Archive of Our Own

"It's my fault. Let me help."

The words sound strange to Buck's ears. He's just said that, hasn't he? Out loud, nonchalant and everything, as if it was the most normal thing you could say to your best friend.

Which would be— normal, that is. It's not in this context.

Said best friend stands right next to the couch where Buck sits, and was very clearly about to put some distance between them. As he should. Because he's hard as a rock, and Buck fully believes it's his fault.

It is, goddamn. Nothing positive in that.

Eddie's flushed skin reflects the flashes of the TV, still going on. Of course. Of course he's mortified. No one can really control these bodily reactions. Buck wasn't even trying to provoke such bodily reactions. That's not what you do to your best friend. The line is very clear, the unspoken limits established by basically any social order Buck has taken part of, at least.

So he could have let Eddie leave to the bathroom. Or maybe to his car. It's not a bad time for him to go back home, though Buck knows it's not comfortable to drive with an erection— there are way more important things you should be focusing on while driving. Like, you know, the road. Traffic. Other cars. Not your fucking dick demanding attention.

Buck could have done a lot of things. Instead, his stupid mouth has cobbled together two sentences out of six stupid words that would baffle anyone in these circumstances.

"You… what?" Eddie gapes at him. He thinks he's heard wrong. He must have, Buck is also having trouble believing his own nerve.

This is truly the perfect opportunity to back out. To improvise something else, something that sounds similar. Like, 'its my fault, let me call you an Uber'. Which, fine, is not that similar but someone desperate enough would have bought it. That is still helping, right?

And Eddie looks desperate enough. It can work.

"I said I can help you," Buck blabbers, repeating his own damn words. Stupid. Why did he say that? Where's his filter? The one he has to put up, secure and triple-check every time he's been around Eddie for the past few years? "It's my fault, so I— I can—"

In the nearest trashcan, the filter is right there. At least he manages to pull the emergency brakes on that last sentence. Not that it matters at this point.

"—Help me," Eddie echoes Buck's words, completing the sentence. His words come out even, if slightly dazed, and Buck might be looking straight at him but he wouldn't be able to tell you how Eddie looks. What does that expression on his face mean? He can't know, not when all the alarms inside his brain are going off at the same time.

Damn, but Eddie does look breathtakingly beautiful. He always does, and yet today —as every day— Buck thinks it's in some entirely new way. It's the way his hair falls messily in front of his forehead, no gel (like Buck prefers). How his eyes shine, the flush in his cheeks that extends to the tip of his ears, the mouth agape and the stubble of his beard. Buck's old T-shirt, slightly too big for his frame, the one he's wearing because he accidentally dirtied his own while cooking some four hours ago.

The fucking outline of his cock against his jeans. Buck is trying very hard to not look at it. He's not entirely successful at it, which doesn't help his case.

It's his fault. Eddie is straight. You get bodily reactions for the weirdest and most random shit. Buck had just gotten slightly too comfortable on the couch, had rested his head against Eddie's lap. Distractedly caressed Eddie's legs. Looked up at him. He—

Doesn't matter. He can't dwell on it. He's in this situation precisely because he dwelled on it. And then opened his big mouth when no one had asked him to. When every atom in the universe has been whispering to him in unison 'this is a bad idea'.

Well, it had been a bad idea from the beginning, falling in love with his best friend. Not so much a bodily reaction, but Buck hadn't been able to control that, either.

He still couldn't—

"Okay," it takes Buck way too many seconds to process the single, raspy word that has left Eddie's lips.

And still, the word doesn't truly register.

"Okay," Buck repeats. It means to be a question. It isn't. It's him tasting that single word, chewing it, strange against his palate. As if he's never heard it.

Buck feels like an expectator as, slowly, Eddie moves. Moves back. To the couch. To the exact place where he was sitting not two minutes ago. Knees brushing, the hotness of his skin pulling Buck back to the present.

To Eddie, extremely flushed, forcing himself to look at him, wetting his lips as his mouth goes dry.

"You do you. Go ahead, help."

Full… wait, full permission. That's just full permission, if still baffled-sounding, coming hand in hand with full trust. To do what? What Buck has been dreaming to do for months, if not years?

