“Good,” Eddie murmurs, almost to himself, razor dipping lower, shaving short little lines under Buck’s jaw now, making a slow descent down the thin skin of his neck.

Buck doesn’t reply. He sucks in a thin breath instead, twitching like it’s taking everything in him not to move.

Shuffling even closer, adamant on getting the little patch of scruff under Buck’s chin, Eddie’s hand slides on Buck’s thigh. It lands on his inner thigh, over the thin cotton of his threadbare sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Buck breathes, and heat floods Eddie from head to toe. His eyes flit down, while Buck’s not looking, and—yeah. He’s half-hard, chubbing up quickly. Eddie looks away as quick as he can, huffing an unsteady breath.

“Sorry,” Eddie says. They’re both pretending Buck’s reacting to pain, both pretending Eddie nicked him. Eddie did not nick him. Not even a little bit. Eddie’s never even nicked himself while shaving, his hands always steady and purposeful.

“It—it’s fine,” Buck says. His gaze drifts, landing somewhere near Eddie’s mouth. Without meaning to, Eddie wets his lips. Buck’s gaze snaps back up.

Swallowing, Eddie drags his thumb from the tip of Buck’s chin down to the little hollow at the bottom of his neck. Firmly, he tells himself he’s just checking for any missed patches of hair. His hand drifts, pressing gently to the skin above Buck’s collarbone, and Buck moans.

It’s a quiet noise, soft and desperate.

With a sudden jolt, Eddie realises that he’s hard. His own cock has betrayed him, warm as it is against his thigh, fattened up and aching for attention that Eddie absolutely cannot give it right now.

Eddie’s hard, and Buck just moaned.

“I’m sorry,” Buck manages, squeezing his eyes shut. “I–I’m so pent up, you know. I didn’t, um, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says hoarsely, throat tight. “Not a big deal, bud.”

He’s a liar. He’s such a liar. Buck got hard over Eddie shaving his face for him, and Eddie, it feels important to highlight, got hard too. This is the biggest deal, maybe ever. But Buck is stuck here, letting Eddie care for him, and—it can’t be a big deal. At least not right now, in this moment, when Eddie’s still holding a razor.

“Not a big deal, yeah. Totally,” Buck agrees.

“Gotta stop talking, though. I don’t wanna cut you.” Eddie aims for teasing and lands somewhere far gravellier. Buck relaxes a little, though, and Eddie keeps his thumb tucked into the dip of Buck’s collarbone, worried now that if he moves it, he’ll draw more attention to it. Eddie’s not sure he can handle that.

He’s mostly done, anyway. He’s shaved what he can reach reach safely—the stubble between the cuts on his cheek will have to wait until he’s a little more healed. Eddie’s not willing to risk opening the wounds on Buck’s face, despite the itch. He smooths his thumb across those hairs now, inspecting the scabs. They’re healing as well as they can be, but it’ll be another week or so before Eddie is willing to shave around them.

Buck keeps silent as Eddie finishes up. He works like he’s done this before—adjust Buck’s head, drag the razor down, rinse it off, shift Buck, drag razor, rinse off. Over and over.

And then he’s done.

Eddie traces his thumb over the line of Buck’s jaw, pleased smile pulling at his lips.

When he meets Buck’s eyes again, there’s a blush high on the apple of his cheeks, his lips parting around each puff of air. Eddie pulls his hands back, dropping the razor into the sink and wiping his dampen hands on his jeans.

“There you go,” Eddie says. He can be casual about this. Even with his cock at half-mast. His only saving grace is that Buck hasn’t seen it yet. “Back to your normal pretty self.”

Buck seems to snap back into his body then, mouth clicking shut. “Right. Um. Thank you.”

He presses a hand against the edge of the tub, pushing himself up. Eddie realises, suddenly, that Buck is still hard, too. It’s not surprising, not like it had been the first time, but it’s—confronting all the same. It’s just… right there, untouched, because of… whatever just happened between them.

Jesus. Buck is gonna be glad to have his hand back so he can… clear the pipes. Eddie’s sure of it. Eddie’s also sure he needs to deal with his own problem before Buck notices.

Carefully folding his hands over his crotch, he gestures to the shower. “Mind if I…?”

“Yeah. No, yeah, of course,” Buck says, hand drifting to his crotch, adjusting himself. Eddie’s mouth pools with saliva.

Buck, catching him looking, snaps his hand back to his side.

