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When Eddie's front door swings open, Buck is standing on the doorstep in a familiar outfit. There's the pair of basketball shorts that Eddie's seen him in almost every week, the ones he wears around the house and during runs to the grocery store. There's the hoodie that might have been Eddie's at one point, or maybe it was Buck's, and then Eddie stole it, and Buck eventually stole it back, but the provenance isn't the point; the point is that it's faded by years of washes and wear but still remains soft and warm. It's a familiar outfit, but nothing else about Buck is. His eyes are wide and the pupils blown. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin. And then there are his hands. They're soaked with blood.
"Eddie. I did something bad."
It isn't a grand revelation to Eddie, the knowledge that Buck will do anything for him.
It's been showing up in bigger and bigger ways since the day Eddie met him.
First, it was Buck driving Eddie to Christopher's school after the earthquake so Eddie wouldn't have to wait a moment more before seeing his son. Buck still offers to drive Eddie wherever he needs to go, whether Eddie wants to drive or not. More often than not, Eddie will let Buck take the wheel, no matter what car they're taking or if it's convenient, purely because Buck looks so happy to be helping. That first year of their friendship, though, Buck had been so hesitant to offer, despite his clear eagerness, as though he would be overstepping just by offering Eddie a ride. Now, Eddie doesn't think there's anything Buck could do that would be too much.
Buck had found Carla for Eddie, and then he'd become one of Christopher's favorite babysitters just for good measure. He had protected Chris during the tsunami, and he'd been the only name Eddie could think of when it came time to update his will. Buck had helped with Eddie's physio after the shooting, and he wouldn't let Eddie keep leading Ana on. After Eddie's PTSD flared up, Buck had done all the small, annoying chores that never seemed to end, and even after Eddie was back to 'normal', Buck carried on doing things around the house. He will always wash dishes even if he's cooking, and he'll mow the lawn straight after a 48.
It was when Buck took over Eddie's lease that Eddie realized just how far Buck was willing to go, and all Eddie wanted to know was if there was a limit.
In Texas, Eddie asks Buck for stupid, inconsequential things, just to see how fast he'll agree. There's a crockpot delivered to Eddie's doorstep the morning after Eddie mentions wanting one, and when Eddie sends Buck an Instagram post about the 'kits' Uber drivers have in their cars, with refreshments and hand sanitizer, Buck makes sure that Eddie has all of the supplies he needs. He mentions being thirsty, but too tired to go out, and then there's a delivery driver at Eddie's door, already heavily tipped. Every time Buck sends Eddie something, Eddie makes sure to send Buck a picture of him enjoying it, along with a message thanking Buck for taking care of him.
Eddie becomes addicted to it, even as a crackling, unavoidable tension builds between him and Buck, because while Buck has always given Eddie whatever he needs, Eddie has rarely asked for that help to be given, and certainly never this frequently. Eddie's asking and Buck's answering brings something to the surface, which is further tempered by grief.
When they were arguing in Eddie's—or was it Buck's now?—kitchen, Eddie was struck with the sudden impulse to ask Buck to do something insane, like force Eddie onto his knees so he could be made to repent. Eddie wanted a physical outlet; he wanted a channel for this sick sensation that's camped out under his skin, a miasma of guilt, fear, and anger. He wanted an exorcism.
He wanted to stop thinking about Bobby and what could've been. He wanted to go back to who he was before he was aware of Buck's devotion, and his own reaction to it. So much has irreversibly changed, and Eddie is drowning.
"I want—" Eddie couldn't finish the sentence, but he needed everything to pause, just for a moment, so badly.
"Tell me, Eddie. Tell me what will help."
"I want to stop feeling like this."
Buck, of course, gives him that.
Sometimes Eddie thinks he imagined it, what happened next. He can't remember exactly which counter Buck pushed him against, only the feel of it beneath Eddie's hands. The moment of Buck sinking to his knees and unzipping Eddie's pants, they're all crystal clear in his head, but the words Eddie said, and the answer Buck gave, are both lost to the haze. He remembers the warm, hot suction and the totality of sensation Buck's mouth provided. Buck's short, soft hair beneath his fingers—that's another thing Eddie can't forget, the same way Buck's eyes, wide enough for Eddie to see the bottomless pit of everything he had to give, are burned into him.
