Work Text:
Eddie’s lucky it’s a hot one.
The sun’s high in the sky, beating down on his shoulders and the crown of his head. His sweat is warm when it drips down the back of his neck, but the blood rushing through his veins is scorching when he sneaks another glance at Buck.
He doesn’t know what the hell his deal is, just knows that it’s driving him fucking crazy. It’s distracting him enough that he’s let the other pair make baskets that could’ve easily been blocked and has had the ball stolen from him more than a few times, which would be embarrassing, if his head was anywhere near the game.
But all he’s thinking about is how Buck is looking at him.
Tommy comes jogging up to him when Chim goes off to get the ball that bounced off the edge of the rim, and Eddie startles out of the rest of his thoughts when he’s met with a big, warm hand on his arm.
“You’re good, Diaz,” he says, even though Eddie just missed by a long shot and Chim’s halfway across Los Angeles getting the ball back. His eyes are so blue in the sunlight—not as blue as Buck’s, but pretty close. The sun’s making them sparkle. “You can be on my team any day.”
It feels a little like déjà vu, Tommy’s words, and as soon as he registers why, Buck’s scuffing his shoes against the concrete and huffing out a loud breath from behind the two of them.
Eddie turns to look at him, because he’s never been able to stop himself before, has never been able to help it, and the look on his face sends another rush of blood to his face, down his throat, across his chest, because—because he looks downright fucking gorgeous, intense, fervent.
And it’s then, with Tommy’s hand on his forearm, that Eddie wakes the hell up and realizes what’s actually been happening for the last forty-five minutes.
All the shoving on the court, all the shuttered, attentive glances he’s been thrown, like Buck’s only got eyes for Eddie, like he would run straight into the pole if it meant he had to look away from him. And Tommy’s got a scuffed up knee, but the smile on his face shows no amount of discomfort. He’s been knocked around more than anyone today, and Buck—
Buck’s jealous.
Buck’s jealous of—of Tommy.
He looks back at the guy, looks over his face, the way his white teeth are bared in a smile, and it takes everything in him not to turn back to Buck.
“You’re just being nice, man,” he says, instead, and watches with wide, new eyes as Tommy finally drops his hand and ducks down to hide the way his smile turns bashful. “I’m off my game today.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says under his breath, actually fucking winking about it, and Eddie can only watch him turn back and get to the center of the court with a slightly open mouth.
Eddie feels him before he hears him, feels the heat from his body so intensely that it makes him fight a shiver in the middle of an afternoon where it’s pushing 80.
“That guy’s getting on my nerves,” he says, his voice rough, and Eddie’s—Eddie’s not strong enough for this, actually.
He was only barely strong enough to talk to Frank about his life altering crush on his best friend, barely strong enough to admit to Karen (over a few glasses of wine) that maybe the universe does scream and laugh and point at him for making said best friend the love of his whole life.
He’s absolutely not strong enough to see Buck jealous of a guy hitting on Eddie. That’s just—no fucking way.
His throat is so dry. His throat is dry and his water bottle is quite possibly a mile away by the benches. So he can’t relieve himself, can only stand here, shoulder to shoulder with Buck, whose face is stormy and expressive and jealous. The heat coming off of him is so insane that Eddie thinks there should probably be steam rising off his skin, shooting from his ears.
“Why, uh,” he starts, clearing his throat to get rid of the rasp, and he—he has to do something with his hands, starts tapping patterns into one of his palms. He knows the answer to the question he’s about to ask, but he can’t help it. “Why’s he getting on your nerves?”
Buck scoffs. He kicks at the concrete again and a loose rock goes flying, skidding across the court like it’s a lake. “He’s just—I don’t know. I don’t get why he’s here.”
“Because Chim invited him,” Eddie says, slow. A safe answer. His stomach is flipping at the way Buck’s staring after him—fire in his eyes, flames in the cross of his arms. “We needed a fourth. He’s not too bad.”
Buck looks over at Eddie, meeting his eyes, and the heat in them only subsides a little. “I guess I thought it’d just be us today. And then Chim overheard, and now…”
Eddie wants to diffuse the tension, needs to, before he goes down in a messy pile of limbs in the middle of this court, but it’s—he likes it, unfortunately, because he’s just a man and Buck is jealous.
