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Buck never meant to find himself a… Whatever Eddie Diaz was. It's not like firefighting is a poorly paying job or that he was looking for any kind of arrangement. He wasn't. Edmundo Diaz was supposed to be a hook up, a quick fuck in the bar bathroom. But then, both of them breathing heavily in the cramped stall, Eddie had invited him for a nightcap. Buck, too busy trying to keep his composure during the ride with Eddie's big, strong hand on his thigh, didn't pay attention to where they pulled up to. One thing led to another and the nightcap turned into another fuck, and then a morning blowjob and only then had Buck realized that the home he was in looked kind of… Expensive. The bedroom windows were massive, as was the entire building, really. There were pictures of the Diazes everywhere, Eddie's whole extended family cramped into multiple framed photos. And there was the MMA championship belt. That definitely gave it away.
It being just how rich and, honestly, quite famous Buck's hookup was. Because Eddie Diaz was one of the most popular professional fighters out there, as a later google search proved. He was also very bad at making pancakes, very good at making Buck come and a sweetheart in general.
Buck was only slightly giddy when his phone pinged barely five hours after having left the house with a text message from Eddie. He went on the first date, in a very expensive restaurant he had no business being in as a barely 25 year old firefighter probie. He also went on the second one. That one was on a fucking yacht.
It's been more dates than he could possibly ever count (22- 23 if you include that one time Buck woke early and made breakfast for Eddie, sick of his abysmal cooking skills) and he's not any less interested in the man. In fact, every date has revealed something else about Eddie. He's a single father, Christopher's mother having unfortunately died a few years back. He was an army medic. He likes it when Buck rides him, especially when his body is tired and sore. He hates the color yellow, he's allergic to mangoes and he's from El Paso, Texas. He likes giving Buck expensive things.
Today, it's new headphones. Buck lost the old ones to a careless bag toss after three consecutive shifts no one else could cover.
"You didn't have to," Buck sighs like he does every single time Eddie buys him something without a second thought. The man just shrugs, his muscular shoulders immediately catching Buck's attention, and pulls him in by his shirt. "Hey, you're going to stretch it out."
"Really." Eddie smiles from his place on the couch, his hand letting go of the fabric and resting on Buck's hip instead. "You're worried about me stretching things out, now?"
"It was expensive. You'd know." Buck huffs when he's unceremoniously pulled into Eddie's lap, but doesn't complain. It is one of his favorite places, after all. "You bought it for me."
"I like seeing you in my things."
"You don't have to spend money on that. I can always steal something from your massive wardrobe." Buck really does try to ignore the way the right corner of Eddie's lips goes up just a fraction, his eyes soft as they remain stubbornly staring at his face.
"You want to wear my, what? Tank tops for practice? Or one of the uncomfortable suits?"
"No." He rolls his eyes, weight shifting so that he can bracket Eddie's hips with his knees. "One of your home shirts. The things you wear when nobody's looking. The ones you've had since El Paso."
"Are you saying you don't like the things I pick out for you?" Eddie asks, his hand creeping up Buck's side along the soft fabric of his shirt. It's a plum color, one that Eddie claims matches his eyes or whatever - Buck's not really into fashion - and it fits him like a glove, the buttons only slightly straining around his chest. He thinks that might have been intentional, though.
"I do." Buck's quick to correct, crossing his hands behind Eddie's neck. "But they don't feel like… You."
"Me?" Eddie asks with a teasing, barely-there smile. "Did you miss me?"
"You were gone for over a week. Of course I missed you. I mean, at least it wasn't for a fight. I hate seeing you hurt."
"How was work, baby?" Eddie changes the topic, knowing full well how they both get when the topic of fighting is involved. "You said you had someone fill in for Lucy?"
"Yeah, this guy- He was in the 118 before I joined. I took his spot, actually. He was really nice. We were paired up for most of the shifts."
"I hope he wasn't too nice." Eddie tilts his head and Buck grimaces slightly. "Was he?"
"I mean- He did invite me for a drink."
"And what did you say?"
With Eddie's piercing gaze on him, it's hard to contain the mounting excitement in his stomach. He should feel wrong for pushing Eddie's buttons but… He doesn't.
"I said I wasn't looking for a relationship." He shrugs.
"And why would that be?"
"Because I'm taken."