For a long moment, they stare at each other.

Distantly, Eddie feels his own dick pulse.

“Right,” Buck says, tapping a short rhythm into his cast. “I’m gonna—go.”

The second the bathroom door is closed, Eddie’s scrambling out of his clothes. He leaves them on the floor, kicking his jeans off so hard they smack into the wall. It doesn’t matter. They were bad jeans anyway.

He’s still tugging his shirt off as he steps into the shower, toeing out of his underwear before scooping them up, throwing them out with his shirt.

For a moment, he stares at the handle. He could take a cold shower. He should take a cold shower.

Eddie does not take a cold shower.

Instead, he cranks the heat, stepping under the spray as he tips his head back, like not looking at where his hand is drifting makes it better, somehow.

It’s not a big deal, he tells himself, wrapping his fingers around himself. He squeezes the head, a breath tumbling out of him—relief and arousal in equal measure.

This isn’t who he is. Eddie doesn’t jerk off furtively in the shower—not when his best friend is in the house.

But he can’t help it. He’s so fucking horny, heat pooling at the base of his spine, licking up his back almost coyly. His hand flies around his dick, the sound wet and unmistakable, and—he should not be doing this. Not when Buck’s here, a mere room away.

Fuck. Buck, who got hard from Eddie touching his face. Buck, who moaned for him—soft and helpless.

Eddie gasps, tightening his fist around himself.

Shit, the way Buck had looked—rosy-cheeked and embarrassed, hands twitching with the itch to cover himself, to hide his boner from Eddie.

“Buck,” Eddie groans quietly, like he’s here, like he could reprimand him for it now.

At once, Eddie stills his hand. He pants, listening intently, and—

He hears it: footsteps, light and quiet.

His hips twitch into the tight channel of his fist on their own accord, and Eddie shuts his eyes, leaning against the wall.

Heart hammering, Eddie stays still. Buck could be listening. Buck could be listening, and Eddie kind of hopes he is.

He wants this. He wants Buck to press his ear to the door, to touch himself while listening to Eddie get himself off. He wants Buck to slip a hand down his pants and jerk off, quick and dirty, on the other side of the door. He wants Buck to make himself come.

What the fuck.

He imagines it, imagines Buck standing there, panting and flushed. Imagines Buck dithering, trying to justify touching himself right there in the hallway. God, he would have trouble—not used to jerking off with his left hand. He’d fumble, and he’d look frustrated, but he would manage. He’d have to, to be quick enough. To avoid Eddie catching him.

A weird, half-strangled moan slips from Eddie’s lips, and just like that, his restraint crumbles. He jerks himself off quick and messy, slicking himself with pre-come.

God, he’s so close. It’s never like this—Eddie barely even jerks off.

He’s never jerked off to thoughts of a man before. He’s never let himself. He doesn’t even let himself look at the men in the porn he watches on the rare occasion he indulges in it.

But the way Buck had looked, the way he’d squeezed his eyes shut and apologised—Eddie can’t stop picturing it. He’d looked so fucking good, wrestling with himself.

Eddie slides his palm over the head of his dick, unable to bite back a soft groan. His hand speeds up—he’s so hard, hard enough to pound through steel. He wonders if Buck was being honest when he’d told Eddie, years ago, that he leaks like a fountain. That the nickname Firehose was a double entendre.

He’s coming before he realises it, spilling all over his fist.

“Oh, fuck.” The words punch out of him, half-sigh, half-moan, pleasure and heat sinking its teeth into him. Heart thundering, he cups himself close, feeling himself pulse. Distantly, he hears a set of footsteps skitter away from the door, but Eddie doesn’t have time to acknowledge what that means.

On shaky legs, Eddie steps into the shower stream, washing the come down the drain. Washing away the evidence.

But Eddie knows. Eddie doesn’t need physical proof to know what he’s been trying not to know for years.

Holy shit, he thinks faintly, watching the come swirl down the drain. I’m gay.

Okay. Okay, this is fine. Eddie has revelations all the time. They’re all in a neat little box, shoved into a dark corner of his mind somewhere. Mental compartmentalisation? Yeah, Eddie’s heard of it. He’s actually the first person in the world to master it. He’ll get a call from Guinness World Records any day now.

He gets dressed in total silence, interrupted only by his own shaky inhales. He’s still catching his breath, which means he’s getting old. It does not mean that he just had a really good orgasm while thinking about Buck. That, he knows, would be crazy.