No. No, Buck cannot do the first thing that comes to mind. He cannot kiss Eddie. That's too intimate. And it wouldn't exactly help with the erection. They are still best friends, and this, unbelievable as it sounds, surreal as it feels, is just about a best friend helping his best friend.

And best friends don't kiss each other.

But still, Eddie is looking at him, expectant.

Right. Right. Eddie is waiting for him to do something, or maybe to see what he decides to do. So Buck tentatively reaches out to place his hand against his best friend's thigh. Electricity already runs wild through the shy contact, even with the tight jeans in the middle. Eddie doesn't even flinch, but Buck feels his eyes pinned on his every movement. Waiting. Following. Breath heaving as Buck moves his hand up, towards the tent in the pants.

Slowly, not because he's teasing, but because he wants to give Eddie the chance to back out. To call out the prank. And then maybe Buck can say something about him playing chicken, and now Eddie has lost, and they can laugh about it and maybe forget all of it in a couple of days.

"If I knew you were gonna be this slow I would have just gone to the bathroom," Eddie huffs, voice ragged.

Buck's eyes shoot up to meet Eddie's. Fuck. Maybe there's no playing chicken here. Maybe Eddie is as serious as Buck's crush is. Which is not… That's… No.

There has to be an explanation for this.

Alright. Yes. Eddie is straight. But he wants to get off. Buck can accept that, see that as a real possibility. Even more, he'll cling to that idea even if it feels like hanging from the stairs of a fire engine in the middle of a storm. He would know, he's been there.

"Slow," that is, however, the word Buck echoes. He finds himself snorting. He wants this, and Eddie needs this. This was his own offering with Eddie's full acceptance, no specifics.

Before he thinks it more thoroughly, while repeating to himself that he's just helping Eddie here, Buck slides down from the couch as his knees hits the wooden floor. A couple swift movements and he scoots over to the perfect position between Eddie's legs, already open enough to frame his wide torso.

He might regret this, and the pain in his leg due to the position will be a stark reminder for days. He can't seem to care that far right now.

Buck looks up despide knowing what that will do to him. It's not like his cock isn't heavily interested already, but Buck's full focus is on Eddie. On making sure Eddie is comfortable. On being sure Eddie is still on board. On knowing he will at least enjoy it.

Although… well. Eddie just wants to get rid of his erection. Buck guesses enjoying is secondary for him. Not secondary for Buck with any of his previous partners, and yes, that absolutely includes Eddie right now.

Damn, Buck loves him. This is even worse than with his previous partners.

Eddie's full-blown pupils are looking straight into Buck's soul, as if he could discern his crush just like that. Logically, he can't. And Buck thinks himself a good enough actor. There's no way Eddie knows.

It's still slow, tentative, the way he reaches up towards his crotch, not missing the smallest of micro expressions. He unbuttons the fly, pulls down the zipper, and he hears Eddie's breath catching in his throat.

Shit. Shit.

Eddie lifts his hips as Buck pulls down the jeans, taking off the shoes too when he reaches them. It's almost a mechanical movement, having done it many times before. And the thing is Eddie is going to need freedom of movement if he lets Buck stay where he is.

No complains. Just his gaze fixated on Buck, blood pumping both to his face and his length, and heat radiating from his skin, flooding the entire living room.

Even as Buck leans forward and sucks on Eddie's erection through the strained amd already wet fabric he is very alert. Eddie will tell him to stop soon, surely.

Instead, he hears Eddie's initial gasp transform into a full moan. A moan. Buck stutters his movements in shock. He didn't know Eddie could make a sound like that. He guessed (hoped, really), Eddie would sound close to that, but the real thing is even better.

God, Buck truly hopes Eddie doesn't ask him to stop. He needs to hear that sound again as much as he needs water to stay alive. He won't survive another day without hearing Eddie's moans.

…And he feels bad immediately by thinking that. Better to focus on Eddie himself. Yes. And if he asks Buck to stop, Buck will stop. And if he doesn't ask Buck to stop, but Buck feels Eddie is uncomfortable, he will stop. That's a very real possibility, almost sure it will happen, and Buck is okay with that.