Eddie has never been this totally wanted or trusted. He's never had someone want to make him happy with this much focus and total devotion.
It had all been too perfect, too outside anything Eddie would choose for himself, that the moment had to be created out of thin air, ephemeral and intangible.
They both had crashed back to solid ground after Eddie came—an explosive release that had been building for months—and Buck swallowed the evidence. Eddie had come back to himself and scrambled in vain for the right etiquette and the right words, but Buck didn't need it. Buck stood, winced almost imperceptibly, and turned away from Eddie.
"All that arguing over the groceries, and they'll probably go bad if we don't put them away soon," Buck had said. Or something along those lines. "We should get started on dinner, right?"
They both ignored the tent at the front of Buck's jeans, and Eddie knows now they both enjoyed that denial for different reasons.
"What happened?"
Buck is breathing heavily, as though he ran all the way here from God knows where. Maybe he did. Maybe the animalistic scene Buck is making extends further than Eddie's doorstep, and Buck knew to run back to his owner's home, like the good dog he is. Eddie pulls Buck inside and makes sure all of the curtains and blinds are shut. Buck keeps looking at his hands; wherever he is right now, it's not here with Eddie, but that isn't going to work. He reaches for Buck and holds his chin, tilting his face so Buck will look at him.
"Focus, Buck. What happened? Whose blood is that?"
Buck blinks a few times in rapid succession. He looks so pretty like this, with his skin flushed from exertion and his mouth hanging open.
"I killed him," Buck says softly, but he's steadier now. His body is calming beneath Eddie's fingertips. "I thought m-maybe that's what you wanted. But there was so much blood. I messed him up, Eddie. It was bad."
It's the exact confession Eddie was hoping for from the moment he saw the blood on Buck's hands. He's been hoping for it for longer, if he's being honest. Eddie has been waiting for this moment to come all week. Buck will do anything for Eddie, and he always knew there weren't any stipulations or qualifications to that statement; now the proof is staining Buck's skin.
"You didn't do anything bad. You were perfect. You are perfect. You did so well, Buck."
"I did?" Buck looks at him with his big, baby blue eyes, and there's a flicker of hope cutting through the panic. Eddie rubs his thumb against Buck's jaw where he's still holding him.
"You did," Eddie says, and he can feel himself grinning. He knows what it is to be left punch-drunk from a blow, and the weight of this moment hits him with the same force as any right hook. "You're so smart. I didn't even have to tell you, did I? You knew it would make me happy, and you did it."
"You're happy." It's a statement. Buck closes his bloody hand around Eddie's wrist—another statement.
"I am," Eddie agrees. It's bubbling up inside of him, a delirious swell rising and corrupting, overtaking any lingering rationality.
The hand that is clamped around Eddie's wrist twists and softens until Buck lays his hand on top of Eddie's and both of them are cradling Buck's face. Their fingers twine and the blood spreads between them; Buck moves the tangle to his chest and holds Eddie's face in turn. It's not the first time Eddie has had blood on his face, but it's the first time it's been put there with such tender deliberateness. Buck's hand spans most of Eddie's jaw, and he can only imagine what it looks like, how horrifying. It only gets worse when Buck presses his thumb to Eddie's lips and smears more of the sticky residue there.
Despite the trappings of violence, the moment is hushed and peaceful, and that is never more apparent than when Buck finally leans in and kisses him. Everything outside of them pauses and holds its breath, as Buck kisses Eddie, feather-light and devoted.
They haven't kissed before, and now that first kiss will forever be tinged with the taste of copper.
Buck will give Eddie anything he wants, but sometimes he's confused about what exactly that entails. Eddie doesn't blame him, not entirely, not when Eddie can't get his head in line long enough to figure out what he wants either. Still, Eddie thought Buck would've known by now that he didn't want to hook up with random women on a random night out, nor did he want to date any of them. Eddie is bad at dating; they've established that more than enough times, and it's not worth the trouble in Eddie's opinion. He's not missing out on anything he needs.
