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The thing about spotting Buck while he works out in the firehouse gym is that it gives Eddie the closeup of Buck, sweaty and breathing heavily, that his dreams can never quite capture.
The other thing about spotting Buck while he works out in the firehouse gym is that it’s public, and as much as he would like to, Eddie can’t drop to his knees and suck Buck off as he pushes two hundred pounds.
It’s early morning before their shift begins when Eddie runs into this problem for the eight hundredth time. Members of B-shift are beginning to head out, waving to Eddie and Buck as they go, slowly being replaced by the other early A-shifters. Buck’s laid out on the bench while Eddie hovers as he works the barbell; Eddie’s trying his best to do his actual job here as spotter and ensure Buck doesn’t drop the barbell on his neck, but truly, the way Buck’s chest curves upward with the effort, the strain of his enormous fucking arms—it’s all testing Eddie to the ends of his control.
After an injury on the job, Eddie’s been on light duty for the last two weeks, so Buck has taken to being the man behind, keeping Eddie company while the rest of the 118 run their heroics on the streets of LA. Right about now, however, Eddie’s hoping—in the most moral way possible—the alarm will sound and Buck will peel off for an exciting call or two, just so Eddie can disappear in the showers and work out the tension the sight of Buck is building inside of him.
Today is a particular sort of torture. Over the weekend, Eddie allowed himself to be dragged on a shopping trip with Lena and her girlfriend, and somehow this had concluded with a trip to an adult entertainment store. Maybe, while the women browsed the straps, Eddie wandered over to the wall with a range of colorful sex toys. Maybe he’s still figuring himself out—what he likes, what he doesn’t like—but also maybe he made an impulsive purchase and tucked it into one of his other shopping bags before the women noticed.
And maybe that particular purchase is nestled in his ass currently, every movement driving it against a certain bundle of nerves, because light duty really isn’t that interesting otherwise.
Eddie doesn’t realize he’s made a noise until Buck drops the weights he’s been lifting and frowns up. “You alright?”
“Fine,” Eddie says, a little strained.
It's been a while since Eddie has known much other than his own hands. He’s never been the type to want with such clarity, until the thought of maybe I don’t even like fucking women at all crossed his mind, and that same day had witnessed Buck in this very position sweating up a storm, and Eddie proceeded to be struck by the sudden, overwhelming need to sit on Buck’s cock until he could feel it in his throat.
He'd run off with a lame excuse to the bathroom and furiously gotten himself off. It’d been the fastest he’d come since he was a fucking teenager.
He’s about to make the same excuse, either to splash water on his face or make quick work of his half-hard dick, when that blessed bell rings and a flurry of activity hauls the entire 118 into the engines. Buck pouts. They’ve been called to a fire, but given how surprisingly rainy the last month has been, Buck’s been missing out on the flames.
“You can go if you want,” Eddie offers. “I can be the man behind—my leg’s practically set to rights already.”
Buck shakes his head and adjusts his grip on the weight. “Nah. Better to be safe than sorry. We’re in California—there’ll be another fire in no time.” And then he winks, which kills Eddie, even though it’s a pretty shitty wink and sweat drips into Buck’s eye and then he doesn’t stop complaining about it for the next five minutes.
Eddie manages to control himself for all five of said minutes. But then Buck sits up, adds another twenty pounds to the barbell, rolls his shoulders, and shoves his sleeves up to expose the paler flesh of his bulging arms. The dim morning light casts the muscle in stone. Eddie nearly passes out.
“God,” Eddie says in a rush. Buck blinks, straining in his workout shirt, and sets the weights down to sit up. “You’re so—”
He doesn’t have words to explain anything further, and Buck doesn’t get a chance to ask. Eddie makes the single stupidest decision he’s ever made in his life and rushes Buck, crowding into his sweaty presence, and licks a stripe up Buck’s neck.
The noise Buck makes is obscene. His hands clutch roughly at Eddie’s hips. “Fuck,” he hisses. “E—Eddie?”
Eddie shoves his hand down Buck’s pants in response.