The wet spot in Eddie's boxers grows, both from pre-cum and saliva. Eddie's breaths are heavy, ragged, music to Buck's ears. Because Buck is doing that. Fucking hell, this is ruining him until the end of his days.

Feeling brave enough, Buck reaches up to take off the boxers, finally, finally. Eddie's dick springs up, bounces a little against his abdomen as Eddie sucks in some air, hissing at the suddenness. It looks incredibly hard, red and angry, almost painful. Buck can only think about swallowing it down.

"Fuck, Buck," it feels like it's been eons since Eddie last spoke, although it was just some minutes ago. Buck, too fixated on his face, doesn't even notice Eddie's hand until he feels his fingers tangling briefly in his curls, then dropping towards his cheek. "I— I thought you were just gonna— gonna jack me off."

Oh. He's just licked his lips, hasn't he? He's embarrassing.

"Do you want me to do that?" Buck speaks. His hand is close enough to Eddie's cock. Not what he had in mind, sure, but it's still perfect. It's still Eddie. Buck will accept anything he gives him.

"Didn't say that. You had something else in mind, right?" Eddie lets out a small breathless laugh.

In no universe would Buck not go crazy after hearing that. Right there, on his knees in his own living room, in front of Eddie, the rumble of the TV still going on as background noise. Despite trying to ignore it, his own cock straining against his sweatpants. Embarrassing, embarrassing, he's no longer a horny teenager. The only thing he's done is mouthing his best friend's cock through fabric. His own cock has no business being this hard.

As a consolation, at least Eddie cannot see that. Buck thinks, at least. Not from his angle. Probably for the best. This is going to be weird enough tomorrow as it is developing.

"Buck," his eyes shoot up. Eddie's eyes, glassy as they are, look directly through him. "I meant it."

He meant it.

"Do whatever you want to do," he continues, confirming his previous words. Slower but barely controled, or at least Buck's brain is processing them at its own pace.

It still takes Buck a couple of seconds to react. To attend Eddie's need to the best of his capabilities, as he leans forward, hands placing on knee and thigh as he envelops the tip of his dick with his lips.

For some reason, it seems it still catches Eddie by surprise. His breath hitches and transforms into a groan with Buck's movement. Buck, who is very aware of what is happening right now and yet can barely believe he has Eddie's dick in his mouth. Like a dream. If he gets down he might even be able to smell Eddie's body odour, or perhaps his body wash. Maybe a mixture of both, but Buck is very turned on by the idea.

As if he needed more motivation. Buck releases the length, only to immediately lick a long stripe from bottom to top before putting his lips, tongue and throat to work.

The sounds, God, the sounds. It's easy to get lost in sucking and licking and moving his tongue over the slit and reaching out with his hands towards Eddie's balls, playing with them and occasionally massaging the perineum with his index. So lost, so lost, even more so when Eddie's moans fill his ears, his brain, drown the rumble of the TV and the cars on the street and the fucking noisy bugs from the garden.

Eddie seems to be retaining control over his body, thighs tense but hips immobile as to not choke Buck. His hands reach out, one towards the arm of the couch, creases appearing at his right grip, and the other forward, latching finally to Buck's hair and pulling. Grounding. Insanely hot, too, as Buck's eyes turn white for a second and he moans, cock still deep inside his mouth.

"Fucking— Buck—" Eddie is gasping for air, for words, hand tight on his curls. After Buck retrieves his mind from wherever the hell it has fucked off, his first instinct is pull the length out. So he can verbally check all is good.

However, as he starts the movement, he finds Eddie's hand is pushing back, forcing the length to still sit heavy in his mouth. "Just— just give me a second," Eddie lets out a shaky breath and throws his head back before starting to take deep, slow, breaths.

And Buck is— there, immobile. Eddie's hand is still on top of his head, though the grip has relaxed. He stills himself despite the soreness in his mandible soon creeping in. Despite the saliva accumulating in his mouth that will soon overflow and start dripping down his chin, pooling between his knees as his hands are too busy —immobile, too— against Eddie's warm skin.