Maybe it’s not—the way he wants it to be, the jealousy, but. It’s close enough. He can pretend that this is something more, that Buck can’t stand the sight of a man putting his hands on Eddie right in front of him. He can pretend Buck’s not just upset that they’re on separate teams and seems to think their friendship is on the line over a dumb game.
He can pretend, just for a little bit. For the ten minutes of the game they have left.
Buck and Chim are only a couple points ahead, but he really and truly doesn’t care about the game. He’s not going to be pushing for a win.
He’s going to smile and pretend like he’s not losing it, and he does, a small, private curve of his lips that only makes special appearances for Buck, and puts a hand on his bare shoulder, his thumb catching over his pulse point. His heart is racing under the pad of his finger.
Eddie feels electric.
“How about we have beers at your place after? Make up for our plans being crashed?”
Buck lights up a little at the offer, but he’s still so tense: shoulders in a tight line, heart still pounding like he hasn’t been at rest for a minute or two. “Yeah, okay.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, and can’t help the amused way he shakes his head. He squeezes Buck’s bare, sun warmed skin before he drops the contact, and strolls over to where Chim and Tommy are waiting.
If he stands a little too close to his teammate, well. He’ll never admit it.
Buck comes back into his line of vision, already back to looking like he’s a second away from stomping off the court.
Eddie’s giddy with it.
He’s also just—not really paying attention at all, so when the ball’s thrown up in the air, he stays planted right where he is while the other three rush for it. He kicks into gear with a daze, moving to catch up to them, but before he can, there’s a loud grunt and Tommy’s sprawled on the ground.
“Fuck,” Buck is saying, a shaky thing under his breath, and Eddie blinks once, twice, three times before he realizes there are drops of blood on the concrete.
He gets to Tommy, kneels down at the same time as Buck, Chim’s down by his feet, and before he can worry about the amount of blood streaming down his chin, Tommy is laughing, blood staining his perfectly white teeth.
“Damn,” Chim speaks, glancing over Tommy’s head to meet Buck’s eyes. “What the hell even happened?”
“Hey, no. It’s okay. I’m okay, I’m good,” Tommy cuts in, leaning up on his elbows, and his blood is soaking into the light gray of his cut sweatshirt. “Just an elbow to the face, nothing to freak out about.”
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Buck grits out, and he actually looks devastated, face crumpled with guilt and concern, hands paused out in front of him like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to reach out and touch. “I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.”
“Dude, you’re good,” Tommy laughs, pushing himself up until he’s fully sat. He spits out some of the blood in his mouth and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, and oh—okay. Jesus. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before. Should’ve seen me in high school.”
“Okay,” Buck whispers, barely audible, shoulders scrunched in. “Can I—”
But Tommy cuts him off, holding an open hand out towards Eddie. “My knees aren’t what they were in high school, though, so I’m gonna need a hand.”
Eddie laughs, nodding in agreement. He humors him, clasping their hands together, and pulls Tommy up with him as he goes back to a standing position.
Tommy doesn’t let go of him, once they’re both up, keeps them glued together with the grip he has on his hand.
He can see Buck walking off to the side from the corner of his eye, probably off looking for one of the towels they brought, can see Chim going after the ball again, and Tommy—Tommy gets his attention, quickly, because he’s leaning in real close, lowering his voice when he says, “Sorry. Didn’t know your boy was the jealous type.”
“My—”
“Just couldn’t help myself,” he says, instead of letting Eddie finish one of the many questions firing off in his head that make him feel a little lightheaded. He winks again, and Eddie would deny it, what he’s implying, but Buck is jogging back over with a towel and Tommy’s water bottle and he doesn’t think he could get himself to speak, anyway.
“Here, for the—fuck, I’m really sorry, man.”
Tommy releases Eddie’s hand to grab the towel, patting at the lower half of his face. He keeps it on his bottom lip, applying pressure, tilting his head back just so. When he speaks, it’s slightly muffled. “Buck. Come on. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You already beat me up.”
Eddie laughs, because holy fuck, this guy is too much, but when he looks over and Buck isn’t laughing, only looking between the two of them with sad little puppy dog eyes, it dies in his throat.
“Buck,” he finds himself saying, all soft and with entirely too much tenderness to be witnessed by someone else. “It was an accident. He’s fine. No one is upset with you.”
Buck nods at him, quick and jarring, and Eddie—god, he loves him. He’s so silly and ridiculous and he loves him so much there surely must be a neon sign blinking above his head, ratting him out.
