Eddie will insist to his deathbed that he used to be a productive member of society, before Buck.
He's a single father! A war veteran! A first responder! He's good at basketball and boxing and fixing cars and can now make a pretty mean bowl of pasta. He's competent and organized and professional and--
-- about ten minutes from being late to his shift, if he doesn't get around to zipping his pants up in, oh, the next three minutes.
"Stop trying to sabotage my professional career," he says to the menace standing in the way of Eddie maintaining his very professional reputation.
Buck's dimple comes out as his smile tilts into something innocent, eyes batting sweetly as he tilts his head, revealing the long line of hickeys that Eddie left from his jaw to his collar last night. Goddammit, past Eddie, you should've known better than to give Buck that ammunition.
"I dunno what you're talking about," he says, sugar-sweet. "I'm just sitting here. All alone. All...ready."
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."
Eddie groans, thunks his head into the mattress, and smacks Buck's shoulder.
Yo good luck on your exam! You're gonna rock it 🍀for prompts imagine buddie with #7 at some ceremony or something
MWAH thank you!!!! the horrors have (perhaps temporarily) been vanquished, so now i can write smut lol.
7) finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (coat closet, empty office, secluded corner on the big balcony, hedge maze if we wanna get dramatic, etc)
"Fuck-- shut up-- I think I see-- shit--"
Buck giggles as Eddie pulls him lapel-first out of view of the balcony doors, his back hitting an awkward corner of the stone railing with the force of it. He ignores the bruise that's going to leave by next morning in favor of more important things, like dragging Eddie in to slot their mouths together again, the slide of their tongues turning messy and desperate so quick that it'd be embarrassing, if this were anyone else.
It's Eddie, though, so Buck just brings his teeth into it, bites at the chapped corners of his lips. Drags his mouth wet and sloppy to his jaw, the delicate tendon of his neck, the place at the juncture of ear and throat that makes Eddie moan out a breathy laugh.
"Who needs to shut up now," Buck bites into his neck, delighting in Eddie's giggly, turned-on little squirm. His fingers squeeze a little over the sides of Eddie's waist, tight beneath his dress shirt. Eddie shivers a little as his skin is revealed into the cool outdoor air, and Buck trembles against him, their bodies a perfect call and response. He presses lower, beneath the waistband of Eddie's pants, his - ha! - tighty-whiteys, grabbing at the swell of his ass just to hear him groan.
Eddie, in turn, pulls Buck's hair, drags his face down to Eddie's sternum, where Buck can suck another bruise. "We-- Buck-- we're outside-- anyone can--"
"Everyone else is inside," Buck makes his case, dancing teasing fingers over the front of Eddie's crotch, grinning into Eddie's (his) hickey as Eddie ruts a little towards the touch. "Listening to some boring speech--"
"I'm--" Eddie stutters as Buck drags his zipper down, reaches inside the front of his pants to palm the swell of his cock through his underwear. "I'm telling Chim you said that."
Buck pauses, making Eddie make an irritated, aroused noise of protest. "Okay, new rule. No bringing up my brother-in-law while I have my hand on your dick."
"Oh, is someone's hand on my dick? 'Cos I can't--" Buck sticks his hand down Eddie's underwear before he can be any more annoying, sticking his tongue out a little on a smirk at the too-high noise he makes.
Eddie's eyes flutter close as Buck wraps his hand around his dick, smoothing an affectionate thumb over the leaking tip like hello, hi, nice to be acquainted with you. Buck watches the shift of his expression with a swell of affection in his chest, delight bursting in little fireworks along his ventricles as Eddie's brows furrow in annoyance, his eyes opening a little just to glare at Buck.
"Why are you moving," he hisses, probably aiming for flat and landing somewhere in whiny instead. Buck uses his other hand to keep his hip in place when he tries to jerk forward, and Eddie makes a little protesting noise that he can't help but press his mouth to.
"Shut up, Eddie," he mocks against Eddie's lips, a simulacrum of Eddie's earlier tone. "What if someone sees? How could we?"
"You are such--" Eddie pulls at his hair again, a little harder, as if that's punishment at all. Buck makes a point of fluttering his eyes into it, ducking a little to look through his lashes at Eddie's irritated little expression. "A dick."
"I think I'm holding your dick, actually." Buck drags his hand over it in demonstration, and also just to startle Eddie into another moan. He stops again, and Eddie drops his head against Buck's shoulder, strands of his hair tickling Buck's neck above his collar.
Eddie rubs his face into Buck's neck, and Buck presses a little kiss to his forehead, so in love that it feels impossible not to give Eddie a handjob about it. But, counterpoint: Eddie lifts his head and pouts at Buck, and if he wanted Buck to ever stop teasing, he really shouldn't be rewarding him like this.
"Buck," he murmurs, breath warm across Buck's lips, cooling quickly, the dampness making Buck shiver, his heart leap into his throat, begging to jump ship into Eddie's wet mouth. "Please? Will you get on with it?"
He bites the last sentence onto Buck's lips, his other hand dragging down Buck's back, beneath his suit jacket, pressing at the thin fabric at the small of his pack until Buck is rutting a little into Eddie's warm stomach, the soft sliver of his stomach revealed by his rucked-up shirt.
Buck whines, laughs, and starts moving his hand again as Eddie moans in relief and ruts into Buck's grip, presses him harder against cool stone, the two of them breathless and grinning in the cool evening air.
Eddie has never flipped his phone over so fast. Chris looks up, eyebrows raised.
“Did Buck send you another snake picture?” he asks.
He can't say no, because Buck… Buck did. But not of a rattlesnake mid-strike this time. He sent an entirely different sort of snake. He nods, his throat too dry to speak.