Even when Buck tried to give Eddie what he thought Eddie wanted, he always gave Eddie what he needed. Eddie didn't leave the club with anyone's number; he didn't even talk to anyone other than the bartender and his friends, but he still went home with someone. He went to Buck's new place and told Buck he had never been skinny-dipping. Buck fingered Eddie in the hot tub, and as usual, only Eddie came.
Eddie didn't tell Buck about the trouble with Abigail to begin with. Not all of it, anyway. Eddie needed to figure out what exactly was going on before he set Buck loose on the issue, with his eager and well-intentioned help. As soon as Christopher was involved, he told Buck, for reassurance more than anything else, because Eddie thought he had it handled. He did have it handled. Eddie enlisted Athena's help and kept looking out for Abigail even when it looked like she was the stalker, and his gut wasn't wrong. It didn't even matter that Eddie ended up in the hospital with a black eye and a near miss with a knife, because Abigail's dad was behind bars, and Buck was fussing over Eddie, which always left him hot and pleasantly embarrassed.
Then Athena called Eddie and told him, in her professional voice, that the man had been released on bail. Apparently being an upstanding member of the religious community was more important than Abigail's fear and trauma, and the marks on Eddie's body. There was a protective order in place for both Abigail and Eddie, but they both knew how little that piece of paper would matter if that man decided to come for one or both of them, and Eddie knew he would. As long as he was out there, he was a threat. Abigail had been failed by the justice system twice now. How often did they see it on calls? Women who had called the police over and over about their dirtbag husbands and boyfriends, and the police who couldn't do anything unless the dirtbags strike first. How many people don't survive that first strike? Even when the cops act, it's meaningless. Look at Maddie and the destruction Doug left in his wake.
Abigail's hard-won safety and potential new life were in jeopardy once again.
Buck had been his usual, light self in the hospital, making jokes about the auction and playing to the crowd, but he had been so angry later on, when it was just the two of them, and Buck had spread Eddie out on his bed to check every inch of Eddie's body. He had needed to make sure Eddie wasn't hiding any further wounds, Buck had explained. His touch had been harsher than Eddie was used to, skirting the edge of bruising, and Eddie liked how insistent and focused Buck was like this. He had undressed Eddie, twisting and turning him, all the while rage simmered in his eyes. That fire couldn't go anywhere in that moment, Eddie knew, but it would still be under Buck's skin, waiting to be directed.
Buck will do anything for Eddie, and Eddie knows it.
Eddie moves them to the bathroom after that first kiss ends, pulling Buck back in for the second, third, and fourth along the way.
"Let's get you clean," Eddie whispers, and he tugs on the hem of the hoodie. It really is soft to the touch; Eddie will be sad when they have to burn it. He wants to keep it close to his skin, blood stains and all, but it would be stupid to take such a risk for the sake of sentimentality. They pull each other's clothes off one by one until there's a single, mingled pile between them. They might have to burn all of their clothes just to be sure.
There are some marks on Buck's stomach and chest, just beginning to bloom into purple. Eddie runs his fingers across them.
"He tried to put up a fight," Buck says. The bathroom has the quiet air of a confessional booth, but Buck doesn't look like he wants to be absolved. He's standing tall, preening under Eddie's touch.
"He's not a smart guy, is he?"
Buck's answering smile is pleased and sharp.
In the shower, Eddie begins to wash the blood off of Buck's hands, and the same feeling he'd had when considering burning the hoodie hits him. Part of him wants to keep this sight and hoard it, because the stark red is so pretty against Buck's skin, but he needs to let it all drain away. Eddie doesn't want a thing between them. That man has no place in this house, especially not in their bed.
(Maybe another day, if the situation arises, he'll see Buck's hands all pretty like that again.)
Buck kisses him everywhere he can reach as he cleans Eddie's body in turn, making sure that every nook and cranny is cleaned and kissed. His touch is reverent, which isn't unusual; whenever they've been together before, Eddie has thought that for Buck it was closer to worship. He has always focused solely on Eddie and what he can give. Now, the reverence remains, but Eddie can pick out the differences and feel where Buck is taking things for himself. It's in the way Buck's thumbs press into the divots at the base of Eddie's spine and Buck's dick slips across Eddie's wet skin. It happens when Buck presses his nose into Eddie's pits and mouths at the hairy skin before washing them slowly. Buck sinking to his knees is familiar, but the way he makes Eddie face the wall isn't.
