Oh You Know From The Wee-Woo Show

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.

Eddie likes Buck's house, really. He likes the sprawl of it, the way it gets sun in every corner, the strange nooks and idiosyncratic decor. It's Buck, which means that it almost feels like Eddie's. And one of the best things about Buck's new house is his backyard, big and bright and so Buck it hurts, a wood patio big enough to host the entire station, a hot tub that Chris brags to all of his classmates about, the scattered trees and carefully thought out garden.

And, of course, the backyard gym, which is both very Buck and also the bane of Eddie's existence.

One reason is Buck, of course, and his ever-present muscles. But the other is just-- LA, the sun overhead, and the fact that Buck apparently thinks it's totally acceptable to work out under the full glare of noon without an AC in sight.

Eddie wipes the back of his hand over his forehead as he does another rep, his thighs burning as he squats low to the ground and rises back up. He can feel a trickle of sweat run down his jaw, fat droplets that feel almost comical against his skin. Jesus, it's fucking hot out.

He catches a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turns just in time to see the tight coil of Buck's pecs, triceps, biceps as he pulls himself up the pull-up bar. He turns away quickly, blinking rapidly as another drop of sweat catches at the corner of his eye, stinging with salt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, don't look. Lock in and look away, Diaz.

Another squat, and another. Eddie feels a little like throwing up, which is good, because that reduces the chances of him popping a boner in the full light of god and Buck's backyard. He stops for a moment, blinking rapidly as he wipes at his damp neck futilely with the meat of his palm. After a few passes, he sighs and gives up, pulling the hem of his tank up instead to drag away the worst of the sweat.

The sound of a thump, a clatter. He looks around instinctively. Buck is walking towards him. Behind him, the pullup bar and its accompanying machine lies on the ground, tipped over.

"Shit," Eddie says. "Did you fall? Are you--"

His words stutter and cut into a sound that he's never heard from himself before, as Buck grabs him by the waist and licks a stripe up his neck.

"B-" his voice warbles as he tries to-- to do something, his brain can't quite remember how he's meant to react when something like this happens. Did he have a plan for if something like this happened? Lock in and look away, but he can't-- he's not--

"Buck--"

Buck's tongue is warm and wet and hot against his already feverish skin, dragging its way up his clavicle, the thin skin of his adam's apple, the salt and silt at the base of his earlobe. When he reaches his jaw, Eddie can feel Buck's lips pressing big and messy against the curve of it, the suction of his mouth startling him into an embarrassing moan.

"What--" Eddie's knees buckle slightly, the strain of the workout already weakening him, and Buck's thigh sliding to slot between his legs absolutely no help at all. He stumbles, quivers, falls backwards.

Buck's fingers tighten in his shirt, but it only slows his fall, drags them both into sun-warm grass and the smell of salt and dirt. Buck's teeth catches at his jaw as it slides off of Eddie's skin at the sudden movement, and Eddie makes a noise that he tells himself can't possibly be a whine.

For a moment, he blinks at the shadow above him, the halo behind Buck, lighting his curls, the blown-out pupils in his sky-cut eyes. Buck's breath is warm on his face, his tee dark at the collar and the pits. Eddie swallows.

"What the hell was that, Buck?" he croaks out, the words their usual banter but his voice nothing but gravel and desire. He sees his breath brush over Buck's lips, sees the flutter of his lashes as they hit.

"I just--" Buck swallows, eyes tracking over Eddie's face. "I need to-- fuck, I needed to--" his words come out stuttered, stumbling over themselves with desire. It makes Eddie want to-- it makes Eddie want. "Eddie, please, I need-- can I taste you?"

Eddie shudders, full-body, every nerve ending beneath his skin coming to attention in unison.

"Yes," he breathes out, like he's replying to a marriage proposal instead of-- this. Maybe it's not so different. "Fuck, Buck-- yes, yes, yes--"

Buck pounces, his mouth slaving over Eddie's skin like a dog, dragging up every drop of--

Fuck, Eddie's sweat. Eddie groans, a mutt in heat himself, realizing that Buck has wanted him all along, wanted him so long that he wants to drink the sweat off of Eddie's body, to lick up the salt from his skin and then suck a bruise in lieu of biting through Eddie's flesh and tasting his blood as well.

Except Buck has already tasted his blood, hasn't he? So maybe it doesn't matter after all. All of him is already of Buck, for Buck, has already been part of Buck for far longer than this sun-kissed day.

"Yes," he says again, moans it into the air as Buck rucks his tank up with his teeth, feeds it between Eddie's lips so he's tasting the damp saline of his own sweat, of Buck's dirt, so that he's revealing the slick-wet breadth of his chest and torso to Buck's hungry eyes and hungrier mouth. His next words are muffled on their way out, mindless. "Yes, Buck, keep going, yeah--"

He's thankful for Buck's tall fences as Buck drags his tongue down Eddie's body, lapping him up and dragging his teeth over every indent, every scar of Eddie's body. Buck doesn't speak, so wholly focused on Eddie's body that the only sounds coming out of him are moans of satisfaction, hums vibrating through Eddie's skin, noises so content that Eddie's brain goes blank about it.

He almost doesn't notice when Buck's teeth nudges at his waistband, not until he pauses. Eddie, breath heaving and hips trying to rut up futilely against Buck's thick biceps, blinks down at him, begging and frustrated at Buck's mouth not drinking Eddie down to the marrow.