Once he’s fully clothed, he really has no reason to dawdle. He can’t stay in the bathroom for the rest of his life. He’d get hungry. He doesn’t want to die trying to eat a bar of soap. Plus, his soap is lavender-scented. It wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience for any of his senses. He’d only picked it because it was on sale.

Very bravely, he steps out of the bathroom, meandering down the hall toward the living room. And—

Buck is sitting on the couch, book in hand. He would look relaxed, except for the fact that he is obviously not. His shoulders are up by his noticeably red ears, hands gripping the book like it’s going to make a run for it. His legs are bent, knees pressed to his chest the way they only ever are when he feels exposed.

Unbidden, Eddie pictures himself walking over and just—kissing him. Cradling the back of his head with a gentle hand, pressing a million tiny kisses all over Buck’s face. He’d taste the blush, he’s sure of it. It would be sweet, and warm, and so, so Buck.

Eddie flushes, heat spreading over the back of his neck and all the way down his chest. He’s never had any sort of desire to be that intimate with someone else before.

But would it be so crazy? To feel that way for Buck, who’s been by his side through it all?

“Hey,” Eddie says, taking a seat on the opposite end from Buck. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Buck very quickly turning his book the other way around.

Eddie bites back a smile. Had he been reading his book upside down this entire time?

Buck doesn’t lift his eyes from the page, teeth digging into his lower lip. “Hi.”

It’s a very good lip, plush and pink.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy.

Eddie clears his throat. “I was thinking chicken curry for dinner?”

“Yep.” Buck’s voice cracks horribly over the word. “Yeah, that’s—sure. I think we’ve got everything we need at home.”

Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, Eddie sinks back into the couch. “Great.”

“So great,” Buck says quickly.

A slow second ticks by.

“And you?” Eddie asks. “Are you also… great?”

For just a second, Buck’s eyes find Eddie’s, before quickly darting back to his book again. “I am.”

Buck looks a little like someone just yelled ACT CASUAL at him and gave him three seconds to come up with something. Eddie does not point this out.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.”

Despite Buck’s infamous reputation, he isn’t actually that bad of a patient. He’ll complain and look very forlorn when he realises he can’t do something he normally wouldn’t have any problem doing, and occasionally, he’ll overexert himself.

But he’s nothing compared to Eddie.

Buck would deny it, but Eddie knows. Eddie turns a few weeks of healing into epic stand-offs. He gets mean when he’s hurting, because pain means he’s out of control, means he doesn’t have all of his mental faculties. If he can’t use his mental muscles, and he can’t use his body, then what the hell is he good for?

(Buck would kick his ass if he ever said that out loud, but Eddie stands by it. He knows he can be difficult, the same way Buck can be difficult—just with other things, like asking for help. Showing up for each other anyway, that’s what it’s all about. That’s love. Friendship, to be precise.)

But Buck is leaving soon. They’re on the way to Buck’s check out for precisely that reason. Buck’s going to get his cast off, and then Buck is free to peruse as many houses as he wants. And he’ll pick one. A great one, probably. And then he’ll move out. Officially.

At the hospital, Buck does get the all-clear, and they cut the cast off of him in no time. Eddie stands by his side, watching with some mix of relief and panic.

The doctors tell him he can go back to work in four weeks, which Eddie decides to assume is the new timeline—Buck will move out within four weeks.

This is it, he knows. He’s just got to tell his heart that.

Buck, of course, is ecstatic. He texts the work group chat on his way home, and before Eddie knows it, the entire team has invited themselves over.

The quiet evening Eddie had been imagining turns into a festive, celebratory night. And it’s nice, is the thing. Buck’s always done this, always brought with him the magic and noise and warmth Eddie himself is too scared to look for.

Though he’s more or less glued to Buck’s side, Eddie spends an entire thirty minutes drawing a boat with Jee-Yun at the kitchen table. He treats it as the break it is, a moment of respite, before rejoining the team in the backyard.

When Jee-Yun decides it’s time for food, Eddie scoops her up and brings her back to Maddie, who’s lounging on a camper chair beneath the orange tree. Chim, who’s in charge of the grill, waves him over, and Eddie dutifully meanders over.

“How’s our boy holding up?” Chim asks, raising an eyebrow when Eddie steals a raw piece of pepper off the plate next to the grill.

“Good,” Eddie says.

“You have such a way with words,” Chim says, and Eddie huffs.

