is this because i don’t have a couch?

Except now it’s been three weeks, and Eddie’s learned Buck will take an extra shower at night just to masturbate, so Eddie now comes up with excuses to walk by on those nights.

Eddie just… can’t stop staring. At Buck’s cock, which is perfect and beautiful and somewhat massive. At Buck’s hand, which he roughly wraps around himself in a way that makes Eddie shiver. At Buck’s face, which gets so beautifully pink the more he exerts himself. At Buck’s chest, which heaves with the effort of it sometimes despite not a single sound escaping from Buck’s lips.

There are a more than a few times, when Buck is out of the house and Eddie is lying in bed, where Eddie wraps his hand around his own dick and wonders what Buck’s calluses would feel like against Eddie’s shaft. Wonders what Buck would look like above and underneath Eddie. Wonders what Buck’s breath would feel like on Eddie’s neck. Eddie comes pretty fast those times.

It’s, of course, inevitable that Buck would notice.

Somewhere along the way Eddie stopped being subtle about watching Buck. (Probably around the time Buck started pushing his showers later and later into the middle of the night.)

It’s well after midnight when it finally happens, when Buck makes eye contact with Eddie through the crack in the door. Embarrassingly, he’s stripped down to his underwear and started the shower but not even gotten fully naked or in the water. Eddie’s just that thirsty to watch Buck unravel.

Both of them have a choice. They could write this off as an awkward growing pain of sharing a house, laugh about it uneasily and wait for a different boiling-over point for the sexual tension that’s seeped into their every interaction. They could pretend they didn’t make eye contact, pretend they both don’t know this has been going on for weeks, pretend they both aren’t imagining the other when they come. Or, they could decide that this is as good a moment as any.

Buck opens the door all the way. He stares Eddie down. Eddie steps inside, slowly. He doesn’t break Buck’s intense eye contact. A big part of him wants to. But the part in control is so sick and tired of pretending he doesn’t want this. Of pretending he doesn’t need this like air.

For a second they just stare at each other. Eddie, without looking, pushes the door gently shut (as much as it can be shut). Then it’s just the two of them in their anticipation.

Eddie could try to have the actual honest conversation that he and Buck definitely need to have, the conversation that seems to be brewing in Buck’s throat. But it’s almost one in the morning, and Buck is almost naked in front of him, staring at him in a way he never openly has.

Eddie decides: the conversation can wait. Eddie takes two steps from the door, grabs Buck by the hips, and kisses him.

This is not a patient kiss. This is not a soft kiss. This is not all that romantic of a kiss, honestly. It’s teeth and tongue and spit and wanting and attraction. Buck pins Eddie to the door, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and pulling Eddie as close as he can to his body. One of them— or maybe both of them— go to tear Eddie’s shirt off, and it’s a little awkward, if only because it’s a barrier to them devouring each other.

Buck pulls back first, pressing their foreheads together. “Eddie—” he starts, then immediately chokes off with a whine, because Eddie’s moved a hand across Buck’s hip bone, under Buck’s waistband, to rest at the base of Buck’s cock.

Eddie doesn’t get to enjoy it, though, because Buck tightens his arm-hold around Eddie and picks him up. Without another word, he walks them both into the bedroom, locks the door behind them, and throws Eddie onto the bed. Eddie shimmies out of his pants and underwear while Buck grabs lube and a condom from the nightstand.

Eddie’s impatient. The second Buck gets remotely above him, knees on either side of Eddie’s hips, Eddie grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in for another hungry, hot kiss. Buck basically falls on top of Eddie. Their hips are perfectly aligned, though, and the friction is delicious. Eddie becomes suddenly aware that Buck is still in his underwear, which needs to be remedied. Eddie yanks at the waistband of Buck’s boxers, freeing the head of Buck’s dick. Buck moans into Eddie’s mouth when Eddie’s fingers brush against him. Eddie drinks it down, feels it vibrate in the back of his throat.

Eddie pulls away from Buck’s mouth to kiss his neck, his shoulders, his jaw. God, he just wants Buck. “Want you in me,” Eddie murmurs against Buck’s throat.

Buck shivers. “C- can I—”

“Yeah.”

Buck pushes himself upwards so he’s kneeling above Eddie’s chest, knees on either side of Eddie’s hips. Eddie could stare at him all day. Buck twists, shucks his underwear off the rest of the way, then grabs the lube. He squirts a copious amount onto his fingers. He leans down, kisses Eddie again, all tongue and heat.