He dazily thinks that he might cum like this. Probably the best orgasm of Buck's life, too. He would like that.

Eddie is still leaning his whole body back against the couch, chest rising and falling as ragged breaths escape his lips. At least he's managed to slow them, which seems to be what he was trying to do.

By the time he speaks again, voice barely a thread, the pool of saliva and pre-cum between Buck's legs has become quite noticeable.

"I— I was gonna come," Eddie admits, and the words don't register at first. Well, they do, but at the same time the true meaning behind them doesn't.

Ah, Buck catches himself. He was about to make Eddie come. Blowing him. Buck. Buck was going to do that. Because he had— still has, really— Eddie's length in his mouth.

Oh.

"I needed— one second," Eddie continues.

Buck realizes that, to speak, he must first leave his mouth free.

"It's been more like half an hour," Buck replies, snarky. His voice comes out rough, he moves his jaw to fight the soreness.

Eddie breathes out a laugh and lightly kicks Buck in the abdomen. "Don't exaggerate. It hasn't been more than five minutes."

Still. Damn. Buck's jaw aches and he doesn't fucking care because he almost made Eddie orgasm and that's why Eddie made him stop.

Wait. Wait, maybe Eddie is enjoying—

"You are— Do you want to—" Eddie tries to ask, and Buck is so focused on his words that he doesn't catch how his right foot moves until he presses it against the strained fabric on Buck's sweatpants. Buck immediately moans, unable to force it down. "You are enjoying it."

A statement. Buck didn't intend Eddie to know. A bit too late for that.

"You are already like this over blowing me?" Eddie sounds baffled, as if he wasn't the most perfect being in Buck's life.

"No," Buck answers automatically, but anyone could tell he's lying. Eddie sooner than any other person.

And, yes, the foot against the crotch is an advantage given the situation.

His hips wanted to chase the underside of the foot, trying to seek more friction. Buck can barely hold it back, body visibly twitching.

"Bodily reaction," Buck adds quickly, strained, before Eddie can even think about pushing more. "You— had a bodily reaction, I had one, too."

Right. That at least is mostly true.

"Yeah. Well, you can—"

"I'm fine," Buck interrupts. And, then, before Eddie can continue with whatever he wanted to say, "I can go on. Or—or I can stop. Whatever you want."

"I—" Buck is fully expecting Eddie to ask him to stop. Has been expecting that since this started. So he braces himself, tries to not think about Eddie's foot still pressing against his crotch, and waits for Eddie to continue the sentence.

'I need you to stop,' it echoes inside his mind. It's that easy. It's what he truly believes Eddie will say. Dread plummets in his stomach.

"Could you—" Eddie changes the beginning of the sentence. Corrects himself. No matter, Buck knows how the sentence ends, with a simple verb. "Could you finger me?"

The world stills, and tilts, and the only thing grounding Buck is Eddie's hand still in his hair and the pressure of the sole.

"…What?"

"'t's fine if you don't want to."

"What?"

"Forget it—"

"—Eddie, you can't just—" A histerical laugh breaks out of Buck's mouth, "say that? Jesus, I— I will— are you sure?"

"I'm asking," Buck is barely aware of Eddie's figure, his eyes fixated on his mouth area. He can see the throat bobbing as he gulps down after speaking. "I'm asking," he repeats.

And… fuck. Sure. This just became 75% likely to be a hallucination in Buck's mind, but he's running with it.

"I will— I will get my lube," Buck takes a second to stand up, a tad too long to turn around towards his own room, Eddie's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He doesn't stop Buck.

The following actions will be remembered as a series of stills in Buck's mind. Going through his room's door, distractedly cleaning the saliva from his chin with the back of his hand, crouching down, opening the second drawer on his bedside table, bottle rolling back with the suddenness of the movement. And then back in the living room, and Eddie—

"Not chickening out, then?" Eddie jokes as Buck returns. There's a smile on his face, and at least that's reassuring. He's folded his jeans and boxers and placed his shoes neatly to the side, but otherwise he's in the same position, dick still very much hard, no, Buck hasn't imagined that either. Fuck. And Eddie is smiling, and he's all flushed, T-shirt still on but not as ironed as Buck remembers— has he grabbed it at any point? Has Eddie?