"That's not it, baby." Eddie's hand sneaks up into his hair and tugs, just a level below painful, pulling him closer. "I need you to say it."
"What?" Buck asks innocently, eyes falling closed when Eddie tugs on his hair again. He let it grow out and be absolutely unmanageable for this exact reason.
"Don't act dumb. Not with me." Eddie looks him up and down with clear intent. "Who do you belong to?"
"I don't know what you're-"
The way Eddie's other hand tightens over his waist surprises him more than the actual kiss. He must be worked up, both from the week of absence and Buck's teasing, because he kisses him like a man starving, their kiss immediately becoming wet and filthy. Buck moans into it, not unlike a common whore, as he holds onto Eddie's neck for his dear life.
Now, Buck isn't a small man by any means. He's 6'2 and a firefighter, he has to be physically fit. He passed the SEAL physical with no issues and he knows what effect he has on women when he crosses his arms over his chest just so.
It's nothing next to Eddie. He may be a few inches shorter, but he makes up for it with his build. He's jacked, a gym rat's wet dream (Buck's, too). His whole body is muscular, but built for a fight, not a show. There's some softness over his abs and his thighs- Buck could take ages to talk about Eddie's thighs. He wants them under his mouth, closing around his head, straining when Eddie inevitably decides to manhandle him again.
His age only shows if you look very, very closely. The smile lines around his eyes, the barely-there wrinkle on his forehead from worrying too damn much. The silver hairs he pretends not to see at his temple and in his beard whenever he decides to grow it out. It's clear shaven now - except for the five o clock shadow scratching at Buck's face in a way he doesn't mind at all.
Eddie's got a decade of experience on Buck for quite obvious reasons. He's ten years and two months older, having already lived a life and a half while Buck's barely finished finding himself. It's odd, sometimes - the thought that Eddie has gotten married and widowed, that he has a teenaged son, that he's been in the army and is now a world famous MMA fighter while Buck spent his early twenties hitchhiking and living on people's couches. He's barely had to pay taxes for a year now. It should feel weird to be in a relationship with someone so much older and so much more experienced.
But then Eddie pulls him into a kiss, as filthy as this one or as sweet as the ones they share after breakfast, and he forgets any concerns regarding this relationship.
So what if he's someone's controversially young boyfriend. It's not the worst thing in the world when that someone is Eddie Diaz.
Eddie, who distracts him so well with his tongue that Buck genuinely forgets what the question was when they finally pull apart for air, Eddie's eyebrow rising expectantly.
"What?"
"I asked who you belong to," Eddie supplies easily, head dipping just for a moment to place a featherlight kiss on Buck's forearm.
"Obviously it's you." He's not even in the mood to tease anymore, too taken with the way Eddie's eyes focus on him, only on him, soft and warm and just so- Nobody's looked at him like this. Ever.
"You're mine," Eddie confirms, even though it's a statement as obvious as the fact that the sky is blue. Buck's his. "All mine."
It's instinctual when Buck tilts his head back to give Eddie more space. A kiss on his pulse point, under his jaw, then in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Teeth, nipping at his skin where remnants of their last time spent together have already faded.
"I'm yours," He says breathlessly, but what he means is do it. Mark me. And Eddie does, biting his shoulder lightly and then sucking his skin between his teeth, fingers digging into Buck's waist hard enough to leave marks of their own. Buck keens, arching into the touch, the pain, pulling Eddie closer by the neck as if that would convince him to bite down harder, mark him over and over again until he's nothing but Eddie's teeth marks, a physical testimony that, yes, Buck's his, only his, only Eddie's.
"Look at you," He whispers into Buck's skin, bottom lip grazing the fresh, mottled bruises. His breath is cool on Buck's feverish body causing him to tremble. "You want this so badly. Want me to mark you up. For everyone to know you're mine."
"Yes." Buck pulls away and regrets it instantly. He needs it, though, needs to look Eddie in the eyes while he's doing this. "I'm yours, please, just-"
"Just what?" Eddie asks, his voice hard but expression sweet. "Tell me. Use your words, sweetheart."
"I want you in my mouth. Please," He practically begs, lips falling open in anticipation already. Eddie, beautiful, patient, Eddie, nods and kisses him again, just for the sake of it, teeth nipping at Buck's bottom lip.