"Buck, what are you—"
"Been wanting to do this for ages," Buck says, and he squeezes Eddie's ass. Again, it's familiar, but then Buck spreads the cheeks and licks a long stripe along his flesh.
"Fuck. Oh my god."
Eddie can feel Buck smiling against him, and then he's right back at it, teasing at Eddie's rim with his tongue. It's wet and warm, and Eddie wants to squirm away from the too-intense sensation, but Buck is holding him firm as he slurps and sucks. When his tongue is aimed into a point and pushes against the muscle and bullies its way inside of Eddie, it's almost too much. His legs are weak, and he's trapped. Then one of Buck's fingers joins his tongue, and it burns as he works it inside as well; all he has for lube is spit and the warm water running down his back, but Buck knows that Eddie likes it when it hurts.
He has no clue how long Buck spends down on his knees, eating Eddie out and slowly working him open, but Eddie's is turning prune-like, and the shower gurgles its warning.
"Buck," Eddie says, and he's breathless. "Take me to bed."
"She reminds me of myself," Eddie had said, a couple of days after that call from Athena. He'd had time to dwell on the problem, and then, on a quiet night after a long shift, he had decided to test the waters.
They were on the couch in Buck's place, because for the first time since Eddie had known him, Buck owned a distractingly comfortable couch. Eddie had napped on it half a dozen times already, and he could easily spend a weekend lazily lounging on it, especially if all nights were like that night. He had his head on Buck's lap, with the rest of his body sprawled carelessly. Buck had stroked his hair idly.
"Her family and her church," Eddie continued. "The pressure they put on her. I couldn't run away from that pressure like she did."
"You don't need to run now, though."
"Only because I've worked at building my life. It's still not easy."
Buck's hands were so soothing and so gentle, but only because he chose to be. "I know."
He understands Eddie so completely that sometimes Eddie thinks the only way they could know each other better would be to dissect one another, crack open their ribcages and trace the lines of their nerves and veins with calloused fingertips.
"As long as he's still breathing, Abigail isn't safe," Eddie said evenly. The hand in his hair stilled.
"Athena will—"
"Athena isn't everywhere, Buck. Don't you remember? He wanted to gut me." Eddie sat up and broke the peaceful illusion. "What will happen next time if she's not as fast? Or if another cop fumbles the call?"
"I'll protect you," Buck said, and at its core it really was that simple. If Eddie wanted Buck's protection, he had it. If he didn't, he had it anyway. Buck hadn't quite got it yet, was the thing. It wasn't about protecting Eddie.
He moved across the couch and climbed into Buck's lap, where Buck's hands had adhered to their muscle memory and settled on Eddie's waist.
"I know you'll protect me." Eddie shifted his weight, softly enough that Buck could've mistaken the movement as Eddie getting settled. Still, Buck's hold had tightened. "But I want to protect Abigail too."
"Eddie, I don't know—"
He cut Buck off by moving his hips in a slow, grinding circle.
"There's probably nothing I can do, right? I'm too entangled." Buck was hard beneath Eddie, but that didn't matter; Buck never came. He only wanted to take care of Eddie. "I'd hope for divine intervention instead, but I don't know what I believe in these days. Even if I did believe in God, it's not like He is reliable. I need something reliable."
Eddie ground down harder, and Buck groaned, breathing out Eddie's name. It sounded like a prayer.
"Anyway," Eddie said lightly. A seed had been planted, and the risk and enormity of the act gave Eddie a reckless, heady thrill, especially when he looked down at Buck and saw the hungry, flat look in his eyes. Eddie understood Buck and Buck understood Eddie. That look told Eddie everything he needed to know. "There's definitely nothing I can do tonight. How about you distract me instead?"
Buck will do anything for him, but Eddie will do anything for Buck in return. He will give everything—his soul, his body, his sanity.
"Let go, Buck. Come on. I want whatever it is you have to give." Eddie bites Buck's bottom lip and pulls him down onto the bed. Their skin is still damp from the shower, but they'll need to change the sheets anyway. Maybe they should be burned too, just to be sure. "I want you to use me."