On different news, the TV is off, finally. Yes, Buck takes five slow seconds to notice. And, and, he still needs to clean the puddle of saliva, and given the circumstances he might need to buy plane tickets to fuck off to maybe Australia. That, too. It's good over there at this time of the year.

"No," Buck says. Monosyllabic, lest his voice betrays him.

"You were taking your time."

"Was I?" No, really, was he? Sure. Perhaps. "I was… thinking," it's a way to start, for sure. "And— I don't know, you said you want to get fingered, but—"

"Yes," Eddie interjects. "I'm sure."

Well, damn. Alright. Buck isn't even sure of what he was going to say.

"So, just, uh—" Buck doesn't know how to speak anymore. "Lie down, let me—"

"Yes, yes, lemme—" Eddie shuffles to the side and then leans back as Buck reaches for a pillow.

The pillow is to prop up Eddie's hips, and Buck knows it, but the sudden view forces his entire body to stop dead.

He will die in here today. What a terrible emergency that is going to be. The 118 will mock him even after dead. That's just bad.

"Any advice?" Eddie asks at Buck's sudden inability to move.

Okay. Okay, that makes him regain some sort of motor skills. To speak, at least.

"I, uhm— relax. As much as you can. Be vocal about… anything that crosses your mind, really," Buck leaves the bottle on the coffee table and bends a knee in the space between Eddie's legs. "If you aren't liking it, I need to know. If you are loving it, I— that, too. Know."

Buck needs to know that too, really, but his own sanity mighy get compromised if Eddie truly starts enjoying his fingers.

Buck's fingers.

"If you want to stop, tell me. If you need a breather, tell me—"

"I know that."

"Sure," Buck says distractedly. Enough thoughts to be distracted for a lifetime. "Lift your hips, this will make it easier," he moves the hand that still grips the cushion.

Eddie immediately obeys.

Well, he will need to burn this cushion later lest he wants to get a boner every time he sees it. Hell, Buck might need to burn the whole couch. Get a new one. Yet again.

Can he afford a new couch right now? With his savings, yes, not that he likes the idea. He actually liked this one. Well. He grew to like it. Better than the previous ones, at least.

The cold lube on his fingers pulls him back from his couch thoughts. Makes him look in front of him, Eddie sprawled, one leg hooking on the backrest and the other on Buck's shoulder. Who left it there? Maybe it was Buck, or maybe Eddie unintentionally. Eddie is looking down at him, breathing through his open mouth, and Buck can smell his shower gel mixed with his sweat.

Yes, still incredibly crazy.

Buck would love to just lean down and eat Eddie's ass out, but that's not what Eddie asked him to do. And that's why he's warming up the lube.

"'t's gonna be weird. At first," Buck adds as he lowers his hand, seeking Eddie's entrance.

He knows Eddie's heard him by the way his breath changes, by how he reaches with his left hand to grab at the backrest already. Buck's single digit touches his entrance and Eddie sucks air.

"Thought you were warming it up," he hisses.

"Sorry," Buck blurts out. He circles the entrance. "Felt good to me."

"It's fine, it's fine," Eddie says. Fine, how? He's trying to make Buck feel better, none of this is fine.

He's straight, he's straight, he's straight, he's straight.

And yet, some seconds later, Buck pushes his index up Eddie's ass, to the first knuckle. Eddie gasps, and Buck forgets how to think.

He opens Eddie up slowly, trying to extrapolate what Buck knows he himself likes. That's his best reference, honestly. Eddie's gasps and grunts slowly transform into sighs as Buck moves his fingers deeper, faster, then slower, then a second finger is inside and therefore he can scissor Eddie open—

"Fu—uuuh—uck," Eddie breathes out, voice trembling. Buck kisses the inside of his thighs. "Do you— shit— do this often?"

"To myself?"

"Y— that too," Buck can see Eddie's fingers digging into the fuzzy fabric of the couch.

'Why does he want to know?' Buck thinks, as if Eddie's curiosity level wasn't already fully demonstrated by what they are doing right now.