And then his hand is on the inside of Eddie’s thigh, moving higher, teasing his hole. Eddie tilts his hips into it. Buck puts the weight of his torso onto Eddie, pinning him in place. “Let me enjoy this,” Buck whispers. Eddie tries not to move after that.

Not moving proves extremely difficult when Buck finally puts his finger all the way inside Eddie. He just intrinsically knows what Eddie wants, what will make him feel good. Eddie realizes with a start that it’s because Buck has experience. It makes Eddie feel weirdly possessive. Before he can move to pull Buck closer, Buck is slipping a second finger inside, crooking them against just the right spot. Eddie lets out a moan that he didn’t think he was capable of making. Buck continues fucking Eddie with just the two fingers, stretching Eddie out at a torturously slow pace. Eddie is turning into a black hole of want.

“Buck,” he huffs, when the lack of Buck’s cock inside of him becomes unbearable.

“So impatient.” Buck pulls his fingers out, which is the opposite of what Eddie wanted. But then Buck is kissing him and rolling a condom on, so he’s not going to complain. And then Buck is teasing Eddie’s hole with the tip of his dick, so Eddie’s really not going to complain.

When Buck finally slides into Eddie, teasingly slow, Eddie’s eyes flutter shut. He’s never felt something so right in his life. He never wants to be anything other than full of Buck ever again.

“Okay?” Buck asks, hushed.

Eddie can’t even say anything— he just grins up at Buck.

Buck starts to move. Eddie’s had a fair amount of sex in his life. He’s not even unfamiliar to things being stuck up his ass— Shannon had a thing for slipping a few fingers inside him every now and then. But this is so overwhelmingly different. Maybe because it’s Buck above him, in all his blushy beefcake glory. Maybe because Buck runs a hand from Eddie’s face, across his nipples, to his waist, which he squeezes. Maybe because Buck uses the hand on Eddie’s waist to pull Eddie further onto his cock. Maybe because Buck is panting so hard above him, noises barely stifled in his throat.

Eddie’s getting loud, he knows it. But Buck’s hitting his prostate at just the right angle to make him breathe out a whine that could almost be a howl. Buck, wide-eyed, pulls back a half-inch. Eddie wraps a hand around Buck’s ass and pushes Buck back into him roughly. “Don’t you dare.”

Buck grins, lopsided and playfully evil. Eddie might be in love with him. Buck picks up his pace, bottoming out nearly every thrust. Eddie’s definitely in love with him. Eddie tightens around Buck, dangerously close. Before he can even string together any sort of noise warning, Buck is shoving his underwear in Eddie’s mouth as a gag. They smell like Buck. It pushes Eddie even closer to the edge. All it takes is for Buck to wrap a hand around Eddie’s cock, pressing a thumb into the slit, and Eddie comes so hard he sees stars. Buck slows down, works him through it. Then he goes to pull out. Eddie moves a hand up to grab Buck by the back of the neck, spitting Buck’s underwear out of his mouth. “What did I just say,” Eddie says, voice rough.

Buck doesn’t answer, just pants above Eddie and blushes. But he stops trying to pull out. Eddie’s legs are jelly, but he brings one up around Buck’s hips and pulls Buck closer. It’s overstimulating and a little painful and Eddie is so goddamn hungry for more of it.

“You sure this is okay?” Buck asks, voice quiet and rough.

“Does it feel good?”

“Eddie. O- of course it- you feel so—”

“Then keep going. I can take it.”

Buck huffs, a smile creeping across his face. His pace slowly accelerates, until Eddie feels like he’s being shoved into the headboard. It feels amazing. Eddie wants to commit this Buck to memory— this frenzied, beautiful, hungry, selfish Buck who’s getting everything he needs and more from Eddie.

Buck kisses Eddie, sloppy and wet and messy. He moans into Eddie’s mouth as he comes. Oh, Eddie wants Buck to come inside of him for the rest of their lives. Eddie kisses Buck back, riding the wave with him.

Buck breaks away, panting. He presses his forehead into Eddie’s. Buck slowly pulls out, slowly takes the condom off, then flops on his back next to Eddie. For a moment, they just breathe.

“So,” Buck whispers nervously.