“Well,” Chim says, holding the ball to his chest. “I’m a little mad, considering we were about to win. But, hey, I guess we still do, since the game’s over.”
“Dick,” Tommy’s biting back, but he throws an arm over Eddie’s shoulder, pulling him in close, close, close. It’s all heat and hard lines and Eddie’s—look, he’s only a man. “We still put up a good fight.”
“You wish,” Chim rolls his eyes, smacking Buck’s arm. It gets him to snap out of it, blinking over at Chim. “Hey, Tommy offered to buy us drinks after. You in?”
“Sorry,” Eddie answers for him. “We’re going back to his place, actually.”
Tommy hums beside him, and Eddie barely catches him raising his eyebrows when he looks over. “Fun.”
Chim looks between all three of them, very slowly, and hugs the basketball tighter to his chest. “Okay. Backing away. Tommy, you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” he drops the towel away from his face, licking over his split lip, and—leans in, gathering Eddie up in a slightly awkward hug since his body doesn’t seem to be moving or cooperating whatsoever. “Thanks for the game, Diaz.”
“You’re—yeah, you’re welcome,” Eddie stammers while patting his back, because he can see Buck over Tommy’s shoulder, and he’s—it’s a lot.
Quieter, Tommy says, where only Eddie can hear, “Have fun with your boy.”
Eddie’s sure he’s fucking red when Tommy steps away and pats Buck on the shoulder, face burning something fierce. He watches him follow Chimney to the parking lot, and then it’s—the tension in the air is almost suffocating, Buck holding his eyes without speaking.
“Do you—”
“We should—”
Eddie lets out a breath, a rush of laughter leaving him, and that’s all it takes for Buck to huff out all the tension in his body with a sharp snort.
“Sorry. I don’t even know…” Buck says, voice barely audible over the shouts from other players and cars honking. “Let’s go home.”
The cool air of the loft sends goosebumps scattering all across his skin, and Eddie groans with it, how nice it feels.
Eddie kicks off his shoes and leaves them beside Buck’s near the front door, Buck’s keys hit the bowl, and Eddie thought he was fine, now, about what had happened on the court. He was laughing and singing along to one of the playlists Eddie made specifically for the jeep, but he’s stood right at the entrance like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“I’m—” he says, sharp, and nods his head towards the stairs. “I’m gonna take a shower real quick.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, slow, more than a little bit confused, “you’re okay, right?”
“Yeah, I’m—just feel gross,” he explains, short, and then he’s taking two steps at a time, disappearing into his bathroom.
Eddie wanders into the kitchen, grabs a beer from the fridge. He’s settled nicely on one of the chairs after he gets the cap off, and the cold, cold, cold of the beer feels amazing going down. He feels so goddamn parched, not only because of the damn game, but Buck—
He doesn’t know how to deal with this.
He’s going crazy, surely, because now he’s thinking way too hard about it. Buck’s never shown any type of jealousy towards his past girlfriends, not Ana or Marisol, so it can’t be…it can’t be.
Right?
But it’s—Eddie takes a long gulp of his beer about this—it’s not like Buck had ever seen Eddie showing affection towards them. And today, on the court, Tommy was touching him, hugging him, pulling him into his orbit every time they nabbed some points. It was new, and his eyes were hard, following them around like he couldn’t fucking help himself, and then fucking Tommy, calling Buck his boy, his eyes shining like he knew something Eddie didn’t.
Yeah. He’s gone crazy.
He takes another long pull from his beer, and he would feel a little bad about getting started without Buck, but. He’s out of his mind. About to itch out of his skin.
Because he had already come to terms with the fact he would probably live out the rest of his life in unrequited love with his best friend, but the idea of it is starting to fizzle out in his mind. He’s getting ideas, he feels a little hope, and he—he stands up, finishes off his beer, and starts pacing around near the sink.
That’s where Buck finds him, hair wet and wavy from his shower. He’s wearing another tank top, shorts that barely reach for his knee, and—
“I have to—I’m showering too,” he says, and he’s heading up the stairs before Buck can even reply.
The bathroom is hot and humid and hazy when he gets inside, and when he pulls the water on, it’s still warm. He gets out of his clothes quickly, steps inside and gasps at the spray of the water. It hits him nicely, warms him up again, and he makes quick time of washing the day from his body, using Buck’s body wash.
It’s then, that he realizes he fucked up.