“Sorry,” he says. “He’s been fine, more or less. Recovery’s always tough.”

“I’m not that bad,” Buck says, swooping in. He bumps elbows with Eddie, and they share a smile that feels somehow private. He offers Eddie his bottle of cider, but Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t know if that’s true,” Eddie says, looking up again when Chim clears his throat.

“I guess this means you finally get to find a place of your own, Buckaroo,” Chim says, unaware Eddie is very suddenly trying to blow him up with his mind.

“Y-yeah, ha,” Buck fiddles with his cider-bottle. “I guess.”

Eddie looks away, clenching his jaw.

He’s being so stupid. In no world would he ever want Buck to be hurt, but it’s been nice, hasn’t it? Buck not seeking a new place? Buck here and comfortable? And he’s better, and Eddie’s so happy for that. He knows how much Buck loves his job, and his life, and his right arm in general.

He just—he sort of wishes Buck would stick around anyway. That he would find reasons to stay, to sleep over, the way he used to back in the early days of their friendship. He doesn’t understand when that changed, or if Buck just changed. If he just… doesn’t want to anymore.

“‘Scuse me,” Eddie says, pushing away from the counter and toward the doorway. He needs to not be here. Just for a moment, to get his head back on straight.

Straight, he thinks, a little wildly. What a joke.

He hears footsteps trailing after him before he’s even made it down the hallway.

He ducks into the bathroom, and Buck – of course it’s Buck – catches the door, sliding in after him before leaning back against the door. He locks it without even looking, because he knows this house. He knows it as well as Eddie does. He knows which floorboards to avoid at night because they creak loud enough to wake the dead, he knows when the mail is delivered and the name of Eddie’s mailwoman, and he knows the angle to smack the sink when it starts making the grinding noise. He knows, and he likes it, doesn’t he? It can be enough, can’t it? Why isn’t it enough?

“Hey,” Buck says carefully. “What’s going on?”

Averting his gaze, Eddie shakes his head. “Nothing. Just needed a breather.”

“Uh-huh,” Buck says, unconvinced. “That why you ran out of there like a bat out of hell?”

Eddie’s hackles rise. “I didn’t—”

“Eddie.”

It’s overwhelming, the look Buck gives Eddie. Patient and kind, worry curling his lips downward.

It’s too much. Eddie needs to—he needs to say something. Anything.

“You don’t have to go,” Eddie blurts, words rushing out of him. “Is it—come on, is it so bad here?”

Buck jolts back. He recovers quickly, keeping his tone light as he says, “Am I supposed to stay on your couch for the rest of our lives?”

“We—you’ve been—the bed,” Eddie stresses. “We share it.”

Buck has always preferred the opposite side to Eddie, doesn’t mind that Eddie rolls around in the night, and likes Eddie’s sheets. It’s a good bed. A fine bed. A bed made for two. It just makes sense. Why doesn’t Buck understand?

Buck swallows. Voice unsteady, he says, “And when you get a girlfriend? I don’t think she’s going to like that, Eddie. The bed isn’t big enough for three.”

Eddie freezes. He doesn’t know how to tell Buck that he won’t. He won’t get a girlfriend ever, because he doesn’t want one. He’s done. He can’t make himself do it anymore, playing the long, winding game of charades he’s been playing his entire life.

He wants to be happy. Fuck, he wants to—to dance, and eat good food, and spend the rest of his life trying to make his kid laugh. He wants to do it all with Buck right by his side, an ever-present, integral part of it.

The words on the tip of his tongue – I won’t – when Buck scrubs the back of his neck.

“Or—or what if I start dating again?”

It lands like a blow to the solar plexus. Every bone in Eddie’s chest begins to ache at once. He feels like a child, throwing a tantrum about something he has no say in. Buck can date whoever he wants. He can prioritise whoever he wants. He can be wherever the hell he wants.

But he used to prioritise Eddie. He used to sit by his kitchen table and help Chris with his school projects, even if it meant showing up sleep-deprived and drowsy to work the next day. Because Buck loves so hard when he loves something. But it’s different now. Everything’s changed. And Eddie… Eddie hates himself for having been the catalyst. He’s the reason Chris fled, the reason he had to move their entire lives down to Texas, the reason Buck gave up his loft. The reason Buck is stuck here with him, with Eddie clinging onto him, begging him not to leave, but being too scared to plead out loud.