“I want to do that forever,” Eddie whispers back.

“Okay,” Buck responds, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice, “good. Me too.”

Almost as quick as it started, it stops. Eddie steps back, he's still holding Buck's coffee, hasn't even taken a sip. He prefers creamer and three sugars anyway and he needs to shower, setting the mug on the countertop and turning to head towards the bathroom. They can't be late for work.

Eddie turns on the shower and strips out of his clothes, stepping under the spray of the water, noting mildly that's he's half hard. He would be, Buck does that to him, pink and freshly kissed in their kitchen, pouted mouth bruised and slick with Eddie’s spit. Eddie touches his fingertips to his own bottom lip, the feeling of Buck's against him still beating there. The scrape of his stubble. Buck's lips on his. From when they were kissing, just now in the kitchen. His best friend Buck.

They don't do that. They've never done that. Except, it felt so right in the soft, early morning hush to step up to Buck and capture his mouth like that, to kiss him over a shared cup off coffee before he's even got his head on right.

Eddie looks down, fully hard now, and takes hold of his cock, insistent need blooming under his skin. He wants to do more than kissing with Buck, that's clear to him now. He wants to take him to bed and listen to every sound he can draw out of him, how sweetly yielding he knows Buck will be, how good he'd feel under Eddie, taking him. Eddie strokes himself faster and imagines fucking Buck hard, slow, quick, soft. His tongue feels too big for his mouth, his desire too big for his body with how much he wants it; more awake than he's ever been with this new knowledge.

They've been living in a strange sort of limbo ever since Eddie and Chris came back from El Paso, the raw edge of everything they've lived through enough to occasionally catch, sharper some days than others, but mostly it's been good. Mostly it's been as easy as kissing Buck in the kitchen just now.

Buck has been making noise about finding his own place because he can't keep sleeping on the sofa forever. Eddie doesn't want him to leave and yet he's still not found it in himself to ask him to stay. If he stayed he could share the bed with Eddie, share the couch when they watch TV with Chris, share the kitchen, share a whole life. That's what he wants. Buck by his side like always.

He squeezes his cock, close now, pumping his hand over his length, twisting his wrist and a thumb to the head. Buck kissed him back and if Buck did that he might want all those other things with Eddie too. He might get on his knees for Eddie, his back, he might let Eddie touch him all the ways he wants. He might let Eddie love him.

It rises quickly, then, pulsing hot, and he comes, stripping his cock hard and fast to the memory of Buck against him and the possibility of everything waiting for him just one room away. If Buck is still there, if he hasn't run out of the house in a panic as he's liable to do if Eddie doesn't keep a tight hold on him, grounded and secure.

Eddie gets out of the shower, no more than rinsed clean, and dries off quickly, shoving himself mostly damp back into his shorts and tank, hurrying back through the house, less than fifteen minutes after he left the kitchen. It's brighter now, the sun fully breaking over the line of houses past his back yard, and Buck is still standing where Eddie left him.

'You kissed me,' he says, dazed.

'I did,' Eddie nods.

'Why?'

Eddie shrugs, comes closer, 'seemed like the right thing to do. You want me to do it again?'

His heart is in his throat, he couldn't bear Buck turning him down, but he has to know if they can have this, now he's learned to want it.

'Yeah, Eddie,' says Buck, his eyes shining, bright and wet, 'I want you to kiss me all the time.'

Eddie crosses the room in two strides, catching hold of Buck with two hands, bringing them together again, as if they never stopped, and Buck melts into him, his hands on Eddie's waist. His touch isn’t tentative anymore, fisting in the fabric of Eddie’s top to pull him closer, lips parting on sigh, as Eddie licks into his mouth, desperate for another taste.

It's not mindless this time, both of them equally committed, and Eddie sweeps his thumb over Buck's jaw, to his chin, a hand to the frantic beating of his pulse. It makes Buck moan, everything spit and heat, reeling into each other. Eddie just came but he can feel it rising again, his arousal a dizzying, grasping thing and Buck is hard too, rocking against him, easy friction against Eddie's thigh on the brink of escalation.

They break apart at last, forehead to forehead, breathing hard. Eddie's hand is still clasped around Buck's throat, notched against his jaw, holding him steady as Buck sways into him. He drops his arm, palm to Buck's chest and the racing thrum of his heartbeat. Eddie just went through several epiphanies in the shower and he needs to be sure Buck is on the same page.