"Not often," Buck admits. "If I'm not too tired—"

It's difficult to talk when Eddie's moans keep interrupting him. And Buck really wants to hear them all.

"And— what about— ah!"

Eddie's voice breaks at the same time Buck noticed what his fingers just grazed.

"Good, right?" Buck cannot avoid chuckling, and Eddie is already talking before he can finish speaking.

"Fucking hell, Buck, I'm gonna need a warning for th—"

Ah, too late. Buck's fingers very purposefully touch Eddie's prostrate again, the body of his best friend immediately tensing up as the most beautiful of moans exits his aleady open mouth.

Buck himself needs a moment so he doesn't cum right then.

"…You could let a guy finish his sentences," Eddie finally speaks, a laugh underlying his words.

Jesus, he's comfortable. He's having fun. And Buck is still, somehow, partially responsible for that.

Fuck. Fuck, Buck would give anything to keep hearing these sounds every day of the rest of his life. Not possible, this is a one-off, something Buck is still unsure is happening to them both, but a situation where he's pulling through nonetheless.

Maybe it's time to see the end of it. As much as part of Buck wants to live here forever, a desperate, scared voice craves go return to the normalcy between them.

If they can go back to that normalcy. Buck truly hopes they can.

"I normally use a dildo, though," Buck shares.

Why the hell has he said that? That doesn't help them return to normalcy. Fucking hell.

Eddie's body stills for a single second as Buck very clearly sees goosebumps appear on so much visible skin.

"A dildo," Eddie echoes.

"Yeah," Buck confirms in a breath. Then, against his better judgement, he keeps talking. "I have ah— a couple," more like three and he's been eyeing a fourth. "Most of them vibrate, but, uh— they are all great."

"Sounds nice," Eddie's raspy voice, lower than Buck expected, catches him by surprise. "Maybe I could try one of those."

The image alone brings Buck to the brink. Eddie sprawled like now, taking a toy up his ass, moans growing in intensisty as Buck accelerates, as he activates the vibration and Eddie trembles and shouts at the unexpectedness of it, Buck stopping suddenly as Eddie gets oh-so-close to the edge.

Fuck. He needs to stop himself there. He needs to…

Buck speaks at the same time as Eddie.

"Yeah, someday," he says.

"Next time," Eddie says, dazed.

There's no strength of will that could have stopped Buck from coming at that exact same moment. No denying of what his ears have heard.

Buck knows he stays oddly still for seconds without an end, two fingers deep inside Eddie's ass.

It could be a bit embarrassing if Buck thinks more than a second about it, but given the circumstances that's something he cannot do. He has been thinking way too little during the past… twenty minutes or so? Difficult to estimate, really. Almost impossible while trying to recover from a quiet orgasm.

"Buck, Buck—" The most beautiful voice saying his name, "I'm not— not— not gonna last long, but I would thank you if you kept going."

"It's okay, it's— okay, yeah, " Buck repeats, slurred, and he reaches one hand up to Eddie's dick, slowly starting to stroke it in coordination with the thrusts. The aftershocks are still coursing through his own body, but Eddie is more important. He keeps going, and going, and going, and —"You can let go whenever, ba—"

And Buck thanks every possible god Eddie cums right then so his voice doesn't complete the pet name.

The next thing that happens is… instinctive, to say the least. As Buck sees the first drops of cum drip on his fingers he leans forward, never letting the rhythm of his fingers drop, and swallows around Eddie's dick.

Maybe he does it so Eddie's T-shirt doesn't get stained. Maybe he does it because he's in love with the guy in front of him. Impossible to know, really.

The salty taste fills his mouth as Buck swallows, and swallows, and keeps going until he feels Eddie softening.

Fuckng Christ, what has he done?

"Buck— Buck, here, here, let me—" Buck doesn't hear Eddie's voice immediately, only when Eddie places a hand between his curls.

Distress grows and curls and twists itself somewhere in the pits of Buck's stomach.

He removes the length from his mouth and immediately pulls his whole body back. At the same time, Eddie is straightening up and removing the cushion that kept his hips up. He is trembling, even if it's just slightly.