“Fuck!” This time, Buck chokes on it, one hand getting a vice-like grip on Eddie’s wrist where he’s flattened his palm against Buck’s thigh, and the other still bruising on Eddie’s hip.
Eddie turns his fucking brain off. He can feel the regret crawling up his esophagus, but he’s already done it, made the leap of faith—there’s no turning back now. Besides, even if he had the wherewithal to let go of Buck’s cock and step away from the sound of Buck’s gasps, he certainly doesn’t want to.
“Oh my god, Eddie—” Buck moans like he’s being paid for it, something gratuitous and incongruent to the awkwardly angled handjob he’s receiving. “Are you—fuck—Eddie, stop—”
The word strikes somewhere between Eddie’s ribs and he yanks out of Buck’s space instantly, backing several feet away. He tries to remember how to breathe as he takes in Buck’s wrecked appearance—flushed pink down to his arms, his lower lip bitten, eyes dazed and dark.
“Fuck,” Eddie says, “I’m sorry.”
“No—” Buck’s hands are still lifted in the air in the shape of Eddie’s body, where they had clutched him like a lifeline. “I didn’t mean—come back here. I just—Jesus, Eddie—I was about to come.”
Eddie stares as Buck’s tongue swipes across his lips. “You—”
“Don’t even start.” Buck makes a face. “I’m not usually that quick. But it’s you. I was never going to last long.”
There’s a ringing sound in Eddie’s ears. “I’m sorry,” he says again, dumbly. “We should’ve talked about it first.”
Buck’s shorts are tented furiously. “We can talk,” Buck says breathlessly. His eyes have caught on the similarly tented shape in Eddie’s uniform slacks. “Maybe after you finish getting me off?”
Jesus. Eddie swallows an indecent sound. “Are you serious?”
Buck reaches down and yanks his pants down fully, his cock springing free of its confines. “Very serious.”
“Are we doing this?” Eddie clarifies, even as he returns to Buck’s orbit. As soon as he’s close enough, Buck gets his hands on him again, tugging him the rest of the way in and playing at the waistband of his slacks.
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Buck asks in response. “You in these fucking pants. It’s offensive. ‘Are we doing this,’” he says mockingly, “like I haven’t been driving myself insane trying not to jump you the way you just did for months.”
“Months?” Eddie has lost all sense of reality. This isn’t happening. He kickstarted the best and worst dream and nightmare of his life and soon he’s going to wake up with the phantom memory of Buck’s cock in his hand, Buck’s hands on his pants, Buck’s pants puddled on the floor.
Buck looks up at him, all shades of blue and pink. “Years,” he admits.
Eddie closes his eyes. This is a dream. A nightmare. Whatever. Because Buck is sitting here with his cock out and fingers doing their damnedest to get at Eddie’s, telling Eddie he’s wanted to do this very thing for years of their lives, and it’s sounding a little too much like Eddie’s own internal monologue, which means he must be making it up. Right?
“I always thought you’d make an excuse if I asked,” Buck goes on, and Eddie peels his eyes open. Despite how overwhelming his presence is, his voice is soft and careful; he is aware, just as much as Eddie is, of the fragile line they’re dancing on, of the friendship they have never been willing to risk and can hardly believe either of them are treading that water at all. “I kept thinking I was imagining it, when I was working out, but then you’d run away and when you came back it was clear you’d taken care of yourself in one way or another.” His hand flattens on the small of Eddie’s back, and then he’s pulling Eddie in and pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to the bulge in Eddie’s pants. Eddie might die. Eddie is going to die. “I always wanted to ask if you were hard for me. If you wanted me like I want you.”
The words tip Eddie over a dangerous edge. He slides his hands up Buck’s neck, over the place he’d so recklessly licked, and tilts his face up so he can look him in the eye directly as he says, “I always want you.”
Buck’s eyes flash and darken, and finally, fucking finally, he yanks Eddie down into a bruising kiss, swallowing his noise of surprise and then satisfaction Eddie makes against his mouth. They open to each other with ease. Buck tastes like the sweet chai he had on the drive to the firehouse; he tastes like the rest of Eddie’s life and every version of him that came before.