"Get on your knees, sweetheart," Eddie breathes into his mouth when they reluctantly pull apart. Buck nods frantically, body thrumming with anticipation, and nearly trips over Eddie's legs in his haste to get down. His knees hit the ground a bit too hard, but that's a problem for future-him, for when 45-75 pounds of gear, getting propelled off cliffs and dragging people out of collapsing buildings finally catches up to him and forces him into treating his body kindly. For now, he's perfectly content abusing his knees a little if it makes Eddie look at him like this, with his eyes dark and hungry. Buck settles his hands on Eddie's thighs, over the soft fabric of his sweats. Kneeling there, between Eddie's legs, he can smell his mint shower gel and the fabric softener Buck convinced him to switch to one Sunday afternoon. Underneath all of that is Eddie - the permanent smell of leather, gym equipment, his favorite cologne ingrained in Buck's memory. Like all Pavlov's dog, he follows it until he can nose at the bulge in front of his face, prominent against the gray material. He waits for the affirmative nudge of Eddie's knee against his side to pull the waistband down along with his boxers and wrap a careful hand around his half hard dick, swiping a thumb across the tip. His mouth waters on its own accord, only proving exactly how fucking gone he is for Eddie and anything he's willing to give him.
"Come on, baby." Eddie urges him on, one of his hands sneaking into Buck's hair and the other reaching to catch his, intertwining their fingers. Buck's more than happy to work with only one free hand - that's what his mouth is for. So he uses it, kissing along the underside of Eddie's dick and sucking on the tip, his hand doing most of the work to bring him to full hardness. "You're doing good," Eddie praises, his arousal only betrayed by his breathing becoming increasingly louder. He isn't a loud man in bed, save for the dirty talk. It's a victory whenever Buck actually gets him to moan.
It's also a goal.
Buck hums contentedly when he finally gets to take Eddie into his mouth. He's heavy on Buck's tongue and he tastes salty and bitter, of skin and cum and Eddie. Buck's eyes close automatically as he takes him as deep as he will go, the tip bumping into his throat and causing him to breathe harshly through his nose, body tensing to suppress a cough. Eyes watering and fingers digging into Eddie's palm, he keeps going, bobbing his head up and down, his spit spreading all over Eddie's dick and leaking through the corners of Buck's mouth. He must look wrecked, his lips red and swollen and wrapped around Eddie's dick.
"Good boy," Eddie comments quietly and Buck swallows, his stomach tightening at the name. "God, look at you. It's like you were born to be used."
Buck can't possibly say anything with a dick down his throat, but he sure tries, the word yours reverberating through his throat like a spell. He's looking up at Eddie through wet lashes, their hands joined and the only sound in the room being Eddie's ragged breathing and the sloshing of spit in Buck's mouth as he competes with himself to take Eddie as deep as he'll go, until they become one.
"Fuck, baby," Eddie closes his eyes for a second, as if collecting himself. "I'm going to come," he warns, his fingers tightening in Buck's hair and around his hand. His hips twitch, a telltale sign, trying to fuck up into Buck's throat, so he takes it. He lets Eddie take control and use his mouth to get off, allows himself to focus on breathing and taking it like a good boy, there you go, his mind pleasantly hazy as Eddie chases his orgasm. He doesn't even consider the option that Eddie might pull out. It's nonsensical. So when Eddie's thighs flex around him, as if threatening to crush him (which he wouldn't entirely mind) and Eddie curses, Buck carefully stops his shallow breaths and waits, eyes flickering open to look at Eddie as he comes, his dick pulsing in Buck's mouth as he spills right into his throat.
But then, right before he's done, he pulls out despite Buck's whine and finishes in front of his open mouth, droplets of cum covering his lips, chin and awaiting tongue. Marking him. Which is exactly what he wanted, and now that it's happened, Buck's dizzy with it.
Both of them breathe heavily for a moment, Eddie coming down from his orgasm and Buck straining inside his pants, hard as a rock.
"God, I-" Eddie stops himself before he can even finish the sentence. His hand, so gentle in contrast to his calloused fingers, brushes Buck's hair away from his face. "Let's get you cleaned up. You did so well for me, baby."
"I don't want to clean up, I want-"
"I know," He interrupts, a smile playing on his lips. "I have plans. And a few gifts. Let me take care of you tonight, baby."
There's no universe where Buck denies after that.
