#buckthena

buck/athena grief sex | 6.8k | rated e

Buck comes over more often after that. More formally, though: dinner and wine. He quickly realizes he’s the only person from the 118 she’s spending time with. When Hen complains about Athena refusing to come to dinner, Buck bites his tongue. When Chimney says Athena shut the door in his face before he could even say a word, Buck says nothing. When the first Bachelor Monday rolls around and Buck realizes he’s seeing Athena more than her kids are, he feels a pang of guilt, but he still stays quiet. A sick, greedy sort of honor settles low in his stomach about being chosen. He’s not going to do anything that could fuck it up.  He needs to see her. She reminds him of Bobby. She was so much of Bobby’s life, his joy. This is who Bobby came home to after every shift. This is the life that Bobby built for himself out of nothing, out of ashes. Buck doesn’t deserve to slot into it, but cooking in Athena’s kitchen—seeing the look that comes into her eyes when he wears Bobby’s apron—is slowly starting to heal something inside of him. He can’t be Bobby, but he can slip his feet into Bobby’s too-big shoes and walk around a little if it will make Athena smile.

read on ao3

tags below the cut

Hi, hello, I am very curious as to who is eating who out 👀

it's buckathena grief sex 👀

hehehe here's another little snippet

It doesn't happen the next time they see each other, but it does happen again. It happens again and again, and soon it starts happening every time he goes to her house. They still have dinner, but sometimes they fuck while their food simmers; Athena held tight in Buck’s arms, legs wrapped around his hips as he fucks her fast and hot against the smooth marble countertop. Sometimes he’s allowed to take off Bobby’s apron, but usually it’s left to hang between their bodies, like it could cover what they’re doing. Buck doesn’t mind. It’s the only time Athena keeps her eyes open. 

They don’t talk about it. They should, probably. Definitely. If Bobby were here—and if he could get over the shock of Buck fucking his wife—he’d tell Buck that they need to talk about what they’re doing and why, and all of the things that they’re avoiding by falling into bed with each other. 

But they don’t talk about it. And Buck doesn’t talk about it with anyone else either. 

They ask about her, they wonder about her, they lament her avoiding them, and still Buck stays silent. If he couldn’t tell them he was seeing her before, he certainly can’t now. 

“I'm taking care of her,” he wants to tell everyone.