Because he’s in Buck’s shower, and he smells like Buck, and Buck was—was jealous, and it isn’t long before he’s half-hard; he feels dizzy with it.
He puts his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower and lets out a shaky sigh, and—look, he was here during quarantine, it’s not like this would be the first time he’s done this in here. But, those other times, he wasn’t—he did everything he could not to think about Buck, and he doesn’t think he could do the same, now.
So he pulls the knob to the opposite side and grits his teeth as the water turns to ice, and stays there, shivering, until he’s able to get out.
There, naked before the mirror, is where he realizes he double fucked up.
He doesn’t have any fucking clothes with him. The duffel bag he brought is in Buck’s jeep, because he’s an idiot, it seems, and he stands there for a good full minute before he steps out with a towel around his waist.
He gets to Buck’s dresser, picks out—Jesus Christ, he’s going to die, maybe—some briefs, an old tank, some sweats that will most definitely have to be rolled up once. He gets dressed as quick as he can, like maybe he’ll forget what’s happening here, but all that it does is leave him panting in front of Buck’s mirror, dressed in Buck’s clothes.
“God,” he says, with a whole lot of drama, and then he’s off, heading down the stairs with his heart in his throat.
Buck’s eyes are on him the second he’s back in the kitchen, and his eyes—his eyes, they aren’t filled with fire anymore, they’re soft, melted, going from Eddie’s face down to his feet.
“Forgot I didn’t bring my change of clothes,” Eddie says, and he feels so nervous, his voice shakes with it, because whatever is happening here, it’s—it’s new. It’s completely new territory.
Buck laughs at him, shakes his head like this is just some silly little mishap, and takes a swig of his beer, throat working with it. “It’s okay. It’s—you look good.”
Eddie falters a little, nearly trips before he gets into the chair beside him, but he gets it together pretty quick. Buck’s got another beer waiting for him, and he grabs it, just so he has something to do with his hands. He taps at the sides of it, feels the condensation at his fingertips. “I am good, after that shower. You feeling any better?”
“Texted Tommy,” Buck says with a sigh. He takes another swig and puts the bottle back down on the counter. “Apologized again.”
“It was an accident, Buck,” Eddie says, and here he goes again, voice dripping with honey. It’s a goddamn miracle that Buck hasn’t figured him out. “Shit happens.”
“Yeah, but, I kind of, uh,” he starts, fidgeting with a loose thread on his shorts, “I kind of lost my cool. It wouldn’t have happened if—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. He takes a breath. Eddie’s holding his. “If I wasn’t being stupid, about the whole—you and him, being on a team together.”
And, oh. Oh. Okay. Okay, fuck. He’s—he’s going there.
He almost shows his cards right away, nearly starts babbling about how Tommy could never replace Buck, how he’d never want him to, but Buck starts speaking again, wringing his hands in front of him.
“And then he started touching you,” he gets out, like he can’t even stand to say those words, and Eddie’s fucked. He’s gone. It’s over. “I just—I didn’t like it. The way he touched you.”
Eddie’s eyes feel halfway closed. They’re so close but so far away, and Buck’s saying this like it isn’t crazy, like it isn’t driving Eddie crazy. “And that made you lose your cool? Tommy touching me?”
“Yes,” Buck answers carefully. “I know it’s stupid, but—”
“It’s not stupid,” Eddie cuts in. Buck’s mouth snaps closed. The loft feels like all the air has been sucked out of it. “Why didn’t you like it?”
He knows the answer now. He knows. The hope is rising in his throat and threatens to spill out of his mouth, but he presses his lips together and waits.
Buck looks torn between keeping his mouth closed and rambling. He sits there, mouth opening and closing, trying to put the words together, and the clock by the TV ticks and ticks.
And, well, Eddie’s never been much of a patient person, so he urges, “Why?”
“You know why,” Buck says, voice low, and god.
“Tell me anyway.”
“Because I want to,” Buck says, so fucking quiet that Eddie’s ears strain to hear it. “I’m sorry if—if that’s not what you want to hear, but—”
“So do it,” Eddie interrupts, relishing in the way Buck has to take a deep breath and blink about it. His heart is pounding in his chest, he can hear it in his ears, but he’s never felt more calm in his damn life. “You can. I want you to.”
“I thought you liked it, when he touched you,” Buck mumbles, and his head is cocked slightly, now, confused.