Buck's loft is a collection of things he's been given by Eddie over the months. There's a stand mixer, one that's so outside of his price range that he wouldn't have even considered looking at it at the store. There's a coffeemaker, because apparently spending five dollars on a coffee every morning is worse than the few hundred (Buck doesn't actually want to know how much it costs. It probably went into four figures) Eddie spent buying Buck another appliance. There's the PS5, which was explained under the guise of "Christopher needs something to play when he comes over". A good dozen mostly full alcohol bottles gather dust near the TV, a box as expensive as some of Buck's old watches now holds jewelry more expensive than his entire yearly income. His closet is full of clothes Eddie picked out for him, always perfectly fitting and soft to the touch. It's a lot. It's what you get when you date a professional MMA fighter with more money than he could ever spend. It's a miracle Buck's still paying his own rent.
(Eddie did help him find the loft, though. How much influence he actually had in helping Buck secure the lease, he'll never know.)
Buck just came home from a twenty four hour shift, and yet, he's sitting at his singular armchair, because he still hasn't bought a couch, and keeps staring at his phone instead of finally eating that proper meal his body needs and getting some sleep. Today was non stop calls with barely enough time in-between to eat a damn protein bar. He hasn't slept in closer to thirty hours now, not even a nap in the truck, so this isn't the greatest time to be waiting for news if Eddie's concussed with brain damage or perfectly fine after today's fight.
Buck has a strict rule of not looking at social media when Eddie's working. The headlines are always exaggerated, misleading or cruel. They take a minor injury and make it out to be career ending - he found out the hard way when Eddie sprained his wrist in the ring and Buck convinced himself based on internet chatter alone that it must have been broken, that Eddie was seriously hurt. It was mostly panic speaking, but still.
So he's still stubbornly waiting for the I'm fine text when the lock turns and someone lets themselves into his apartment.
"Babe?" Eddie calls out and Buck breathes out in relief. He doesn't know why he thought of burglars before his boyfriend- partner? No, he's not thinking about this today. He gets up, curses the knot in the back of his neck that's been there since the third call of the day, and hurries to greet Eddie by the door with a soft kiss. And catalog him for injuries. Of which there are none, thank god.
"Hi," he finally breathes out, energy fleeing him like a deflating balloon. "I missed you."
"You saw me two days ago," Eddie replies, but pulls Buck in closer until he can wrap his hand around his waist and cup his cheek with the other. He smells freshly showered and when he finally reaches up to kiss Buck, he tastes like blue gatorade.
"Why didn't you text me?" He asks after pulling away, carefully watching Eddie's face signs of bruising. His lips are fine, as he just confirmed, but he still needs to see his arms and legs - he usually comes home bruised in these places, he can't dodge every punch and kick after all. Buck's seconds away from asking Eddie to take off his shirt when the man pats his cheek and catches his attention again.
"I went to Abuela's to see Chris and then immediately came here. I thought you'd rather see me in one piece here than get a text. You just got off shift, right? I have like three tupperware containers full of food Pepa made me take home."
"I'm happy to see you," Buck says, because, duh. "But I was worried. I tried not to check the news but then by the time I got off shift I assumed you were driving and- It was stupid."
"It's not stupid. I love that you care." Eddie's mouth curls up in a warm smile, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening. Inexplicably, Buck wants to touch them. "Have you eaten?" He asks and sighs quietly when Buck shakes his head. "How was work? Save any kittens?"
"More than just kittens." Buck laughs and untangles himself from Eddie's grip, snatching what is clearly Pepa's tote bag (judging by the many flowers printed on the sides) from his shoulder. "There were so many calls. I loved it, but it felt like we couldn't sit down and relax for more than ten minutes at a time. Cap would have burned his casserole if not for the man behind - I keep forgetting to catch his name, actually - and I think I ate five bites total because then we had to go again. It felt like the entirety of Los Angeles decided to get into a car wreck. Which, statistically speaking, can't be possible because there's like two and a half times more cars in LA than people, so they couldn't possibly drive them all at once." He's putting away the containers as he talks, only keeping one on the counter with plans to heat it up in the microwave. "No casualties, though. I mean, I hope, I don't know what happens behind the glass doors but I've been trying to get better at separating things. We did all we could and no one died in our hands, right? So it was a good day at work, I guess. Sorry for rambling." He looks over at Eddie, who's leaning against his dining table with a small smile. Buck would say he looks enamored, or some other stupid word like it, if he wasn't absolutely sure that can't be the case. It's impossible.