'This isn't just sex,' he says, meeting Buck's eyes, 'I don't just want that from you. I want it all, Buck. I love you.'

Buck smiles, beams, beautiful and freshly kissed and Eddie can't wait to do it again, do it a hundred times, do it until they've lost count.

'I—me too,' says Buck, breathless, 'I love you, too.'

Eddie leans in, kiss number three, and Buck meets him in the middle.

Buck, who doesn't particularly like sweet things, but who walks into their house on a warm summer day and tells a giggling Christopher that they were gonna learn how to make homemade ice cream. Who buys caramel creamer from the fancy grocery store to stock in the station, because it's Chimney's secret shame. Who babbles to a smiling, indulgent Bobby about cupcake recipes, who then brings said cupcakes to the Wilson's for a dinner, grinning ear to ear watching Denny and the other kids descend on them even as Hen swats him for the incoming sugar highs.

Buck, who watches Eddie carefully every time he brings something to the station, hope so bright in the corners of his eyes that Eddie can't help but take a bite, to indulge.

He tries to keep it careful, restrained. A bite here, a taste there. But as the years go by, cookies are shoved into his hands, cakes are sliced and waiting on the counter. At some point, without noticing, the passionfruit-guava juice from the farmer's market stall they'd helped on a call years ago started finding its way into Eddie's fridge, innocuous and ever present. Eddie doesn't pour himself a glass, not unless someone offers.

Buck always offers.

It happens so gradually that Eddie doesn't really notice when he starts taking more than one cookie, cutting himself extra slices of cake. But one day, sitting in the loft and eating a slice of Buck's chocolate cake while scrolling through his phone, he hears it:

"C'mon, man, leave some for the rest of us!" Eddie blinks up as Harry slides over to the counter, grabbing a plate from the surface before beginning to cut himself a slice.

Buck, on the other side, flicks Harry's forehead, making him grumble. "Eddie can eat as much as he wants," he says, hands on his apron-ed sides.

"Favoritism," Ravi mutters, grabbing his own plate. Eddie opens his mouth to argue, but Chimney gets there first.

"Don't whine, Ravioli," he says. "You should be grateful that Buck keeps our resident cookie monster fed."

Eddie splutters. "What the hell, Chim?"

"You know--" Chimney waves a hand vaguely. "You, entire trays of cookies. Or brownies, or whatever cavity-inducing food Buckley decides to grace us with on any given day."

"I don't have entire trays," Eddie protests. A beat of silence. He looks around for help. Nobody answers. He looks at Buck, who winces.

"...it's fine! I always make at least two trays!"

Eddie stares at him, horrified. "You haven't mentioned it to me when I eat full trays of dessert?"

Buck splutters. "I- it's- you like it! I'm not gonna stop you!"

"And besides," Hen says, eyes glinting with mischief behind her glasses. "God forbid anyone gets between you and your sugar."

The words are teasing, kind, but it makes Eddie feel strangely vulnerable anyways. This tucked-away piece of himself, this part of him that he had thought was hidden for so long-- displayed.

Or, not displayed. Seen. Seen, and not at all a surprise to anybody.

Eddie looks at her, who grins back, like she's said nothing surprising at all. His eyes shift to Buck, who shrugs, slides over a glass of juice.

"There's nothing wrong with having a sweet tooth, Eddie," he says, and in his mouth, it almost sounds like benediction.

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, feels a familiar urge to retreat, to leave the cake on the table and dump the juice in the sink and sit in the corner until his teeth stop buzzing with sweetness.

But then Chimney points a fork at him: "Just eat your cake, Diaz," he says, mock-stern and all cheer. "Or Buckley'll be insufferable for the rest of the day."

"Hey!" Buck yelps, little-brother annoyed. Hen slides into the seat next to Eddie, nudges her plate against his.

"And besides," she says, grinning at him, warm and easy. "I don't blame Eddie-- this is some damn good cake, right?"

Eddie thinks about toothaches and heartaches. The sweetness that comes before, or perhaps in spite of, pain. He thinks about sitting in the dentist's office alone. He thinks about going to the dentist's with Chris, his little hands balling in Eddie's collar as he cries, how they had popsicles the next day anyways.