“I liked the way you were looking at me,” Eddie corrects. Confesses.
Buck wastes no time, after that.
He reaches out and skims his fingers across Eddie’s arm. It makes him shiver, makes him gasp, a little, this slightest fucking touch, and Buck keeps going, up, up, up, until Eddie’s got his fingers tracing over his lips with a look of pure wonder on his face.
“What was he saying to you?”
Eddie—Eddie can’t think. His brain is lagging, slowed to a halt like one of Christopher’s video games when the wifi starts acting up.
It isn’t until Buck drops his hand that he starts becoming a normal human being again. His brain works, albeit a bit slowly, and he blinks a few times, eyes washing over the silly little grin on Buck’s face.
Asshole. He knows what he does to him, now.
“He was—he liked being with me,” he says, because now he knows what he does to Buck, too. “On my team. Complimented me a bunch.”
“He drove me fucking crazy,” Buck says, shaking his head, like he’s trying to get the image out of his mind. “I can usually keep it in, but—he was all over you. In front of everyone.”
“Oh, you usually keep it in, huh?”
Buck flushes, so pretty and pink, that The Psychedelic Furs start playing in his head. He’ll blame his abuela for watching that movie so much.
“It’s—I can’t help it. It’s you.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just ghosts his fingertips over Eddie’s bottom lip, his own mouth wide open, like he’s—like he’s picturing their mouths—
He doesn’t have to pretend, like he had to earlier.
“Buck,” he says, a little frantic, and holy shit, if he would’ve known this would happen because of Tommy being handsy, he would’ve sat on his fucking lap in the helicopter. “I want you to kiss me.”
Buck’s chair scrapes against the kitchen tiles when he stands up, and then Eddie is sighing onto Buck’s lips.
He’s still sitting, Buck’s standing, and Eddie’s neck is tilted all the way skywards. Buck kisses him like he’s going to fucking die if he doesn’t, and Eddie’s hands go for his waist, bunching up his shirt.
Buck’s hands are on his face, in his hair, on his neck, and Eddie feels like the entire sun is in his body, exploding outwards and lighting his skin up. Everywhere Buck touches burns, his nerves are screaming, and it’s—Eddie’s never felt this way in his life.
Every kiss, every touch he’s received before this, feels void of color.
“Fuck,” Buck tries to say, but it’s muffled and slurred by Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie opens his mouth, groans when he feels the wet side of Buck’s tongue, and no amount of cold water could possibly hide what’s happening in his, no, in Buck’s sweatpants.
He shivers, he twitches a little, and Buck pulls away, mouth shining with spit, so he can get a good look at him.
”Is—are you okay?”
“Can you—” Eddie starts, and his face crumples; he’s throbbing, shifting in this fucking chair uncomfortably, and Buck looks down, where he’s tented his goddamn sweats like he’s a decade younger than he is.
“Oh,” he breathes out, and then he’s stammering out a few incoherent sounds before he gets out, “Can I—”
”Please,” Eddie doesn’t even recognize his own voice. It’s high and breathy, he’s whining, and it only gets worse, because Buck takes both of his hands from Eddie’s face and reaches down, spreading his legs.
”Oh my fuck,” he grits out, because Buck is impossibly closer, standing between his legs, and the chair digs into his fucking back with the way he’s squirming. He’s gonna have marks later, bruises, maybe, but he doesn’t care.
“Always wanted to—and you’re wearing my fucking clothes,” he rasps out, and then Eddie raises his arms so Buck can get this fucking tank off of him. He doesn’t know where it goes, just knows it’s on the floor. “I fucking hated that he was touching you.”
Eddie can only watch, dazed, as Buck leans down and kisses his bare collarbones, his chest. He’s half out of his mind when he gets his shit together enough to get his hand in Buck’s hair, holding him there with a strong grip.
Buck flattens his tongue against a nipple and Eddie lets out a sharp noise that he didn’t know he was capable of making. His fingers tighten in Buck’s hair, and Buck whines.
”Would never let him do this,” Eddie gets out. Buck’s moving up, stubble tickling Eddie’s skin, and he feels the warm breath on his neck before Buck is kissing him there. “I only want you to can touch me like this.”
“Can we—can you—I want to—”
“Slow down, baby,” Eddie drawls, breath hitting hot against Buck’s forehead. He pulls Buck by the hair, gets him to where they’re face to face, eye to eye. Buck’s panting, almost. “Tell me.”