Except Eddie really is staring at him like a man taken straight out of a romantic comedy, bright eyed and all.
God, Buck needs to stop being delusional about this.
"Don't be sorry. I like listening to you talk. Pepa said to mix it after a minute." He nods towards the microwaveable bowls Buck is transferring some sort of rice dish into.
"I thought you liked me for my hot body." Buck jokes, but it comes out flat even to his own ears.
"I like you because you're you." Eddie's stares at him flatly. "You're not just some hot young thing to me."
"I'm not?" Buck shuts the microwave and busies himself with turning it on instead of looking back at Eddie's stupidly earnest eyes.
"Obviously you're hot and young." He can feel Eddie roll his eyes without even being able to see him. "But you're not just some boy toy. Sometimes you talk about yourself like you are."
"It's the truth." Buck sighs, watching the seconds tick by. Maybe the microwave will explode and kill him before this conversation can become any more unbearable for either of them. "I'm glad I was the young, easy, tipsy idiot you pulled in that bar, but that's all I was. Am. Easy. I'm not lying to myself and thinking this is some kind of-" Relationship, he doesn't say.
"Buck," Eddie sighs deeply, like he's just aged ten years in ten seconds. "Do you really think this is just sex?"
"What else am I supposed to think? It's all there is to it. You only call me when you want to fuck me and that's alright with me. You buy me things like I'm some sort of sugar baby and that's alright, too. I mean, you don't have to do it, I'm not only fucking you for the money, I don't care for gifts because all I really want out of this is you-" He takes a deep breath, taken out of his mini spiral by the beep if the microwave. He reaches for the bowls and mixes them a little bit too aggressively. "But, again, I'm alright with things how they are. You're the one calling the shots here, really, so." Buck shrugs, closes the door and watches the seconds tick by again. "I'm sorry. I'm sleep deprived, I don't even know what I'm saying. I shouldn't have brought this up."
"Evan," Eddie says softly from right behind him. Buck's ashamed to realize he didn't even hear him approach, but still, he turns and finally looks him in the eyes. It's the least he can do after this disaster of a conversation. "I'm sorry if I wasn't clear about what I wanted this relationship to be. You're not just some fling. You're not a warm body for me to call up when I need to let off some steam. I like you. I really like you." He reaches out with his right hand, the one adorned by the wedding ring he only takes off to fight, and takes Buck's hand in his. "Buck, you're my son's best friend. I introduced you to Christopher because I thought that, if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I needed him to love you. And, God, he does. You're family. To me, to Christopher, to Pepa and Abuela."
"That's not-" Buck breathes out shakily. "That can't be true."
"Listen to me, please?" Eddie asks softly and Buck has never had it in himself to tell him no. "This hasn't been just a fling for me in months. Hell, maybe even after our second date. You don't even realize the things you make me feel, the things I-" He stops himself and takes a careful breath. "I've been giving you things because I have more money than I could ever spend and I want to treat you. I want to take care of you. I know you're your own person, I know you're independent and could live without me. That's what I admire about you. I mean, Buck, you're a firefighter. You save lives every single day. Do you even know how proud I am when you come home to me and tell me about all the people you dragged out of burning buildings or rescued off cliffs? I'm also terrified, don't get me wrong, but really. You impress me every day, Buck."
And Buck knows he's most likely irrational. He knows he hasn't slept in over thirty hours. He knows he should eat and he knows his reaction is not very mature or manly or even acceptable, really.
He starts to cry a little.
"Sweetheart, no-" Eddie's reaching up to wipe the tears from his face before they can even drop down his lashes.
"I'm sorry, it's not- It's just that no one's said that to me in a long time." He blinks furiously, willing this crying fit to stop. "I don't usually do this, I just- It's been a long day."
"It's okay. It's okay, hey." Eddie catches his eyes, both of them ignoring the microwave beeping again. "I'm proud of you. I'll say it to you every day if I need to." He kisses him, just a soft touch of his lips against Buck's. "I wanted to do this somewhere romantic. I wanted to take you out, make it a whole thing," He starts, close enough that Buck thinks he can still taste him on his lips. "But you need to hear this and I can't spend another day pretending I'm not in love with you."
"What are you saying?" He asks, merely a whisper passing between them.