Eddie has always been a runner, but here he is, sinking his claws into Buck’s body, silently begging over and over for him to stay.

Quietly, losing steam, Buck adds, “Come on, man. I’m—I’m trying to be mature, here.” He drags a hand over his face, shoulders slumping inwards.

“Buck.” Eddie clenches his clammy fists, heart beating too fast.

Buck shifts his weight, body angling toward the door. His eyes dart away, jaw set. “I’m sure you want me out of your hair.”

And Eddie is just so, so sick of that—so sick of Buck being one foot out the damn door, no matter how much space Eddie makes for him. And there’s so much space, a Buck-shaped hole in Eddie’s life that Buck just won’t step into for more than a second, like he’s not quite sure it’ll fit, despite the fact Eddie’s spent years and years carving it out perfectly.

“Why do you do that?” Eddie asks, voice ragged, exhausted. “Why are you always so ready for people to be sick of you?”

Buck reels back like he’s been slapped, face flashing with hurt before he can hide it. “What? I’m not—”

“You act like you’re imposing.” Eddie gestures helplessly to the air between them, fingers splaying wide. “Like I don’t want you here.”

Buck’s mouth opens, then closes again. He stares at Eddie, wariness settling into the crease of his brows. “Do you?”

Jesus. Is it not obvious by now? Why can’t Buck just see it? Why won’t he listen to what Eddie’s been implying the entire time they’ve known each other?

“What?”

The silence stretches between them. Winded, Buck asks, “Do you want me here?”

“Buck,” Eddie says, quiet and raw. He takes a step closer without even meaning to. His voice drops even softer. “Yes.”

For a long moment, Buck’s eyes flicker between Eddie’s. His breathing slows, just a little. Then, decisively, he nods. “Okay.”

Eddie blinks. “Okay?”

Is it really that easy? Is that all it takes?

Buck shifts closer, almost unconsciously, like Eddie has a gravitational pull rather than the exit. Eddie’s heart stumbles at the thought of Buck being stuck in his orbit, of him hovering there and rotating around Eddie, close by forever. Buck’s expression is so, so soft now, like butter left out in the sun. Eddie wants to hold his face in his hands, to smooth his thumbs over Buck’s cheeks, to drink him in.

Before he can express anything like that, Buck quietly says, “I’ll stay.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t want to leave.” The words flee Buck so quickly that it can’t have been an entirely voluntary admission.

Eddie feels a little like he’s run a marathon.

“Oh.”

“I—Eddie,” Buck says, and then his arms are wrapping around him, pulling Eddie into a tight embrace.

It takes a second for Eddie to hug him back. It’s just—they don’t do this. In all their years of knowing each other, they’ve hugged maybe six times.

And this – this hug, this moment – feels different. Warm and reassuring, both of them having run out of words. But Eddie’s never been good at words—a doer more than a sayer. So maybe he can do that now, too. Like this, maybe he can show Buck what he’s feeling. Maybe the action can come before the words.

Swallowing Eddie pulls back, smiling softly at Buck. Buck returns the smile, almost reflexively.

Eddie’s gaze slips to the soft, pink shape of Buck’s mouth. Watches the exact moment Buck’s breath hitches. He course-corrects immediately, eyes darting up to Buck’s again.

He wants this. God, he wants this.

Questioningly, he glances at Buck’s mouth again, then back up to his eyes.

Looking dumbstruck, Buck nods.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to lean in, brushing his lips to Buck’s. It’s a suggestion of a kiss, a quiet plea for Buck to meet him halfway.

And he does.

Fingers shyly slipping around Eddie’s waist, Buck slots their mouths together.

Eddie’s chest erupts with light. Inhaling sharply, he tugs Buck closer. He lets Buck part his mouth, slipping his tongue in to lick, lick, lick. Eddie melts into it, heat pooling low in his gut.

Buck’s a hell of a kisser. He kisses Eddie like he’s a drowning man, and the press of Eddie’s lips back against his is his only chance at oxygen.

He’s thorough with it, knows when to apply pressure and when to ease off and tug Eddie’s bottom lip between his teeth. Eddie feels himself coming undone against him, his spine turning to jello as Buck’s tongue tastes the inside of Eddie’s cheek. It feels like Buck is claiming every inch of his mouth, mapping it out and memorising it, like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss someone.

He knows how to kiss well, but right now, finesse flies out the window, and all he can do is grip onto Buck and return the enthusiasm. He groans softly against Buck’s mouth as his nose digs into Eddie’s cheekbone, their mouths slicking together wet and audible.