“Wanna move to the couch,” Buck says, completely overwhelmed, eyes shining and glazed over. “Want my mouth on you. Please.”
“Okay. Okay, we can do that, let’s just—”
Buck wraps both of his obscenely big arms around Eddie’s middle and lifts him off the fucking chair, and Eddie can’t do shit except hope to god he doesn’t come in his pants.
Because Buck’s straight up carrying him over to the couch, like he weighs nothing, and he feels a little like a caveman, the way his brain starts stuttering again and no thoughts come through except Buck, Buck, Buck.
Buck grunts when he sets Eddie down on the couch, gentle, his back nice and comfortable against the soft cushion. He puts a hand on Eddie’s chest and pushes him back, so he’s more slumped back than sitting, legs far apart.
“Do you know how long,” Buck starts, and he’s ripping his own shirt over his head, letting it fall wherever it goes. “I’ve wanted to do this?”
“No,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow. He’s hot all over, body burning up even though he’s only got Buck’s sweats on. When he speaks, it’s all breath. “Tell me. Tell me, baby.”
Buck settles in between Eddie’s legs, and the sight of it is enough to make Eddie shake. He nearly pinches himself, just to make sure he’s not dreaming.
“Since the first time I saw you,” he says, not looking up. His hands settle on the hem of the sweats, and Eddie’s—Eddie doesn’t know how he’s going to control himself. “Through the glass. You were getting dressed, and—and I just wanted to take it back off.”
“Do it now,” Eddie says, nearly fucking trembling, “Take it off.”
And he does. He doesn’t even drag it out like Eddie thought he would. No, both articles of clothing come off after one aggressive tug, stuck around his thighs.
“Eddie,” Buck whispers, a little ruined, and he can’t take his eyes off of Eddie’s cock, heavy and flushed and hard. “Holy shit, Eddie.”
Eddie can’t speak. Eddie can’t move. He’s genuinely afraid that whatever he does next is going to push him over the edge before Buck even does anything.
He’s never wanted anyone this badly. It’s even more obvious, now, how everything he’s done in the past, everything he thinks he wanted—it was nothing. It’s nothing compared to having Buck between his legs, tongue wetting his lips, eager to take him.
“Lift up, a little,” Buck’s voice is barely there, now, and the roughness of it sends sparks down Eddie’s spine. “I want these all the way off.”
Eddie lifts his hips up, following that order, the demand in his words, and breathes, hot and heavy, while Buck tugs his own briefs and sweats down, down, down Eddie’s legs until they’re in a pile on the floor.
“God, you look,” Buck says, and then his hands are on his bare thighs. He smiles, like an asshole, at the way Eddie reacts to it. “I just want to make you feel good.”
“You already are,” Eddie says truthfully, fighting shivers and goosebumps and trembles. He watches, heart racing, as Buck gets closer and closer and closer—
“Tell me what you want, Eddie,” he says, and he’s so fucking close that he can feel his fucking breath, on his thighs, his cock. “Please. I just—I want this to be good for you.”
It takes a lot out of him, trying to speak normally. “Anything, Buck. Anything. I just—it’s good enough that it’s you. I don’t care about anything else.”
And then Buck’s taking him in his hand, warm and steady and with the perfect amount of pressure.
He takes it away as quick as he gives it to him, and Eddie’s about to protest, but—but then Buck’s spitting in his hand, not caring about the mess.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, faltering on the last word, because Buck’s grip is back, wet and slick. “Fuck, baby, that’s—that’s good.”
Buck hums, straightening up at the praise, and starts jerking him off at a steady pace. It’s not quite brutal, it’s very similar to how he works himself, but it’s Buck. He’s going to fucking explode, and he’ll be so embarrassed—
“Yeah? It’s good?” he looks up at him, and it’s fucking obscene and filthy, his gaze through his eyelashes, and Eddie isn’t ready at all when he hears, “How about this?”
Eddie watches. It’s a little like it’s happening in slow motion. Buck leans down, tongue flat, and lets the head of Eddie’s cock rub against it, gentle, warm. Warmer than his hand.
Eddie’s a furnace. He’s feverish. Maybe he’s dreaming. He should’ve pinched himself.
“That’s,” Eddie somehow gets out from his gritted teeth. The rest of his sentence never comes, though, because Buck’s closing his mouth around him, these sweet, clicking noises coming from his throat when he takes him further, further, further.