Inevitably, the kiss turns dirty, Buck dragging his mouth to the side of Eddie’s neck. Neither of them have quite forgotten that Buck is half in the nude and still very obviously hard, so it’s only fair that Buck makes quick work of their shirts and Eddie’s pants. Eddie steps out of them, takes a breath as the plug shifts deliciously inside of him, and drops to his knees.
Eyes widening, Buck curses at the sight. “Eddie,” he murmurs, and then, “Eddie,” with feeling, as Eddie takes his cock in hand and fits his mouth over the tip, tongue laving over the slit experimentally.
It’s you, Buck had said earlier. Eddie lifts his head and meets Buck’s eyes. “Don’t come,” Eddie says, his breath ghosting over Buck’s cock. “Until I say you can.”
He’s not sure where his authoritative tone comes from, but it very clearly does something for Buck, who shudders with his entire body and slips a hand into Eddie’s hair uncertainly.
“Don’t come,” Eddie says again, “but don’t hold back.”
He doesn’t give Buck the chance to ask what that means before he sinks his mouth down onto Buck’s cock.
“Oh God.” Buck clutches at Eddie’s hair hard. Beneath Eddie’s grip, his hips jerk up, eliciting a sharp fuck, sorry when Eddie has to pull off to breathe.
“What did I just say?” Eddie demands when Buck looks down at him apologetically.
“Don’t—don’t hold back. But Eddie—”
Eddie ignores his hesitation and dives back in. A litany of hushed curses and gasps come flooding from Buck’s mouth as Eddie hollows his cheeks and moans around his cock, enjoying the weight of him against his tongue, twisting one hand around the base every time he lingers at the tip. It takes a minute, but eventually Buck obeys and fucks into his mouth with earnest. Every inch sliding in draws another depraved noise from above, all of which Eddie shelves away for later use, and Buck’s legs quickly fall open for Eddie to crowd in until he’s bracketed by those massive thighs, which tense and relax each time Eddie pushes his cock to the back of his throat. Eddie hums a praise against the underside of Buck’s cock and feels it kick, feels a spurt of pre-come coating his tongue, laps it away with gluttony and swallows.
He pulls Buck in until he forgets his own internal breakdown and turns to waxing poetic about Buck’s cock—after months of fantasizing, Eddie has realized that none of it could have possibly compared to the real thing. No number of fingers down the back of his throat could replicate the sting of his jaw and thrill of Buck pushing down Eddie’s throat like it was made to fit.
He's never taken anyone all the way in, whether that was his throat or his ass, and certainly has never done anything with anyone as big as Buck, but by God does Eddie never intend to have any of this with anyone else ever again. He relishes the feeling, the taste, the heady scent of Buck that he almost hopes will cling to him later while he’s wandering about the firehouse, as if smelling like the man he swallowed down in the firehouse gym hours before is the sort of accomplishment Eddie should be lauded for—and maybe it is, because that man is Evan Buckley, and right now he’s Eddie’s. No one else will walk around with his sex staining their throat; no one else will know the way he cries out when Eddie tucks his cock into his mouth and urges Buck on with a pinch.
“Eddie, Eddie, fuck, please,” Buck is whimpering, his hands tugging sharply in Eddie’s hair. It’s visceral, the heat of his fingers scraping Eddie’s scalp while Eddie burns his tongue on his cock. He’s deep—he’s not deep enough. “I’m not going to last, Eddie, gonna fucking come down your throat, you’re so—”
Eddie swallows once around Buck’s cock and then pulls off entirely, eliciting a vivid groan from Buck. “Get up,” he orders.
“What are you—”
“I said get up.”
That authority gets to Buck again. He shivers and complies, stepping round Eddie, who remains on his knees until Buck is clear. Then he replaces Buck on the bench and gestures him over before spinning around and laying flat on his back.
“What—” Buck’s question cuts off and becomes a sharp, disbelieving exhale. “Eddie?”