"It's— uh, it's okay, I should—"

"You're still pent up, let me—"

And, oh, sure, Eddie is right. Buck is hard again in his pants —did he even soften?—, despite the cold stickiness of his own cum sticky inside his boxers.

"No, no, don't worry about it—"

"Let me help," Eddie interrupts, already reaching towards him. But he stops, waiting for permission. "Please."

What to you mean, he's saying 'please'? 'Please let me touch your dick'?

'That's just crazy, man,' Buck's brain supplies.

And, like, sure. Buck is slightly hard again. He's always had a lot of stamina. But it's a hard-on that he would be able to ignore if Eddie wasn't involved. Or, as it happens, straight up threatening —not really— to get his hands under Buck's boxers.

If he does that, though, he'll discover Buck has already spilled. Once. And bodily reactions can be explained up until a certain point.

"No," that's it, that's all he can say.

Eddie grunts and rolls his eyes. "Dude, you've sucked me off, you've fingered me, let me jack you off."

"You're straight."

It comes out too sudden, too fast, too out of pocket, but Buck cannot be surprised when that's been the lingering thought in the back of his mind since the first second in which he realized he had a crush on Eddie.

And Eddie— he stops dead. He was already not moving, waiting (asking) for Buck's permission, but now he's completely stunned in place.

Seconds crawl through the congealed atmosphere that surrounds then.

It takes Buck a few seconds to register Eddie is… chuckling.

"Buck," he says, starting his best friend's brain once again with a jolt, "if after all of this you still think I'm straight— that's a you problem."

It takes seconds —maybe eons— for Buck to process those words. That's not… wait… thinking that—

Oh. Oh, no, but… that doesn't make sense.

"Buck, I'm telling you right now," Eddie says. Has Buck spoken out loud? He must have. "I'm not straight."

"No. No, no, that doesn't—"

"I'm not heterosexual."

"—make sense, come on, stop messing with me—"

"I like men."

"—'s not funny."

"Fucking Christ, Buck," Eddie groans and grabs Buck's chin, and that movement doesn't make sense either. He's already close enough, and Buck wasn't thinking about turning his head again or anything, so none of this makes sense until he feels the pressure against his lips.

Oh. Oh, okay.

Catching up late, Buck responds to the kiss. His lips part in surprise and Eddie takes the moment to slip his tongue inside, and this time Buck isn't able to stop the moan coming from deep within his chest.

Buck feels the smile on Eddie's lips and his whole body trembles. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He was already hard before, but now he's quite sure the tent in his pants cannot be glossed over.

With one last bite at his lower lip, Eddie pulls back. He's grinning, he's— it doesn't even make sense to use the word comfortable anymore.

Buck doesn't know what face he himself is pulling, but for sure isn't a grin.

"Now— now would you let me return the favor?"

Fuck, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Buck's brain is screaming, and all of this still doesn't entirely make sense in his reality, but he wants Eddie to touch him more, to kiss him more, and more, and more, and sure, if he gets his hand under his underwear Buck will absolutely lose his—

"I already came."

Important detail, that one. It's sticky and icky in his boxers. Slightly humiliating, all of it, but technically Eddie has already made him come. Yes, he's still hard, even more after the kiss —fucking Christ, the kiss!—but that is not Eddie's fault. Eddie owes him nothing, he wouldn't even owe Buck shit even if he hadn't come a single time.

Buck sees Eddie's eyes blinking. Surprise? It looks like surprise.

"When? When I k—"

"When I started fucking you," Buck blurts out. That's not even— that sounds like something that definitely didn't happen. "With my fingers," he adds.

Yeah. Specifics.

"Oh."

Buck is not going to look at his face. His cheeks are burning. Smoke will start coming out of his ears, soon.

"You came untouched?"

Well. Yes. Kind of. Eddie's foot had been against his dick minutes before. Does that count?

"Your moans are convincing," and suggesting there's going to be a next time is, too.

But fucking hell, Buck, where's your filter? What does that even mean? It means nothing. 'Suggestive', 'sexy', those are words that could make more sense in that sentence. But no, Buck said convincing.

Sure, yes. His dick got convinced to ejaculate. The hell.

"I didn't notice."