Eddie frantically gets both hands in Buck’s hair, and he tries to be gentle, he tries, but Buck’s got his cock halfway down his throat and he’s moaning around him, sending vibrations to his bones, and he can’t help the way he clenches his fingers, his nails scratching at his scalp.
Buck’s doing crazy shit with his tongue, he’s not coming up for air, and Eddie has to pull him off when he makes eye contact again, his blue eyes shining with the tears that have gathered.
He sounds absolutely fucked when he gasps out, “Is that—am I doing okay—”
“Buck, you can’t—I’m gonna lose it, you can’t look at me like that—”
Buck laughs, stroking him idly, and Eddie’s stuck twitching and pinned to the couch. “That’s kinda the idea. I want you to.”
“Okay, but—” but Buck doesn’t care about the end of his sentence, not a single goddamn bit, and takes him back down, one hand on his thigh, the other taking what he can’t fit into his mouth.
Hysterically, he makes a note in his head to send Tommy thank you flowers.
Buck’s making all sorts of sounds around Eddie, muffled groans and hmms, and Eddie forces himself to look at literally anything else, moves his gaze down so he doesn’t fucking finish before he wants to, wants to stretch this out as long as he possibly can.
But his eyes catch on how Buck is moving against the fucking couch, like—like giving Eddie head is enough to get him off, and oh, god.
It is. It is enough. Buck just wants to make him feel good.
He pets his hair, uses one hand to press a thumb to the edge of Buck’s mouth and can feel his own cock moving past it.
“You’re so good, baby,” Eddie says through his teeth, “Look at you.”
Buck’s looking up at him, steadily bobbing his head, pink splotches over his cheeks. He starts going faster, works his hand quicker, at the words, like he’s got shit to prove.
Eddie’s shaking. He’s fucking shaking, and his grip on Buck’s hair is loosening. He feels himself start to tighten up, and he’s never been one to babble during sex, especially when he’s this fucking close, but he can’t fucking stop. Wants Buck to feel good, too.
“Wish you could see how good you look,” his voice is shaking, and Buck keeps going, pace going brutal, and Eddie’s—Eddie’s about to see stars, he’s so close, and, “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He spills down Buck’s throat with a shout, and his eyes squeeze shut so tightly he does see stars. The only thing anchoring him to reality is all the places where Buck is touching him, searing hot like a brand.
Eddie’s floating. He’s—he’s out of it. It’s like time has stopped.
He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to open his eyes, just knows that when he finally does, Buck is sitting up on his knees, looking up at him with soft eyes, almost eye level, mouth swollen and slick. He’s got a fresh sheen of sweat on him, chest shining with it.
“How was it?” Buck asks, and his voice is insane, rough and raspy and cracking. His eyes are dancing around with mirth, because he damn well knows the answer to his own question, but Eddie can’t even be mad about it, just leans forward and catches his mouth in a kiss.
He can taste himself on Buck’s mouth, and it sends a fresh wave of arousal through him, and he thinks, maybe, if he weren’t sitting or held up by Buck leaning into him, he’d be collapsing to the damn floor.
“Good,” he says, lips not leaving Buck’s, and he kisses him again, again, again, “You’re always good.”
Buck beams, and he’s bashful, ducking his head down, and Eddie has to get a better look.
He leans back, looks into Buck’s face and his heart clenches and skips and pounds at the sight, at the love of his life, and he nudges at his jaw with his nose, leaving a tiny little kiss there. “I love you.”
Buck meets his eyes again, head snapping up a little comically. He settles both hands on Eddie’s knees. “I love you, too. For a long time, now, I—I love you.”
“Yeah, I know. You almost knocked someone out for me, baby.”
“Shut up,” he says, laughing, and that’s all Eddie wanted, for Buck to laugh about this whole thing, stop feeling so bad. Something settles in his chest. “It was an accident.”
“I know it was,” Eddie agrees, kissing him again, just because he can.
They’re looking at each other, just looking, stupid, goofy fucked out smiles on their faces, and then Eddie hums, tilting his head. “You know, Tommy kept referring to you as my boy. That sound true to you?”
“Yeah,” Buck says, tracing patterns into Eddie’s skin. “And you’re mine.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. He holds back a laugh, says, “I think the whole basketball court knows that, too.”
And Buck just shrugs. “Good.”