They're nearly done with dinner, Chris pushing a few peas around on his plate like they'll disappear if he just believes hard enough. “Can I see?”
Eddie should've said it wasn't a snake. Of course his kid would want to take a look at whatever freaked him out.
His phone buzzes again.
Buck: I'M SO SORRY
Eddie: Send an actual snake
Eddie: Hurry
His phone vibrates. Buck's sent a picture.
Eddie blanches. It's awful. But he clicks it so Chris won't see any of the surrounding messages or accidentally scroll and flips his phone.
Chris takes it to study it. He zooms in. Tilts his head. Brings the phone up close to his face.
“Do you need new glasses?”
Chris ignores this. He consults his own phone.
Eddie stares desperately at his, because for the first time in his life, it's potentially a bomb. He's never gotten one of… one of those before. Once, in high school, Shannon joked about it, but then she'd peed on a stick, and that was the end of any fun of that sort.
The sound of Chris's phone ringing snaps Eddie out of his reverie. He flinches, which makes Chris laugh. Chris is holding his phone between them on speaker, waiting for Buck to pick up.
He does. Buck never disappoints. “H-hey, Chris.”
“You sent Dad the third result for scary rattlesnake on Google images,” Chris says, his tone deeply accusatory. Eddie is so fond of his kid.
He also takes the opportunity to steal his phone back and shove it in his pocket. Far, far away from a teenager who occasionally decides Eddie's privacy is worth less than nothing. The only reason he doesn't snoop more, Eddie is almost certain, is because he doesn't really care about what his boring old dad has going on.
“Y-yeah,” Buck agrees.
“You and I both know you can be more creative than that.”
“Oh, he's plenty creative.” Eddie stabs one of his own peas.
It's a mistake, because he's chewing when Buck says, “He’s only afraid of big snakes.”
eager eddie & masochist buck who loves being bitten :)
──── [¯◉°] ✮˚.⋆
The bruises mottle Buck’s skin, like paint splattered clumsily on a canvas. Except—the artist behind this, whoever they are, clearly went about it with intent and precision. A curator of hickeys; Buck’s pale thighs like the walls of a gallery. A thriving one, at that. It’s… a lot of marks.
Eddie wonders if it hurts. Well—he knows that part already, at least based on what Buck told him a few minutes ago. So instead, Eddie starts to wonder if it hurt. The procedure behind the photo; the act of being marked up so irrefutably.
Buck reacts to Eddie’s thumbs up message with a thumbs down.
Buck: I just accidentally sexted you dude
Don’t 👍👍👍👍 me
or: Eddie receives an unintended photo. Then he bites some thighs about it.
“How do people have sex when they have kids?” Buck continues, knowing he’s whining a little bit, but he’s pent up, and Theo came into his life without warning so he didn’t have time to mentally prepare for everything it would entail. Namely, what it would mean for Buck’s sex life.
Eddie’s face is kind of red, but he says, in that matter of fact way he always does, “Theo’s asleep right now.”
Tagged by the lovely @soupfic (and their hothotHOT snippet of the day), so here's some more of Buck's Personal Saw Trap™️:)
Buck can't say there's much he missed about his childhood, but her pot pie is one of the few things his mom can cook with Bobby-level quality. He's just about to ask her for the recipe when his father speaks up first.
"I really will miss your cooking, Margaret. You've outdone yourself tonight."
Buck's spoon scrapes against his near-empty bowl. Right. With all the worry about the reunion, Buck had forgotten his parents were doing the opposite. He thinks maybe Maddie did, too, judging by the way she freezes while ripping up more chicken for Nash.
"Oh, Phillip," Margaret sighs, not angry, just...sad.
The rest of the table finds great interest in the bottom of their bowls. But Buck's never been one to leave well enough alone. "S-So, um. When is...when's that happening? Officially?" Buck stutters out. He can't look at either of his parents when he asks. Across the table, Chris gives him a grim sort of look. At the same time, Eddie's knee bumps against his.
"Soon, I think," Margaret says quietly. "Once we can sell the RV, it will be easier for the lawyers to split our assets."
"Does the rest of the family know?" Maddie's ask is much less tentative, but Buck can hear the tremor in her voice.
"Not yet." Phillip answers. "We thought it might be better if we waited until after this week to break the news."
"Why?" The question leaves Buck's mouth before he can think better of it. "Sorry. It's just...does it really matter? When you've hardly heard from any of them since Daniel?"
Both of his parents flinch at the name, and Eddie's leg presses against his more insistently.
"Why would you think that, Evan?" Margaret's thin eyebrows crease together. "They're your fathers' family. Of course we hear from them. Usually just around birthdays and Christmases, but—"
"Oh," Buck swallows. "I didn't know."
The only family members Buck remembers seeing as a child come from two small branches. His grandparents came around every other Christmas until they died when he was eight. Then, all that was left was an aunt, uncle, and an older cousin that lived a few streets away. Aunt Barbara and Uncle Jimmy died a few years back, too, but he didn't make it to either funeral, due to the ladder truck bombing and Eddie's shooting, respectively. They weren't super close, but they were always polite enough to him.
Polite, but not familial.
"Yes, well." Margaret says, clearing her throat and the remnants of her bowl. "They kept their distance after..."
"Mom," Maddie accuses, devastated. Her voice and eyes are watery. None of Buck's born family can bear to look at him.
All at once, it clicks. "They wanted to hear from you, and not from me." Buck states, and knows it's a fact. "Right." He sniffs. "And they feel how, exactly, about me coming to this reunion thing?"
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