"I know I'm too old for you and you'll be sick of me coming home with concussions every two months, I know I have way too much baggage and a teenaged son-"
"I love Christopher." It makes Eddie smile, but not stop.
"-and I know I should probably let you go." His hand tightens around Buck's as he steels himself to continue. "But I can't let you go without telling you I love you."
Buck's heart stops.
Is he hallucinating? Is he delusional? Did he hit his head harder than he thought during that cliff rescue? Is he fucking insane?
"Say it again." Is all he can say, his pulse thrumming in his ears, because what the fuck?
"I love you, Evan Buckley." Eddie tilts his head and repeats it again, for good measure, like it's nothing. "I love you. More than I thought my old heart was capable of."
"You're only thirty five, you're not that old."
"That's what you're worried about?" Eddie asks and he's smiling like an idiot, all warmth and teeth and Buck really, really loves him.
"You're serious about this. About me. You want me to be your…?"
"Partner. I'm a bit old for boyfriends, but if that's what you're more comfortable with, we'll just have to add it to the ever growing tally of controversies that Chris will throw back at me when he's mad."
"You're seriously not that old," Buck replies. "Do you have a complex?"
"A complex need for you to tell me if you love me or if I really messed this up, yeah." Eddie breathes out and it's only then it hits Buck that he's nervous. Eddie Diaz, world famous MMA fighter, decorated army medic, is nervous. Buck is making him nervous.
It makes him a little giddy.
"I've been yours since the day we met," He tells Eddie instead of teasing him, even though it's tempting. "You might really need glasses if you didn't see that one coming, old man."
"Hey, now." Eddie catches his face and pulls him in for a kiss. They're both smiling through it, pulling away every other second to- Take it in? "I love you," Eddie sighs into his mouth, his hands smoothing down Buck's neck, then his shoulders. Finally, they grab onto his waist. "Say it back."
"I love you too." Buck obeys easily. It's as simple as breathing.
Kissing Eddie is as simple as breathing too, their dinner entirely forgotten. And Buck loves getting lost in it, in the slick movements of Eddie's tongue against his, he really does, but he's also tired to the bone.
"Eds," He breathes into his mouth, brain too fuzzy to form full words at first. "I'm so sorry. I'm about to fall asleep on my feet."
Eddie laughs, but it's not mean. He kisses him one more time, chaste and soft, and regretfully untangles himself from Buck.
"You need to eat. You admitted you barely got to eat lunch, I can't let you sleep on an empty stomach after that shift." He takes out the bowls and Buck watches him, eyelids drooping even though he's still (somehow) standing. "Eat this and then I'll take you to bed." Eddie hands him the bowl and Buck's stomach immediately makes itself known.
"To bed, huh?"
Eddie only smiles at him, soft and content, in response.
For a minute after he wakes up, Buck thinks last night must have been a dream. Eddie telling him he's in love with him. Affirming their relationship as something real. Taking care of him, making him eat before he inevitably passed out on top of the covers just to wake up tucked in. It must have been a dream because it's simply too good to be true.
Then he hears Eddie's voice, the words indistinctive, coming from downstairs. And, oh, this is real.
Eddie loves him.
Buck could probably climb Mount Everest, but he'll settle on going down the stairs and kissing his partner instead.
He has a partner. And it's Eddie. He could run a marathon and a fucking half.
He brushes his teeth and takes care of business first, though. He already showered at the end of his shift, so he's good on that front, and if all goes well he'll get Eddie to do something more than just make out with him next to that fucking microwave.
He practically skips downstairs. It's not his fault he's so damn happy, it's Eddie's. Blame him and his beautiful brown eyes and touching love confessions.
"Hi," Buck says a little breathlessly and Eddie, who's making them coffee using that stupidly expensive machine he bought him, smiles warmly in response. "Were you on the phone?"
"Huh?" Eddie asks distractedly. "No, that was just… Look, I can ask them to take it back if you want. I bought it before we talked. I don't want you to think I'm trying to buy you."
"Eddie, what?"
"Just… turn around."
At first, Buck doesn't notice what's wrong. His loft looks like it always has - there's the TV, the fifteen plants he always forgets to water on the windowsill, the minibar stocked with gifts from Eddie and otherwise, the couch, the PS5-
"You bought me a couch," He says flatly.
