eternity || epilogue

At the last word, he shifts slightly, and the blankets around his waist follow his movements like well-trained backup dancers. It pools lower, revealing the jut between the soft swell of his stomach and the thick firmness of his hip, the dark hair at his pelvis like a siren song.

"Buck," Eddie says. It's supposed to sound stern, but he's pretty sure that the croak in his word makes him sound more like a man dying of thirst. Saliva pools around his tongue. He swallows. The sound makes Buck's grin inch a little bigger.

Big, like--

Eddie shakes his head. "I have a shift," he says, a plea more for any gods that might be listening than himself or the man in his bed.

Buck scoffs slightly. "It's the 133," he says. "What are you gonna miss, a cat in a tree?"

It's an absurd argument, not in the least because Buck is even more obsessed with work than Eddie is, and treats cats in trees with a sort of solemn gravity that Eddie has always found deeply charming. Apparently, the only thing Buck finds more important than the sacred responsibility of saving small animals from tall structures is tempting Eddie into hell.

Any retort Eddie might have, though, is cut off by Buck lifting himself off the mattress, shifting on his knees as the blankets fall uselessly around his pale skin, the golden hair on his legs, the thick curve of his cock falling against his thigh. He moves towards Eddie. Eddie, despite not being particularly close to Buck, takes a step back.

"Eddie." Buck grins, cheesy and absurdly handsome.

Eddie has the absurd urge to say something like get back, harlot, like he's a man in an old-timey noir being seduced by a femme fatale. Instead, he makes a noise that is not a whine at the back of his throat, eyes desperately trying to stay above Buck's waistline. It doesn't work particularly well.

"Eddie," Buck repeats, a long line of gold and muscle, shifting forward on their plain cotton sheets that look like they're made of silk when they're shifting beneath the muscles of his knees, calves, feet.

He's so fucking beautiful, and Eddie loves him so much, is the thing. So maybe he doesn't protest quite as much as he should when Buck reaches him with those long, long arms and drags him stumbling onto their mattress.

Buck giggles as he falls backwards onto the bed, Eddie scrambling to brace himself on his forearms over him. Buck swings a long, muscular leg around Eddie's waist, bringing his cock so close to Eddie's unzipped crotch. Eddie's eyes flutter down, then back to Buck's infuriating, smiling face.

"Baby," Eddie moans, as Buck reaches into his underwear to pull his dick out the front of his pants, fingers calloused and warm and just tight enough. It's on this side of too dry, but still so good because it's Buck, and Eddie has never felt anything less than wild for Buck.

"Yeah, there we go," Buck's voice hums, aroused and sweetly smug. He guides Eddie's cock between his thighs, until it's sliding against Buck's leaking dick with a slide that goes slick and mind-numbing immediately. "C'mon, just-- yes, just like that--"

Eddie makes an embarrassing, breathy noise as his hips stutter alongside Buck's, Buck's leg on his back guiding them in a rhythm that feels too indulgently slow for the rush of the morning. He tries to speed up, a little, but Buck winds his other leg around Eddie's ankle and presses down, making Eddie whine in protest as they move like they have the day ahead of them instead of minutes.

But Eddie doesn't care about that, anymore. Eddie can only care about the soft skin of Buck's neck as he presses his mouth to a bruise there, the sound of Buck's delighted moan. It's a genuine tragedy, Eddie thinks, that he can't feel the rasp of Buck's leg hair or the softest bits of his skin or the taut muscle forcing Eddie into indulgence, into joy, into a sticky-sweet slide of skin that renders his mind into something simple and fuzzy and warm. Something that is not Eddie's neatly-tucked edges but is all Buck, all Buck's, instead.

"Fuck, Buck--" Eddie's movements stutter, pleasure building and cresting like dawn light through their curtains in the earliest moments of their day, a sliver, a thread, then brilliant light. "I'm-- I'm--"

"Yeah," Buck slurs, curling a hand into Eddie's hair, his lips warm as they press into Eddie's cheek. "Give it to me, sweetheart. Let me have this."

And Eddie does, spilling over Buck's stomach, Buck joining him with a laugh and a groan, hips still moving alongside each other like they can't quite bear to stop.

A moment. Two. Buck breathes heavily against Eddie's neck.

"Wow," he says. "I can't believe you're gonna be late for your shift with the 133. How unprofessional of you."