Unfairly, he has to pull back to breathe, eyes fluttering open. They’re both panting, and Eddie’s lips tingle like Buck applied just a little bit of magic to his own. Buck looks unbelievably good, flushed and disbelieving and so, so focused.

Squeezing Buck’s waist, Eddie lets his hand glide over to press against Buck’s stomach. He feels his muscles jump, rippling as Buck inhales shakily.

“Can’t—can’t do too much,” Buck pants, gripping Eddie’s shirt.

“I know.” With a hand on Buck’s chin, he tilts Buck’s head, licking into his mouth again.

Buck groans, walking Eddie backwards until the small of his back hits the sink. Like this, Buck’s pressed to Eddie from chest to thigh, and Eddie can feel him swelling, can feel the shape of his cock against his leg.

This time, Eddie doesn’t have to ignore it. This time, Eddie can give it the attention he’s been desperate to. He reaches down between them, cupping Buck through his pants, squeezing over the hardening length.

Against his mouth, Buck whimpers, kissing Eddie harder, chasing Eddie’s tongue with his own. Eddie massages it beneath his palm, testing out the weight in his hand. It’s different from holding his own —the angle alone is weird on his wrist, but it’s so, so warm in his hand, and he wants so badly to get through the layers of fabric and lay a bare hand on him, skin-to-skin.

Eddie drags his fingers up, up, up, till they dip just an inch past his waistband. He breaks the kiss then, catching Buck’s eye.

“Can I—?”

Buck blinks at him, lids heavy. “Here?”

Drifting closer, Eddie noses at his cheek, letting his fingers inch slightly lower. “Yeah. You’re so pent up, Buck. It’s been weeks.”

The muscles of Buck’s abdomen flutter against the back of Eddie’s hand. “Anyone could hear,” Buck breathes, hand gripping at Eddie’s side.

Humming, Eddie nods, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah.”

Buck’s hips twitch upward, seemingly involuntarily. “You an exhibitionist, Eddie Diaz?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, breath hot against Buck’s skin. “I just want you. C’mon, you gonna make me beg to touch you, baby?”

A shudder runs through Buck’s entire body, his fingers shifting to dip under Eddie’s shirt and grab at his side, like he’s aching for something to ground himself to.

Softly, he mutters, “Call me that again.”

Eddie smiles against Buck’s jaw, nipping at the skin there. “Baby,” he exhales, voice low. “Let me touch you. I wanna look after you.”

Blunt nails dig into Eddie’s flank, a groan slipping past Buck’s lips as he drops his head, forehead knocking against Eddie’s shoulder. Laughing, Eddie dips his hand fully into Buck’s pants, barely an inch between the tip of his finger and Buck’s cock, his nails dragging through the curls there.

“Gonna need a clear yes or no here, man,” Eddie reminds him. “If you really wanna wait, I can jerk you off in bed later. Maybe blow you. Not sure your doc wants you doing much more than that just yet.”

Voice thready, Buck mumbles, right against Eddie’s shoulder, “I wanna suck your dick.”

Warmth unfurls like a blossom across Eddie’s cheeks, spreading slow. Eddie swallows, suddenly hyperaware of his tongue and teeth. He imagines Buck on his knees for him—sans the cloth sling—eyes big and blue as he looks up at Eddie with his lips sealed around the head of Eddie’s dick, tongue teasing at the head of it, tasting him.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales. “When you’re better, alright? Then you can suck me off. Just let me make you come.”

Buck nods, head tilting to nuzzle against the crook of Eddie’s throat.

Finally, Eddie gets a hand on him, warm fingers circling around the base of him and squeezing. Buck lets out a pleased sigh, mouthing needily at the skin of Eddie’s neck. Buck’s injured arm is trapped between them, held comfortably in a sling.

Eddie’s careful not to press in too close, Buck’s arm more vulnerable now that it’s not encased in a cast.

Experimentally, Eddie strokes his hand over Buck’s dick. Once he gets to the tip—Eddie’s the one who lets out a quiet moan. His fingers, suddenly soaked, are perfectly slicked by Buck’s pre as he slides it back down, smearing Buck’s mess all over his cock. It’s big—which Eddie knew, he’s seen it hard more than once before, but feeling it truly is something else. It’s life-changing.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m so fucking gay.