Along with kissing, this is something they've never done before. Eddie has been fingered, blown, and now rimmed by his best friend, but not this. This is something else. Eddie's never been fucked by anyone. It's a final boundary, and Eddie is so ready to cross it.
"You want that?" Buck reaches over to the bedside table where he knows Eddie's lube lives. Well, it's the lube that Buck bought and then left at Eddie's house. "I guess it's only fair. You owe me."
Eddie nods and watches with wide, hungry eyes as Buck drizzles lube on his blunt fingertips. "You've been so good to me," Eddie agrees.
"I've been taking care of you."
Buck pushes two fingers inside, and Eddie cries out, canting his hips away from the intrusion instinctively before the other, truer instinct wins out, and he presses back down, forcing Buck's fingers deeper. In the shower, Buck's tongue had begun to loosen him up, but still, two of Buck's fingers at once is a stretch that ricochets up Eddie's spine. When the sensation evens out, and Eddie can focus again, he notices Buck's eyes fixed on the spot where his fingers are disappearing into Eddie. He understands the fascination, but he wonders if Buck is thinking the same thing.
Those fingers took a life. Those fingers were soaked with another man's blood. Those fingers are inside of Eddie. They're rough, and they're not focused on teasing Eddie's prostate the way they usually are when Buck is fingering him. This time it isn't about Eddie's pleasure; it's about getting him ready so Buck can slide inside easily. Eddie almost wishes he wouldn't bother. He wants Buck to take him anyway, just push inside and stop worrying so much about Eddie's comfort. Eddie knows he can take it either way.
Buck, at least, doesn't seem interested in dragging this part out.
As soon as he deems Eddie ready enough, he pulls his fingers out and flips Eddie over. With quick, steady movements, Buck pushes apart Eddie's legs and presses the tip of his cock to Eddie's hole. He takes a moment to spread precome against his skin, pushing just hard enough that he begins to press inside, and then pulling back. Eddie claws at the sheets in frustration, but he told Buck to do what he wants, and apparently what he wants is to be a Goddamn tease.
"It's such a pretty hole," Buck says, and this time he gets about an inch of his cock inside of Eddie before he pulls out. Eddie howls. "I've been worshiping it, you know? But I didn't realize how stunning it would be like this. Sucking me in."
Buck must be so pent up. All those times Eddie came, and Buck didn't, it all will have added up, bit by bit, into a maddening backlog. Eddie isn't under any illusions that Buck has been celibate these last few months, but he knows this is different; coming inside a stranger, a random man or woman from the club or dating apps, won't be the same as doing it with Eddie. Maybe Buck would've been celibate if Eddie had asked, saving it all up for him until he was fit to bursting, even more desperate and animalistic than he is now. Maybe next time. After tonight there will be no one else for either of them.
Finally, Buck's control snaps. No man can tease forever. He rolls his hips and pushes inside of Eddie all the way. Buck's hands are tight on Eddie's hips, and he holds him in place, giving Eddie no leeway and no possibility to move forward or back. Eddie just has to squirm and take it as Buck's cock keeps coming and coming.
"Jesus," Eddie gasps as soon as Buck is fully seated.
"I'll take it. Jesus, God, Buck, it's all the same."
"Fuck off."
"How about I fuck you?" Buck thrusts forward hard, and Eddie cries out in response.
"Buck, please."
"I'll give it to you, baby. Don't worry, but we're on my schedule now, right? You'll get what you need, but I'm calling the shots."
It is what Eddie has been wanting this entire time. As much as he has adored how Buck threw himself to his knees to service Eddie over and over again, Eddie has been needing this as well: the roughness, the force, the sheer focus of Buck going after what he wants. Buck is claiming Eddie, slamming into him over and over again with the full force of his powerful body, and he pushes Eddie's face down into the pillows for good measure.
"Fucking idiot," Buck starts, an arousal-triggered slur to his words. "He thought he could hurt you. He thought you could touch you," he hisses. "How could he have been so stupid?"