Eddie blinks up from where he now lies beneath Buck, cock only inches from Eddie’s mouth. “Well?” he says, voice roughened, and isn’t that a thought, that he could take Buck so deep anyone could hear the difference and know who claimed him. “You said something about coming down my throat?”
Buck’s fingers dance delicately across Eddie’s cheekbones, trailing down his sternum and flicking over his nipples, at which Eddie can’t help but moan. He’d never given much thought to the role of nipples in sex, although women had liked when he sucked on them—it had never done anything for him, though in hindsight, it wasn’t their nipples he wanted to be sucking—and he thinks that if he and Buck ever take this business back to the bedroom, he’s going to spend quite some time learning about what this would do for him now.
“Are you sure?” Buck asks, his fingers still skating over Eddie’s skin. It’s painfully gentle, the softness at odds with Eddie’s very plain desire to be throat-fucked to oblivion right here on the weights bench in their shared workplace.
Eddie glares up at Buck and opens his mouth.
Slowly, Buck feeds his cock between Eddie’s lips, giving him unnecessary time to adjust. The angle is more stifling but it’s everything—Eddie moans at how easily Buck’s cock fills his mouth this way, the curve butting against his tongue rather than the roof of his mouth, and then moans again when Buck stops halfway.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” says Buck with effort, evidently struggling not to simply force his cock as deep as it can go.
Except that’s precisely what Eddie wants.
He pinches the back of Buck’s thigh again. Buck yelps and jolts away from it, which sends his cock another inch into Eddie. Eddie hums encouragement, muffled and salacious.
“Okay,” Buck gasps, “okay, fuck. I’m just—” He pushes in, and by the end clearly loses grasp on his control, because he thrusts the rest of himself all the way to the back of Eddie’s throat and lets out several curses in rapid succession. He pulls out, fucks back in, and oh, Eddie knew this would be good, knew he wanted this so much, but the taste and weight of Buck’s cock slamming into him and pinning him down is better than anything he has ever prayed to God for.
Buck sets a brutal pace as he takes to the task, fucking into Eddie’s throat hard and fast. His hands find their way around Eddie’s neck like hot brands, with a pressure that finally inspires Eddie to reach down and strip his own neglected cock that has been dripping with enough pre-come to smooth the way as he gags on Buck. At this, Buck lets off to give him a breather, but as soon as he has some oxygen in him, Eddie yanks him back in again. It’s all too much—Buck down his throat; the musk of sex, sweat, sin in the air; the inescapable lack of oxygen; the heat and pressure of Buck’s fingers on Eddie’s airways.
Above him, Buck is half in tears, babbling wildly as his hips drive into Eddie. “Look at you, oh God, Eddie, your fucking mouth—like you knew how badly I wanted this, wanted you—”
The sounds are indescribable, dirty and wet and so fucking hot. Eddie fists his cock and gasps when Buck pulls out, his mouth dripping with spit and precome and all the years he’s wanted this.
“Your mouth, baby,” Buck chokes out. He splays one hand over Eddie’s Adam’s apple and starts to fuck up into him at a different angle. “I can fucking see myself in you, fuck—get yourself off, baby, just like that, God you take me so well—”
Eddie comes seeing stars, vision blacking out as the orgasm barrels through his every atom and rakes through his thinned control. Buck pulls his cock out to allow Eddie gasps of air but still leaves him feeling like he’s losing something precious—but then he feels Buck lean over him and knock aside Eddie’s hand so he can drag Eddie through the orgasm himself.
When he is finally wrung through, Eddie drops loose-limbed onto the bench. “So good for me, Buck,” he rasps as his head lolls in satisfaction. Jesus fucking Christ. He hasn’t come like that maybe ever, surrounded and filled up by Buck. He sits up dizzily, a small whimper of oversensitivity escaping him when the forgotten plug moves inside him.
“Are you—was that okay?” Buck asks. He stands behind Eddie, his cock still at attention, and wears a half-blissed, half-worried expression.