And it's a nice couch. It's big enough to fit around four people and it's a pretty, muted blue color. He's sure it's comfortable to sit or even sleep on - Eddie would never give him something without going above and beyond to make sure it's a good fit.
"You heard the delivery guys," Eddie explains. "I can call them to take it back right this second. This doesn't have to mean anything, it's just-" He pauses, and when Buck stays silent, adds "It pulls out. I thought Chris would be able to sleep over without you having to blow up that mattress every time and you two could play games without you sitting on the floor."
"Eddie, I'm not mad," Buck says, because he can tell Eddie's working himself up over this. "I'm just surprised. Appliances are one thing, but nobody's ever bought me furniture before."
"You don't have to accept it-"
"I do. Couches are expensive, I'm not turning down a free one." Buck turns to look at Eddie, whose calm demeanor is only betrayed by his index finger scratching at his thumb, a nervous tick bad enough that he has to wear tape around his fingers when he's seriously stressed out. "Hey, I think it's sweet. It's not helping you beat the sugar daddy allegations, but it's sweet."
"I'm not a sugar daddy." Eddie rolls his eyes, his shoulders finally relaxing as he rounds the kitchen island to grab at Buck's waist. "You're my partner, for one."
"Mhm, potayto-potahto." Crossing his hands behind Eddie's neck, Buck leans down to give him that good morning kiss he's been thinking about ever since he woke up. And another, for good measure. "You never got to take me to bed yesterday."
"Because you fell asleep before your head even hit the pillow." Eddie raises an eyebrow.
"Well, I was thinking we could make up for that."
Eddie hums thoughtfully, eyes wandering down to Buck's neck, where the fading bruises he left still mark his skin. The bites are long gone, never deep enough to leave real bruises or break skin.
"Don't you want to make me yours? Officially?" Buck goads - unnecessarily, because he knows Eddie's about five seconds from snapping and taking him right on the kitchen island.
"I thought I already did," He replies, hands digging into Buck's sides. His touch feels hot and charged, even through the thin cotton shirt, and Buck wishes Eddie would lift the fabric and touch him properly. He wishes Eddie would give in and just take him.
"Let's go upstairs before we defile your kitchen," Eddie says evenly, barely hiding a smile when Buck all but drags him up the stairs, one hand already working on taking off his shirt. It's chaos from there, shirts and sweats and socks leaving an obvious trail right to Buck's bed, which he's pushed onto with enough force to make him bounce. Eddie's on him before he can do anything but catch his breath, catching his lips in a messy kiss as he crawls in-between his legs, hands immediately going to his hips and pulling at the waistband of his boxers. Buck lifts his hips eagerly, unperturbed by his nakedness, his own hands sliding down Eddie's sides, feeling all the hard muscle and soft tissue and sliding under the waistband of his underwear. It takes some maneuvering to do, but soon they're both naked, Eddie's mouth trailing down onto Buck's neck, kissing and sucking on the skin until it marrs.
"Lube," He says against Buck's collarbone and keeps going, biting at the meat of his shoulder as he attempts to retrieve the bottle from his nightstand. He's clumsy and it takes way too long for his liking, but he hands it to Eddie with a grin, the side of his neck tingling and most likely covered in red and purple.
Eddie sits back on his heels, spreads Buck's legs further apart and rips the plastic packaging with his teeth before uncapping the bottle. They've been together thirty times too many for Buck to feel any kind of shame spread out in front of Eddie like this, but his skin is definitely thrumming with excitement. This might never get old - Eddie, looking at him like he wants to fucking devour him. The hands that send men to the hospital every other week gently work him open, his arms and shoulders flexing like he's putting on a private show. He makes quick work of stretching out Buck, once again leaning down over him and sucking another bruise into the other side of his neck, teeth biting down and pulling on the delicate skin and then kissing the low moans right out of his mouth.
"I'm ready," Buck urges him on, pulling away from a kiss against his own will. "Eddie, please, just-"
"Use your words, baby," Eddie murmurs against his lip, crooking up his fingers again, and oh.
"Fuck me, please," Buck breathes out, whiny and desperate, his hands digging into Eddie's sides. "Fuck me like you own me, c'mon."
"Is that what you want me to do?" Eddie asks, fingers pulling out of him. He ignores Buck's whimper and leans back on his heels, his dick straining against his thigh. "Remind you who you belong to?"
"Yes." Buck nods eagerly. "Want you to mark me with your come, want everyone to know I'm yours."