"'s fine," at least Eddie is not referencing his poor choice of words. "Didn't want you to."

Eddie's eyes grow bigger at Buck's last words. He didn't have to be that truthful, and yet there he is. Spilling everything he can spill.

Ugh. Well, not everything. Thank fucking God he's keeping his crush under wraps, right?

"I want to see," Eddie says, sending Buck's brain spinning away. To the Moon, or Mars, or probably the Sun. That's why he feels like he's burning up.

He must have heard wrong. Yeah. All of this, from the beginning, is a huge misunderstanding.

"You want to what?"

"See you. Orgasm."

He adds the last word after a few seconds because Buck clearly needs the clarification. He needs so many clarifications it's absurd.

That one works for now, though. The moan that automatically escapes Buck's lips, is strangled, tells Eddie enough. The shift in his expression is immediate, as the heat in Buck's cheeks doesn't relent.

"Would you like that?"

Would he— Please, Buck is going to die right here, right now.

"Words, Buck," Eddie insists, and Buck realizes he was nodding, if shakily.

"Yes. Yes, fucking— I would love it, yes."

"Not so difficult, yeah?" Eddie teases, but thank God he doesn't torture Buck. Methodically but quickly, Eddie pulls Buck's pants down enough to get his dick out, Buck hissing at the brief if intense touch.

After that, it doesn't take long for Eddie to get to work. He rolls Buck's T-shirt up with one hand as he starts stroking his dick with the other. And Buck might not be in the best posture —one knee bent, foot flat on the couch, the other leg folded back under the arch of it— for this right now, but there's no way in hell he's moving right now.

He's getting his mind blown by Eddie's hand, thank you. His other hand is holding up the T-shirt, but that doesn't mean it's completely still, as Eddie is reaching out towards his left nipple with his thumb, starting to play with it.

And Buck can barely think already, least of all control whatever comes out of his mouth. Eddie's hands are good, better than whatever his wet dreams have ever conjured. First of all because, somehow, this is the real Eddie. And then— because of all the rest. Buck's body tenses up as his dick throbs in Eddie's grip.

This is not the best position. But it still feels absolutely incredible.

"Eddie— Eddie, fuck, I'm gonna—" He says something more, but it comes out incomprehensible as Eddie presses the pad of his thumb against the slit.

"C'mon, Buck, let go, come, baby, come—"

And yet it's the pet name what finally tilts Buck's fortitude and sends him tumbling down the slope. Baby, he himself had swallowed that before. Buck comes, hard, and can see nothing but stars for one whole minute (or maybe it's longer), can't hear anything aside from his own sounds as Eddie continues pumping his length through the orgasm.

The first thing Buck sees when his brain is able to receive any sort of information (not process it, though), is Eddie lifting his right hand, covered in Buck's cum. He takes it to his mouth and licks one of his fingers, for then to suck on it.

He's— He's, ah.

"E— Eddie, wha—"

"It's okay. It's fine," Eddie emphasizes the last word, and since they seem to be acting on impulses here Buck finds himself leaning forward and slotting his lips against Eddie's.

Buck has a small heart attack during the micro-second it takes Eddie to respond to the kiss. But he does, enthusiastically. Buck leans against the backrest and Eddie chases.

Again, and again, and again.

And perhaps they could talk. They should talk, but the bitter kisses taste so well against the bliss that floods Buck's body, oh-so-well that his mind isn't making the effort to seek an impossible platonic explanation for all of this.

Buck doesn't know for how many seconds his tongue keeps sliding against and playing with Eddie's, for how long he's been sucking on those lips before the words slip out as he catches his breath.

"We need to t—"

He has no choice but to cut himself because he sees Eddie. This close, a slightly new perspective he notices. The small marks and dents on his skin, the shy stubble, the smile on his lips— his fucking lips, swollen and bitten and abused by Buck. The eyes, slightly glassy, and the hair messy because Buck has been tangling his fingers right there without giving it more thought.

Fuck it.

"We can talk tomorrow."

And Eddie? After a couple of seconds he just smiles bigger, and laughs, and comes chasing his lips again.

"Okay," he laughs out between kisses.