“More than okay.” Eddie can still feel the burn of fingers on his airways and silently, masochistically, hopes it bruises. Something to stain him, to prove this was real for longer than a dream. He climbs the length of Buck’s body to get to his feet and is startled by Buck tugging him into a fierce kiss, a heat that sends a lazy spark up Eddie’s spine. Their mouths slide messily together, as Eddie still has the excess of a healthy face-fucking smeared on his skin, but neither of them care. Eddie pushes in closer until their bodies are flush and Buck’s cock is pinned between them.
Buck breaks away on a cracked moan. “Eddie, please,” he says.
A hairpin trigger when Eddie jerked him off for thirty seconds, and yet Buck is sustaining after two different blowjobs without coming because Eddie told him to wait. Eddie’s dick gives a small twitch at the thought.
But because Buck really is begging now, and Eddie is so, so greedy for him, he guides Buck back until he hits the seated barbell bench and instructs him to sit, still employing the commanding tone that seems to weaken Buck at the knees. He considers Buck for a second, the way he looks up imploringly, and adds, “Good boy.”
The words register in a flash across Buck’s features and he leans forward until his nose presses against Eddie’s abs, where the drying come from earlier marks the skin. Eddie almost jumps when he feels a wet lick.
“Stop that,” he says, pushing against Buck’s shoulders. Buck grins up at him and sticks that forsaken tongue out, and Eddie better get a move on because his come clings to the tip of Buck’s tongue and that does something tragic to Eddie’s insides. He has plans before he comes again.
Once Buck is settled on the bench, Eddie straddles him. Buck’s hands go to his waist immediately.
“I have to tell you something,” Buck says.
“Do you?” Eddie hums. Pretends to be more interested in arranging himself in Buck’s lap. He reaches back and plays at the end of the butt plug, watches Buck follow the movement with a rapidly dawning realization.
“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck says in awe. “But you just—”
Eddie puts his palm to his mouth and very deliberately spits.
He withdraws the plug with an involuntary sigh of pleasure and tosses it somewhere in the direction of their clothing. He lifts his hips, wraps his spit-slick hand around Buck’s cock, and sinks down.
Buck keens under him, fingers tightening, and barely makes out, “Are you fucking kidding me.”
He’s not the only one. Despite riding the line between good and oversensitive, Eddie lets out his own unadulterated moan as he takes almost all of Buck inside of him on his first go, feeling that perfect burn and stretch as Buck splits him open. And Buck is by no means small — Eddie can feel every goddamn inch of length and thickness inside of him. “Oh fuck,” Eddie mumbles. “Your cock—you’re so fucking big—always so good for me, Buck.”
“Wait,” Buck chokes when Eddie starts to move. “I can’t—I’m going to come literally right now If you don’t give me a second.”
A smirk crawls over Eddie’s face unbidden. Part of him feels guilty for keeping Buck on the edge for so long—the same part feels a little wary about how long they’ve been doing these absolutely NSFW activities in the firehouse gym, easily in full view of anyone who may be timely enough to walk through the engine doors—but the rest of Eddie is too busy feeling outrageously full to care. He can get Buck off quickly later if such a thing exists. Right now? Eddie just wants to milk him dry.
Besides, he thinks he might be obsessed, addicted to being filled up. The rest of the world doesn’t matter. He just wants this—Buck so far inside of him he jostles every other thought out of line. And the idea that Eddie might only have this and know this for now and in cutting flashes in his dreams—well, he’s too cock drunk to think about that at the moment. Buck had said they could talk after Eddie got him off. If this is all Eddie can have of him, he is going to make it count.
He leans forward and scrapes his teeth over the shell of Buck’s ear.
“Get the weight,” he says lowly.
“Wh—what?”
“The weight, Buck. We’re in the gym, remember?”
Buck’s breath shakes on the way in as he grabs the barbell. It’s not as heavy as the one abandoned when Eddie distracted the user with sex, but it’s still a noticeable weight, and Buck has to tighten every rippling muscle to maintain it.
“Good boy,” Eddie tells him, likes the way Buck’s pupils dilate further at the praise. “Keep going.”