"Eddie--" Buck pants into the tent in Eddie's gym shorts, the warm puffs of air too little and so good and-- "Eddie, Eddie, can I?"

And Eddie should care about the sun overhead, the noises that they're making -- too loud, too incriminating -- the fact that he still doesn't know, not really, what all of this means for them. But Buck's lips are brushing against his clothed cock, and every single braincell that Eddie is in possession of focuses on that over anything else.

He nods, the cloth of his tank still stuffing his mouth. He wishes that he could taste Buck's damp tee instead, that he was working his tongue over the dark stains at his pits, that he could feel how big Buck's shirt feels draped over his body.

But then Buck's teeth drags the waistband of his shorts down, groaning when he realizes that Eddie's wearing nothing underneath, and the heat of his mouth over the whole of Eddie's cock erases every thought in his mind but yes, yes, yes.

Buck sucks him off ruthlessly, taking him to the hilt and swallowing around him with a groan that makes Eddie whimper and twist at the blades of grass beneath his palms. A hand grabs his wrist, guides it to Buck's curls, and Eddie's fingers shake as they thread through Buck's damp curls, streaking dirt and grass stains into burnished gold as he moans and whines and is pinned to the dirt, sinking into the earth of Buck's backyard, his home. Eddie could be buried here, happily, have his flesh and bone decompose to become part of Buck, which is to say part of something beautiful.

He keeps muttering around the cotton in his mouth, salt and fabric-musk, words that he's grateful are muffled on their way out, because he's sure they would be humiliating otherwise. But maybe it's too late already, because what are a few words compared to the state he's in now, pinned by Buck's thick arms and whining into the open air as his best friend's throat clicks around the dripping ache of his dick?

The thought of it, of what they must look like right now, sends a jolt of need through him. He can't rut up, not with Buck's weight over his legs, but his fingers can go tight in his hair, making Buck groan around him, vibrating dirty and beautiful through every part of him. He sees one of Buck's hands move down under the waistband of his own sweats, feels his groan as it begins to move in a pattern that makes Eddie's mouth water, dampening the cotton hem in his mouth even more.

He wonders how he tastes, to Buck, the mixture of his sweat-damp pubic hair and precome and the dirt they've been rolling around in. He wants Buck to tell him. He wants to lick it out of Buck's mouth. Whatever it is, Buck must love it, because he's sucking Eddie off with the force of a man who's been starving for years, jerking into his own fist as he swallows his cock like he wants nothing more than to swallow all of Eddie. Eddie wants him to.

Buck's free fingers are pressed to the side of his waist, slipping with the slick wetness of their sweat combined, only becoming wetter under the hot LA sun. He digs his fingernails in, sharp pinpricks of pain that makes Eddie's head snap back, spilling into Buck's throat with a gasp and a keen as his shirt falls spitty and wet from his drooling mouth, dropping down to his chest.

Buck keeps him in his throat until he's shivering with oversensitivity, trying and unable to twitch away, whining as Buck only hums around his soft, wet cock. Eddie can see him stroke himself off quick and dirty until he groans into Eddie's groin, making Eddie gasp with pain and need as he ruts and jerks and shudders around his fingers and Eddie's cock.

Slowly, finally, Buck eases away, Eddie hiccuping a surprised, half-pained, half-aroused hiss as he kitten-licks Eddie's cock as he slides off, like he's making sure that he's licked clean every trace of Eddie from his skin. It's too much, there is no world where Eddie wouldn't beg for more.

After he's off Eddie's dick, Buck presses his warm, damp cheek against the divot between Eddie's crotch and hip for a moment, face flushed and eyes blown. Eddie watches him, fingers curling into his hair as he smears his face down Eddie's thigh in something like a nuzzle. He twitches as Buck presses one final kiss to the spent tip of Eddie's cock before slowly dragging his hand out of his sweatpants, dripping wet in a way that makes Eddie's hips twitch without his permission.

Buck's lips twitch as he catches it, just a little, and he brings his other hand down Eddie's thighs, using both his wet, dirty hands to grab the waistband of his shorts and dragging them back up.

Their breaths are loud in the open air as they keep lying there for one moment, two. Eddie's skin feels sticky, tacky at the places where Buck sucked a bruise into his skin. Eddie swallows, throat dry.

"You're heavy," he says, voice scattershot and scraping and, yes, maybe a little scared.

A puff of air over the skin between his torso and his waist, where Buck's face is smushed uncomfortable and too-warm over his skin. "It's way too hot for this."

"You jumped me." A moment of perfect stillness, and Eddie holds his breath. Slowly, bravely, he scrapes his fingers gently through Buck's curls.

Soft, shuddering breath. Sky-blue eyes. "I couldn't help it," Buck's face tilts up, and, oh, did he always look at Eddie like that? With perfect, simple adoration? "You were standing there all pretty and glistening with sweat, and-- I'm just a guy, Eddie!"

Eddie breathes out a laugh, can't help himself. "You licked me, you freak."

Buck laughs against his skin, a giggling, familiar sound. "Yeah I did," he grins. "You want me to do it again?"

The sun draws patterns on them, ties them together. Eddie doesn't have to be buried in Buck's backyard, he thinks. He doesn't have to look away. He can just be here, watching and watched, adoring and adored, instead.

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