Buck, right as that thought shoots through Eddie’s brain, moans against his neck, hips rolling forward to fuck into the channel of Eddie’s fist.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes. “Feel good?”

Nodding, Buck sucks a hickey into the side of Eddie’s neck, muffling his noises into the skin. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, his ass digging into the sink harder as he makes more space between them.

Hand retracting from around Buck’s cock, Eddie shoves Buck’s pants and underwear down, letting them bunch at his thighs. Against his neck, Buck is exhaling raggedly, catching his breath—but once Eddie has Buck’s cock back in his hand, his breath hitches, catching in his throat as he works another mark into Eddie’s skin, closer to his shoulder now.

Eddie’s forced to muffle a groan by sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, hand working mercilessly over Buck’s cock, slicked by Buck’s leaking precome.

“E-Eddie,” Buck says, looking wrecked as he pulls back, cheeks flushed. “I–next time, you have to let me— let me suck your dick. I’m so good at it, I promise. I can take—take all of you, I’ll make you feel so fucking good.”

Eddie surges forward, capturing Buck’s mouth in a sloppy, heated kiss. He bites his bottom lip, tugging at it until Buck whimpers, loud and so, so hot.

God, he feels crazy. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this hard before—leaking steadily, straining against the confines of his jeans. He can feel his damn heartbeat in his dick, pulsing in time with his ragged breathing.

But their friends are on the other side of that door.

“Next time,” Eddie promises against the trembling of Buck’s mouth, his thumb sliding through the slit of Buck’s cock, collecting the wetness there. “But you gotta keep quiet, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want ‘em to hear you.”

“Fuck,” Buck whimpers, shuddering as his face tucks itself safely back against Eddie’s neck.

He begins mouthing again, tasting Eddie’s sweat-damp skin.

“You can bite,” Eddie manages between unsteady breaths. “I don’t mind.”

Making a soft, wounded noise, Buck does. His teeth find purchase in the soft, vulnerable side of Eddie’s neck, sucking hard as he pants roughly through his nose.

Eddie’s entire body lights up, nerve endings vibrating as the pain pulses through the tender flesh. Teeth still pressed in, he hollows his cheeks and sucks, muffling a moan right into the damn bite. Eddie almost comes on the spot, his cock blurting pre-come, the inside of his underwear getting uncomfortably wet at an insanely quick rate.

Through it, Eddie keeps his hand pumping, fisting over Buck’s length as Buck trembles against him. Buck unclenches his jaw, pressing soft apologetic kisses against the indentations of his teeth left behind. Eddie shudders, his free hand reaching up and gripping onto Buck’s curls to hold him there as he speeds his hand up.

He’s not sure if it’s in response to the harsh tug on Buck’s hair or the quickened pumping of his hand, but Buck lets out a moan that Eddie barely manages to catch with a shove down of Buck’s head before it reaches the ears of anyone walking down the damn hall.

An idea pops into Eddie’s head, fully formed and ready to go, like Eddie spends a lot of his free time thinking about bathroom handjobs.

“Like—like this,” Eddie breathes, pulling at Buck’s shirt to turn him around. He doesn’t miss the pained little whimper Buck makes at the loss of contact to his cock, Eddie takes a second to press a little sorry in the form of a kiss to the side of his neck as he presses in close. Eddie moulds his chest to Buck’s back, his own dick slotting to the bare skin of Buck’s ass. For a moment, he lets himself indulge, shoving his pants down just enough to let his cock escape, before pressing the glistening tip to Buck’s skin. It leaves a glossy, wet smear in its wake.

Fuck.

Attention refocused, Eddie slots himself against Buck, cock flush against Buck’s warm skin. In the mirror’s reflection, he watches himself hook his chin over Buck’s shoulder, cradling Buck’s dick in his hands. His eyes flicker down the length of him—Buck’s bulky arms, the shirt straining over his chest, the hard jut of his cock, his twitching, broad thighs.

Eddie might be a genius. Improvised mirror sex is awesome.

Squeezing over the head, he watches Buck’s face go slack with pleasure, and, a little meanly, starts stroking Buck, quick and tight.

Buck convulses, hand flying out to catch himself on the sink. He’s barely breathing, breaths leaving him in shaky, overwhelmed pants.

“Breathe, baby,” Eddie murmurs.

“C-can’t,” Buck gasps. “Too loud.”

