There wasn't even a kiss, or at least not one that Eddie remembers. There might have been unintentional, light brush of lips once or twice perhaps. But that doesn't count, does it?
It started innocently enough. Just two friends playing Catan on a Tuesday night in an empty house. A carton of beer lying around. But neither were inebriated, no. Maybe a nice, light buzz was going around judging by the faint rouge on Buck's face. But nothing too overboard.
Buck wasn't even sitting that close to him, not by their usual standards. I mean, sure, they were both giant, gangly, men, over 6 ft tall, all limbs and no grace. But Eddie had made a point not to let their thighs touch. He had gone as far as subtly putting a throw pillow between them, almost as if he had a premonition of what he was going to start that night. As if he was naive enough to truly believe that a small pillow was a good enough barricade.
The thing about Catan is, Eddie had never really liked the game. It made him mean and petty. He would've preferred Monopoly over this. He blames the game. He blames Buck for riling him up with his nasty expansion strategies and for hoarding all the sheep and ore. He blames the beer he had barely finished half a bottle of. It was painfully evident that there was no way Eddie was going to win. Eddie had felt the annoyance pooling in his stomach in real time. Buck's gloating topped with a shit eating grin were not helping.
It happened in slow motion. Before he could stop himself, Eddie's hands had flipped the game board over. He watched with growing satisfaction as the game pieces went flying. In the wake of the ruin he had just left, Eddie turned his attention to his best friend's face next. His pupils had blown wide, eyebrows scrunched in the most pitiful expression of hurt and confusion. The liquid blues should have made Eddie stop on his tracks, but they ended up provoking him further. He was too far gone, a man drunk on rage, excitement, vexation and want, a poisonous cocktail.
Eddie's jaws flexed. He watched Buck sit with his mouth half open in exasperation, clutching his cards for dear life. He looked so vulnerable, so open. Eddie gritted his teeth as Buck moved his eyes from the table to his face, shooting daggers. Eddie lurched to grab the cards from Buck's hands, hoping the element of surprise to work in his favour. But to his utter dismay, Buck had a death grip going on. Pushing and pulling ensued, neither of the men willing to let go. Eddie felt himself going insane as he swung his leg on top of Buck's torso, straddling him. The small pillow crushed into oblivion under their combined weight. Buck sank further into the couch, giving Eddie the leverage to pin him on the spot.
For one charged moment, time stood still.
Neither made a move, neither dared to break eye contact. The room went silent except for the panting of short breaths. They kept glaring at each other. It was an innocent hangout between two friends except now Eddie was mounted on top of Buck and they were neither retreating, nor did they have the balls to do something about it.
If Eddie absolutely has to point out the moment when any line he might have drawn went to shit, it will be the one that came right after.
Eddie saw the anger slip away from Buck's face. What surfaced in its place instead was something so impossibly soft and malleable that Eddie felt his stomach drop. Buck was pleading with his stupidly blue eyes. He was pleading and it was the matchstick that the gasoline inside Eddie was missing. Before he could stop himself, Eddie let go of his grip on Buck's wrists. His hand slipped inside Buck's hoodie, scrunching it up higher and higher till they found his tits. His knee lodged itself between Buck's thighs in one effortless motion, as if he had done this many times over. A soft yelp escaped Buck's mouth as Eddie's dug into his tits, fingers and nails and all. His hips rolled into Buck's body, chasing friction, as Buck clutched his hair with the desperation of a drowning man grabbing forf life support. His other hand found its way to the exposed skin of Buck's stomach, clutching the soft meat so rough that it must have hurt. It was going to leave a mark and it did not matter that Eddie had lost the game. Buck grunted as he arched forward shamelessy, begging Eddie to do something about it. And who is Eddie to deny Buck Buckley anything? Eddie's hands frantically slip downward from where it was grabbing Buck's stomach, tracing the vertical lines of his abdominal hair. His eyes were searching for Buck's permission. Eddie felt Buck shiver under him as his hands toed the elastic of his boxers, his other hand manhalding Buck by his armpits to pin him into place.
Eddie's hand slipped inside the boxers as his lips brush against Buck's, soaking in the warmth of his breath. A soft moan broke out of Buck's throat as Eddie bit his lower lip with enough force to draw blood. It wasn't a kiss, it didn't count to Eddie. Buck traced the hand Eddie had slipped inside his boxers and clutched Eddie's wrist to a halt. They froze and locked eyes.
"Eddie, what are you doing?" Buck whispered, the words hissing out drenched with exasperation and need, and perhaps a little bit of shame.
"What am I doing, Buck"? Eddie leaned in to softly growl into Buck's ears, acutely aware of Buck liquifying under his warmth. He felt uncouth and he didn't care. Eddie smiled as Buck groaned in response, throwing his head back in surrender and abandon. It was an innocent evening between Buck and Eddie, with beers and boardgames. An innocent evening when Buck was disarmingly pink and sinfully beautiful, and so bashful for him and him alone.
And if you ask Eddie today, he will look away with the unreadable expression of someone remembering a night of abandon and filth. And he will softly tell you that maybe he doesn't mind a game of Catan too much anymore.
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