“Eddie—” Buck starts as he continues to push the weights up. His words vanish, however, when Eddie lifts off his cock as he lifts the weight, and then sits all the way back down as Buck lowers his arms. “You’re going to fucking kill me,” Buck declares desperately.
“Ten reps.” Eddie fucks himself up, down. Under his fingers, Buck’s shoulders are iron. “Then you can come.”
The next breaths shudder out of Buck from the combined effort of lifting and staving off his orgasm as Eddie follows his pace. Eddie himself can already feel his cock recovering—he’s never had a refractory period so short, but nothing about how he feels about or around Buck has aligned with what Eddie knows about himself thus far—and if he doesn’t get too clever with the angle, he can deter his orgasm until Buck has come first.
Unfortunately, Buck has other plans.
He’s on rep five—or maybe six, Eddie hasn’t been keeping count, too busy gasping and rolling his eyes to the back of his head as he impales himself—when he rolls his hips up to meet Eddie.
“Shit fuck hell,” Eddie blurts as Buck slams directly into his prostate, wrenching control from him. “Buck—yes, right there, you fuck me so well, oh God—“ He can’t make sense of anything, words and gasps bubbling out of him faster than he can register, mixing with the symphony of Buck’s heady grunts. He collapses against the broad expanse of Buck’s chest as Buck does that thing with his hips again, and again, and “—fucking again, please.”
Buck grins at him wickedly and pushes the weight up. Eddie doesn’t follow this time—Buck is already fucking up into him at an ungodly angle, inhuman pleasure reverberating through Eddie’s goddamn bones, and he can’t do much more than gasp out Buck’s name and scrape his nails against the skin of Buck’s neck. How Buck is managing to do this—lift and fuck Eddie so well—is beyond him.
What he does know is Buck’s entire body clenching underneath him as he hauls the barbell up one last time and grits out, “Ten,” and as soon as the weight has returned to its hold, he grabs onto Eddie’s waist and—
Eddie screams when Buck slams up into him. It’s on the edge of too much after coming once already — a few rapid thrusts with the strength of those enormous fucking thighs slapping obscenely against Eddie’s ass. His hips pinned down by Buck’s hot hands, forcing him to take it all. Faster and hotter and so much better than anything Eddie’s pitiful imagination could have ever conjured. It sends Eddie vibrating right off the edge, spinning blindly into a separate dimension and sobbing into the crook of Buck’s neck — and Buck follows him right over with a low groan. The sounds between them grow wetter and messier, Eddie grows wetter and messier. Through his hazy orgasm, he can feel every time Buck buries himself deep. Can feel the hot slide of that perfect cock as Buck fucks his come as far inside as their bodies will allow. Thinks to himself, God I fucking love you.
When Eddie returns to himself, both of their heaving stomachs are coated in a fresh layer of Eddie’s come.
“Holy…shit,” Eddie pants into Buck’s shoulder.
Buck agrees in a soft laugh against Eddie’s skin, sweaty and pink, then ghosts a kiss across the junction of his jaw and neck before pulling him into a full kiss. Eddie melts into it.
They make out lazily for so long that Eddie’s come grows tacky and gross on their skin. He finally shifts, lifting himself off of Buck’s now-soft cock, and they both make shared sounds of relief and loss—Eddie the latter, already thinking ahead to the nights he’ll spend furiously taking himself over the edge at the memory of this, because now they have to talk, and talking means it’s over. They jumped each other’s bones once to get it out of their systems.
“If I’d known…” Buck huffs a laugh. “I would’ve tried this on you ages ago.”
Eddie fetches Buck’s workout towel and wipes gently at Buck’s stomach, cleaning both of them off as clinically as possible. “Yeah, well,” is all he can manage, avoiding Buck’s gaze.
He’s just pulled on his shirt—one of the older LAFD uniform tees, the vinyl cracking through the red lettering—when he senses Buck beside him.