Hugging him close to him, Eddie’s hand slips up to Buck’s throat, wrapping around it. Just like he knew he would, Buck chokes out a moan, and Eddie seizes the opportunity, hand slipping up to press firmly against Buck’s mouth. His palm is firm over Buck’s lips, his fingers dimpling into his cheeks.

Buck catches his eye in the mirror, the oceans of his eyes swallowed entirely by pupil.

“There you go,” Eddie exhales. “Just feel good, okay? I got you.”

Buck’s dick blurts pre-come, a soft sob leaving him, swallowed up by Eddie’s hand. “Eddie.”

“You’re close,” Eddie mumbles against Buck’s shoulder. “Can feel it, baby. You gonna come for me?”

Muffled, Buck whines—long and high. He nods, eyes glistening under the golden bathroom light, unshed tears lining his waterline.

“When you’re all healed up,” Eddie says, stroking Buck relentlessly, “I’m gonna really take my time with you. Gonna make you come over and over, baby.” Eddie brushes his mouth against the back of Buck’s ear. “Gonna make you mine.”

Buck seizes. He shudders with the force of his orgasm, brought to him by Eddie’s hand, and Eddie can’t look away. He watches Buck’s cock jerk, spilling all over his fingers, painting the sink in come.

When it crests, Eddie loosens his grip, letting Buck drag in a breath.

“H-holy shit. Holy shit, Eddie,” Buck moans, high and breathy. He leans his weight back against Eddie, thighs shaking.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, drinking him in. He can’t believe he didn’t know. All this time, and he didn’t know it could be like this.

Trembling against him, Buck blinks glassy eyes at Eddie. Then, soft and delighted, he laughs. “Your turn.”

Eddie takes a moment to compose himself, cock pressed firmly to Buck’s ass. This is crazy. Buck just came into the sink.

Hips twitching, and Eddie gives Buck’s cock a gentle stroke, a goodbye before he slips his come-covered hand beneath Buck’s shirt, holding him.

Forehead pressed to the back of Buck’s neck, he watches himself rut against him. It’s fucking obscene—wet and desperate, the head of his dick bordering on purple.

“Oh, God,” Eddie pants.

He’s going to come like this, humping Buck’s ass like a dog in heat.

“Please,” Buck breathes, watching Eddie intently in the mirror. He reaches back to finger Eddie’s beltloop, tugging him closer. “Please, Eddie. I need to—I need to see.”

Eddie slows his hips into a slow grind, panting hard as he mouths at Buck’s neck. He watches his own come-covered hand splay over Buck’s stomach, how right it looks there, and jerks forward.

Eddie’s orgasm hits him like a freight train, pleasure flooding him so suddenly he’s unable to do anything but rut forward, as if he were fucking into him. He feels the come pooling in his briefs, the glide suddenly smooth and unbearably hot.

Buck moans, mouth falling open like he’s the one coming, half-lidded eyes never leaving Eddie’s face.

Aftershocks rocking through him, Eddie buries his face in Buck’s neck. Ear pressed to the overheated skin, Eddie listens to the pound of Buck’s heart. This is the safest place in the world, he thinks.

It takes a long time for Eddie to raise his head again. The second he does, he meets Buck’s eyes in the mirror. He can see the anxiety swimming there, warring with his post-orgasm bliss. Instinctively, Eddie flexes his hand and glides it upward, unintentionally smearing mess before spreading his fingers over the span of Buck’s chest.

I’ve got you, he thinks. I’ve got you, now and forever.

Distantly, he registers the sound of the party in the backyard. It can wait another minute. Right now, he wants to hold Buck. Wants to reassure him, and love him, and—and maybe tell him that, too. Eventually. When the time is right.

“Was—was that,” Buck hesitates, wetting his lips. “Was that… good? For you?”

Eddie snorts, and at once, Buck seems soothed.

“If by good you mean great, then, yeah. Sure,” he says. “It was good.”

Buck’s tentative smile grows into a full-blown grin.

Eddie softens at once, helpless to anything but grin back. He extricates himself, spinning Buck around with a hand at his waist. He slides in close, keeping Buck pinned against the sink.

Eyes flickering between Buck, he says, “You’re not moving out.” He hopes Buck hears it for what it is: I want you to stay. I need you here. I want you. I love you so much that it hurts.

Like he can’t help it, Buck sways forward, kissing Eddie soundly. Eddie feels his toes curl in his shoes in delight. Buck pulls back after a moment, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. He’s grinning as he says, “I’m not moving out.”