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Eddie can barely breathe; Buck is so heavy. He's going to become fused with the mattress.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Buck's heavy balls keep hitting his ass, reminding Eddie exactly what is happening here. He's getting railed within an inch of his life, being split open on his best friend's cock. A hand on his spine keeping him pinned, keeping him grounded to the earth. Eddie feels Buck push deeper than he thought possible.
"I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?" Buck says. "If you want me to kill another one, I'll do it. Anyone you need. I'll destroy myself for you, Eddie. I'll destroy everyone if it makes you smile."
Eddie wants to return the sentiment, to tell Buck that they can destroy themselves together, that it's all he wants: him and Buck, side by side, but under this pace the words keep slipping away from him. All he can do is moan like the slut he is and tell Buck with his body.
"I love you, Eddie, never loved anyone the way I love you. I think I was made for you."
Eddie can't form sentences, but tears spill free instead. "Buck," he whispers. It's all he can manage. It's the only word that matters. He desperately wants to see Buck's face, but he can't quite form the request, just repeating Buck's name over and over again. But Buck is right; he was made for Eddie and knows exactly what Eddie needs.
Buck moves quickly. He pulls out and rearranges their bodies, placing Eddie on his back and encouraging Eddie to wrap his legs around Buck's waist. This time when he enters Eddie, it's slower and sweeter; the kiss he gives Eddie is the perfect proof. Buck is just as deep inside of Eddie, but the slow, thorough thrusts allow Eddie the space to surface from the fog.
"What did it look like?" He holds Buck's face and worries at his jaw, and then his bottom lip. The question is soft and spoken between gasps. Eddie is as desperate for the knowledge as he is for this feeling.
"He didn't remember me. He had no clue what was happening."
"People always underestimate you." Not Eddie, never Eddie.
"There was so much blood. It was warm." They both know the feel of blood intimately. Buck has felt Eddie's lifeblood between his fingers, and they've been covered in their fair share on the job. What Buck is describing is different. This was something he caused. It was something he did for Eddie. It was the last warmth that man had.
"You're such a good boy for me," Eddie tells him, and then he pulls Buck down into another kiss. This time he bites Buck's lip hard enough that it splits, turning the kiss instantly bloody. He feels it wet his face, marking him too. Eddie pulls back to admire Buck's pale skin, split once again by a slash of red. "Good boy and a pretty boy."
Buck grins, and blood stains his teeth and coats his chin. He looks feral.
The blood flow has begun to slow, so Buck worries at the cut with his canine until it's bleeding properly, then he pushes his thumb past Eddie's lips and forces his jaw to open wide. When Buck spits into Eddie's waiting mouth, his saliva is tinged red. Eddie feels it slide down his throat, and he clenches around Buck's dick as he does, euphoric at the claim. The blood is a bonding, like blood brothers or marriage, more than both, and something completely different.
"I love you too," Eddie says. He clings to Buck, legs and arms wrapped around him, urging him as close as possible. There's not much more that they can do to entangle themselves further, but Eddie is sure the two of them can find a way. "And you're mine."
"Mine," Buck echoes. His thrusts are getting sloppier now, his rhythm lost as he leaves bloody kisses on Eddie's neck. Eddie has been on the edge for what feels like hours, his nerves frayed and his cells vibrating, with both the knowledge of what Buck has done for him and the perfect way Buck continues to fill him.
"You gonna come in me?" Eddie clenches again and watches Buck fall apart. "I've got your blood in me. Your spit. What else are you gonna give me?"
Buck's sweaty forehead presses against Eddie's as he picks up the pace again, brutally chasing his orgasm so he can give Eddie what he wants one last time. "Everything," he grunts. "Everything. Everything. Everything."
When Buck comes, Eddie feels it, hot and never-ending. Buck has been so patient for him, and Eddie is glad that this is how it finally happened. They're sealed together now, and like always, they've done it in a way that only they will understand.
"Make me come, baby. Please," Eddie begs. He has to do it with Buck's cock inside of him, like a loop needing to be closed. Buck, as always, obliges.
His hand wraps around Eddie's cock and works quickly, squeezing and tugging just right. This part isn't new; he's made Eddie come dozens of times by now—Buck knows how to take care of him. It's a relief when Eddie comes, and it spurts up between their bodies, coating them both. It's as it should be, both of them the same, and together.