He looks around, and wonders how long they've known, in the casual, unthinking way love allows you to know someone. He looks at Buck, years of taste testing and aluminum trays and the scent of butter and sugar behind him, and wonders how long he's known. He's pretty sure it's been a long time.

He realizes, with chocolate on his tongue, that the thought doesn't frighten him at all.

eddie raises an eyebrow, even as he feels heat rushing up his neck, sleep melting away in the face of the familiar childlike urge to banter with his best friend in the whole wide world. "i remember that, buck." he says, in the fond staccato that he uses when buck is being particularly inconscient.

buck presses his fingers down, and eddie's voice faces into a hiss, body jerking a little, weak and wanting. "i mean, eddie," he says, pressing a kiss over the path of his finger tips, dragging warm and wet and loving over eddie's too-warm skin. "that i marked you up a lot here, and it kind of...it kind of looks like a heart."

eddie's face flops back into his pillow as he shakes with laughter, joy a kaleidoscope of butterflies spreading from his heart. what an idiot, how could eddie possibly love him more.

"i'm being serious!" buck's voice trembles with his own giggles, pressed like a promise against eddie's back. "see? look-- i'll just--"

eddie oomph's as buck flops over the entirety of his back, the sweaty, sticky span of his skin pressed unpleasantly over eddie's back. it is uncomfortable as hell. hell could break loose before eddie lets anybody pry buck away from his cold, dead hands.

little noises of concentration. shifts of muscle that makes different parts of eddie's body light up in futile interest, like a little kid way past their bedtime begging for one more story before sleep. buck makes a little cheer as he grabs something from his bedside, wiggling back into place where he's only a little stuck to eddie. disappointing.

he fiddles for a few more moments, and eddie doesn't bother to look at him, anticipating from the excited vibrations of his energy that sooner or later he'll--

"see?"

-- show eddie what he's doing.

eddie turns his head just enough to look at the phone buck is proudly brandishing in his face, squinting against the bright screen against the dim light of their bedroom. after a moment, his eyes adjust. his breath hitches audibly.

there, on the screen, is a picture of his back. it's a good picture, well-framed, properly centered, taken in the manner that pictures occur when the picture taker feels deep fondness for their subject. in it, eddie's back is stark against the dark navy of their sheets, draped in the soft afternoon light that has not quite been filtered through their curtains.

in those stripes of light, eddie can see the marks, violet and plum and mauve, a swatch-book of purples and reds and blues, each a variation on a theme: the sweet, oval rows of buck's teeth.

"oh."

"see?" buck beams at him like his best friend, instead of the man who carved love into eddie with his touch and evidently his teeth. eddie's pulse thuds, blood rushes through his body. he wonders, faintly, if buck can see the bite marks - his bite marks - flushing deeper as blood brings them closer to the surface. as it tries to seep through eddie's skin to find its way to buck.

"i don't...i didn't remember. all of that." he says.

buck's smile tilts a little smug. "you were a little out of it," he says, with the confidence of somebody who knows exactly how out of it eddie was. "but-- see? a heart!"

"it's kind of wonky," eddie says, just to have something to say, just to buy time as he resists the urge to reach back and press on each sacred mark. the urge to blurt out i wish you'd bitten deep enough to scar.

"are you calling my art wonky?" buck gasps. "are you calling my love wonky?"

"you're wonky, buckley."

buck sniffs, rolling over to put his phone back on the bedside table. eddie mourns a little at the loss of warmth, eyes tracking the shift of buck's muscle, the glimpse of the image on his phone: eddie's back, buck's teeth, preserved into pixel and memory.

when buck is done, he flops to his back, pouting in that specific way that makes eddie want to tease him until he breaks or soothe the pink swell of his lips with his thumb. either or.

"see if i ever bite any fun shapes onto you again," buck grumbles, all talk.

still, eddie's not taking the risk. buck makes a surprised huff as eddie swings a leg over his hips, tugging him in by his thick waist until he's close enough for eddie to tug himself over the bulk of his body. here, blanketing buck, nose to nose, their soft cocks smearing together in a way that makes both of them huff, a fission of possibility tempered by warm familiarity.

"don't you dare, buckley," he says, bringing a hand up to buck's jaw, pressing his thumb into buck's chin until his lips fall open, breath a line of warmth that eddie inhales. he reaches in with the tip of his fingers, tracing over smooth calcium, blunt, powerful edges.