"Everyone?" Eddie asks and Buck nods, eyes snapping down to his lubed up hand that is now stroking his hard dick. "You want your coworkers to know how much you like it when I fuck you? Want them to see you all bruised up? Want them to ask why you're walking all funny?"
"Please, Eddie, Eds, fuck me already," Buck pleads and closes his eyes at the sight of his cocky grin.
"All you had to do was ask."
The initial stretch burns, but Buck welcomes the pain with a breathy moan. Eddie's hands cling onto his hips, his breathing hard as he sinks inside, maddeningly slow. It's familiar, it's everything, it's too much and Buck feels so full. He pants, hands twisted in the sheets now that Eddie's too far to touch, and takes it until it feels like Eddie's settled as deep as his throat, like he might split him in two.
"You take it so well," Eddie praises him quietly, fighting to keep his composure when his eyes dip to where their bodies are joined. "Fuck, baby, you're perfect."
Buck whines under his nose, head tilting to the side as if he could ever hide the blush spreading down his cheeks, shoulders and even the tops of his ears.
And then Eddie pulls out just to slowly thrust back in and Buck's lips fall open with a soft oh.
"That's right, baby," Eddie murmurs, working his hips in a slow rhythm. "Don't hide from me. I want to hear you."
Somewhere in the back of his head, Buck knows his neighbours will fucking hate him, but he just can't help the loud gasp that rips out of his throat at a particularly hard and purposeful thrust. Eddie wants him to lose control, he wants him to turn into a moaning mess and his steadily growing pace only proves it.
"Eddie," Buck moans, hands reaching blindly for the man. "I want- Want you close, please." He can't help it, eyes screwed shut and thighs shaking as Eddie fucks him between them. "Please."
"Tell me who you belong to," Eddie orders breathlessly. "Say my name."
"I'm yours, Eddie, all yours," He cries, hands immediately latching onto Eddie's back when he finally leans over him, the new angle taking Buck's breath away. He moans something incomprehensible, crosses his ankles behind Eddie and pulls him in close, wanting more than anything for them to become one. He wants Eddie to stay, like this, buried deep inside him, forever.
"That's right, baby, you're mine," Eddie whispers into his open mouth and then leans in for what barely constitutes a kiss, their tongues sliding together, unsynchronized and messy. "All mine."
Buck nods, whimpering when his neglected dick twitches between them, leaking onto his stomach.
"Wanna come, Eddie, please, let me-" He chokes on his words when Eddie stills inside him, buried all the way in, their hips meeting. He can't breathe, too full and on the edge, all he can do is stare into those big brown eyes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sweat dripping down his temple.
"I want you to come with my name on your lips."
Buck doesn't have time to nod before Eddie's fucking him again, hard and steady, one hand holding him upright by Buck's head and the other reaching down to touch him. It feels like his nerves are on fire when Eddie finally begins to stroke him, his hand still slick from before, and he's repeating Eddie's name along with nonsensical moans before he even knows it, fingers digging into Eddie's back hard enough that they must hurt. He couldn't have lasted long, not like this, but his orgasm still catches him by surprise, punching a strained Eddie out of him as his body locks in place, dick twitching and spilling come all over his stomach as Eddie strokes him through it, still fucking him. Distantly, Buck can tell the man's about to come, can feel the telltale signs and make out the desperate expression on his face, but his brain is all fuzzy and he can't do more than watch as Eddie's mouth opens and he fucks into him, once and twice, and finally stills, spilling deep inside him with his name on his lips.
He comes to after a minute, his body sore and sticky, when Eddie regrettably pulls out, a trail of come leaking out after him. Buck's too worn out to care about it, but Eddie still gets up on shaky legs and gets some tissues from the nightstand. He wipes him clean, careful as ever, throws the tissues on the floor next to the bed and collapses on his side, Buck immediately gravitating towards him.
"You okay?" Eddie asks, a hand coming up to push stray hairs out of Buck's face. He must look like a mess, covered in bruises and bites and remnants of come that the wet wipes couldn't clean off.
"Great," He mumbles, tired despite having slept for- He doesn't actually know how long. He's not sure what time it is, really. It doesn't seem to matter when Eddie's around. "Love you," He adds, pulling Eddie closer so that he can rest his head on his shoulder.
"Love you too," Eddie replies, just as fondly.