“Where’d you go?” Buck says softly. His hand brushes at Eddie’s wrist. “Was all of that…okay? I should’ve checked with you before—”
“Buck, no.” Eddie shakes his head. “Come on. You checked in every step of the way. I was the one pushing you around and telling you what to do.”
Buck’s gaze darkens just slightly. “Did I ever give indication that I didn’t want you telling me what to do?”
Eddie breathes in slowly, letting cold air rush through his thoroughly-fucked throat, and braces for impact. “You said you wanted to tell me something earlier,” he says.
Whatever the earlier sentiment was, it seems to have been lost in the sex. Buck furrows his brow in confusion.
“I was about to sit on your dick,” Eddie prompts.
Apparently, riding is the memory trigger here, and Buck brightens. “Oh,” he says sheepishly. “Right. Yeah. I, uh—that was kind of awful timing, wasn’t it? Because it—well, if you—uh—look, blame the heat of the moment. I never planned to tell you like that. Actually, if anyone asks, can we pretend I told you over a romantic dinner instead?”
Eddie stares at him. “What...told me what, Buck?”
“That I’m in love with you?” Buck says, as if Eddie has somehow managed to miss the most insane thing he’s ever heard in his life.
He whacks Buck in the chest so hard Buck yelps and jumps away. “You—” Eddie starts, and realizes he doesn’t have an end to that sentence.
“It’s okay,” Buck says quickly, something in his gaze shuttering. “You don’t have to say it back. It’s just—well, I thought—you did sort of put your hand down my pants first.”
For the eighteenth time today, Eddie can’t quite make sense of the world. “You’re…in love with me?” he says slowly.
“If it’s just the sex for you,” Buck shrugs, “I can…I can live with that. Really. Or—or we don’t have to do this ever again. I’d like to, but. I know it’s probably weird to, like, sleep with someone you aren’t in love with knowing they’re in love with you—”
Buck’s come is still warm and slowly leaking from Eddie’s ass and he’s somehow yammering about Eddie not loving him back.
“No.” Eddie takes up residence in Buck’s space again, hears the slight catch in his breath. “No, Buck, I—I thought that was what it was for you. Just sex.” He looks up into that intense blue and tries to memorize it. Not for the first time, it he considers how impossible a task that is. Buck’s eyes are not blue. They are a stunning, vibrant sky with dots and flecks of sea foam green and grays and cerulean. “I’m in love with you too, Buck. Have been for years, honestly.” Almost comical, how the albatross of the truth falls away in an instant; Eddie feels giddy with it, wants to sprint to the firehouse rooftop with bleeding heart and ass and all and shout at the sprawl of LA, demanding to be heard: I love Evan Buckley and Evan Buckley loves me too.
“Years,” Buck echoes. His hands have fitted around Eddie’s hips yet again, like a permanent fixture, the divots in Eddie’s body built to contain him. “Are we fucking stupid?”
The sound of a sputtering engine screeches past the firehouse and they both jump, suddenly coming to their senses about where they are and the distinct lack of clothing between the two of them.
“Yes,” Eddie says breathlessly, and then laughs until Buck kisses him again.
“Come on,” Buck mutters. He scoops up their clothes, hands Eddie his blue butt plug back—“This is an insane color, by the way,” Buck tells him, but he looks ready to ravage Eddie again when Eddie informs him it was meant to match his eyes—and hauls him all the way into the showers.
They clean up under the spray of too-hot water, where Buck pins Eddie to the wall and fucks his still-sloppy hole again and makes Eddie promise to let him actually come down his throat later and laves kisses across his chest, and Eddie discovers that nipples do indeed do something for him during sex as long as it’s Buck's tongue on him.
It’s a miracle that when they emerge, fucked out and red from the heat and sex, the firehouse is still devoid of the 118. They should’ve been more careful. A call could turn on a dime, and any one of their colleagues could have backed the truck into the station and discovered a harrowing sight.
But when Eddie folds into Buck against the kitchen counters and bites down on pink lips, he thinks he wouldn’t have cared. The smell of their sex will cling to each other the rest of shift anyway. Cling to each other for the rest of their lives.