Chapter Text
The smell of sweat and rubber greeted Eddie like an old friend. It had only been a couple of months since he started working at Indomitable Spirit Martial Arts Gym but it already felt like something of a second home to him.
A little bit of the invisible weight on his shoulders fell away the second he stepped inside the doors. Not enough to relieve the stress that constantly clawed at his temples, tightened his neck, and compressed his lungs. But, hey. Baby steps.
“Diaz,” Javi called. He was behind the reception desk, reading glasses sliding down his crooked nose as he waved Eddie over.
“What’s up, Javi?”
“You’ve been looking for extra hours, right?”
Eddie’s focus narrowed in immediately, the exhaustion of too many jobs and not enough sleep sloughing off at the prospect of extra cash. Maybe even enough to pay for that summer camp Chris had been eyeing. As much as he wanted to spend more quality time with his son, he had to prioritize providing for him first. Pepa and Abuela couldn’t keep taking turns watching him forever. But affording childcare was a bitch.
“Always,” Eddie answered, leaning his elbows on the desk. “What did you have in mind?”
“Bosko dropped me a line the other day about a firefighter at another station who was looking to get into a little MMA but all our regular private lesson times are booked.” Javi shrugged. “You’re Mr. Future Firefighter, so I figured I’d throw him your way, let you take him on after hours and lock up when you’re done.”
“You’re amazing, Javi,” Eddie beamed.
Javi waved him off and Eddie wandered deeper into the gym, smiling to himself as he thought about how happy Chris would be at summer camp.
There was only a month left before he started at the academy. Just four more weeks of juggling multiple jobs, working every hour he could, and then he could finally get back on something like a regular schedule.
Buck sat in his Jeep, idling outside the MMA place. He wasn’t usually so nervous about starting something new. But this? This was way too important to screw up. Bobby had been pretty clear about the fact that if Buck wasn’t going to go to therapy he had to do something. Church, support groups, nature walks—something. Anything to help him get his head on straight before Bobby was forced to fire him a second time.
Buck knew exactly how rare it was to be given a second chance. He wasn’t about to blow it. Being a firefighter was the first thing in a long time—maybe ever—that made Buck feel like he was worth something.
With a sigh, he slid out of the Jeep, throwing his workout duffle over his shoulder. He cautiously approached the gym.
The bell tinkled overhead as he pushed open the door.
“Be there in a second!” a smooth voice called from a room off the main gym. Buck belayed his nerves by wandering around the main area. It was huge. Every inch of floor and the bottom half of the walls were covered in red and black mats. There was a regular boxing ring, a UFC-style octagon cage made of black fencing. A full weight lifting setup was tucked in the back beside a row of different sized punching bags dangling from the ceiling like sides of beef in a slaughterhouse.
On the wall, a snarling red dragon curled its serpentine body around a blue pearl the size of a bowling ball. The words ‘Indomitable Spirit Martial Arts Gym’ curved over the top of the mural.
“I like the lizard,” Buck said, turning with a grin as he heard the instructor walking over.
The guy shrugged, noncommittal.
Buck couldn’t even find it in himself to particularly care. He was too busy doing a double take at the miles of smooth, perfect muscles on display. The shirt was cut so low down the sides Buck thought he saw a flash of dusky nipple peaking out when the man lifted his arm to run his fingers through his Disney-prince-perfect hair. A hint of dark chest hair showed where the neckline draped over his pecs.
Buck’s mouth went dry. Maddening heat rose between his ears. If steam had come whistling out of them, he honestly wouldn’t have been surprised. This guy looked like he wandered off a sound stage in studio city, and here he was, raising a critical eyebrow at Buck. And, Buck knew he wasn’t exactly a tiny guy, but he had never felt quite right in his body, never strong enough or big enough to earn the attention he got. With Diaz’s eyes raking over him like that it was impossible not to feel like he had lanky limp spaghetti arms and match stick legs.
Usually, Buck was great at being a bro when he really set his mind to it. But something about this man (his staggering, mortifying good looks, perhaps) immediately made him want to shrivel up and blow away in the wind.
Buck dropped his duffle, adjusted his backwards baseball cap for luck, and held out his hand with the winning smile that got him a bid from three separate fraternities before he dropped out of college.
“I’m Evan Buckley.” He held out his hand to shake. “But all my friends call me Buck.”
The man nodded, shaking Buck’s hand briskly. Saliva flooded the corners of Buck’s mouth as he noticed how that wide paw engulfed his own. Hard calluses teased against the skin of Buck’s palm.
“Buckley, nice to meet you.” His voice was smooth as polished marble and just as cold.
The incredible heat in Buck’s bones snuffed out at once, replaced immediately by a biting chill. He couldn’t help but wonder what he could have done to make this guy hate him already.
“I’m Eddie Diaz. We’ve only got an hour today so we better make the most of it. Stow your gear in the locker room and meet me by the punching bags.” Diaz walked away before Buck could untangle his tongue to reply.
“Right,” Buck muttered under his breath. He slouched toward the door labeled ‘Men’s Locker Room’ and resolved to find a way to make a better second impression. Even if he still had no idea how he’d royally fucked up the first one.
“Your hands aren’t wrapped right,” was the first thing Diaz said when Buck met him by the row of punching bags.
Buck looked down at his hands, annoyed. “But this is how I always do it.” He was whining, he knew that. But Diaz’s cool judgement, cut muscles, and magazine-cover worthy stubble made him feel giddy in this peculiar, anxious, almost childish way.
“Well then, you always do it wrong.” Buck flinched at the criticism. It felt like criticism always did—a blistering pain that rippled from his belly button to his throat.
Feeling like you were being eviscerated with a hot poker every time someone didn’t like you was probably not normal. Buck was self aware enough to realize that. But he had bigger fish to fry, mental-health wise.
Like trying to figure out why he constantly felt compelled to fuck anyone who was even half-interested in him. And finding another outlet to blow off steam that wouldn’t make him feel like gutter trash afterward, or get him fired. Or risk him getting another STD (the thought of which still made him flush with shame even though the meds from the free clinic had taken care of everything and he had a clean bill of health for months now).
While Buck’s brain was offline, running through a comprehensive list of reasons why he should feel bad about himself, Diaz had already taken the liberty of unwrapping his right hand.
“Like this.” Diaz’s voice was more a command than an invitation to learn. “Watch.”
Buck did watch as Diaz carefully showed him how to properly do the wrap. To his credit, he even managed to catch a few words of the man’s running instructions, but most of his brain power was caught up in the warm, gentle strength of the other man’s hands on his.
A part of him was being cradled by someone else. Buck’s heart tried to leap toward Diaz and beg for more of those soft touches. But that would be ridiculous. Bros didn’t cuddle. And they weren’t even bros.
Buck strangled down on the urge to reach out to the other man as viciously as he knew how. It was exactly those kinds of stupid impulses that got him in trouble in the first place.
“Are you listening?” Diaz sounded annoyed.
Scrambling for any hint of what had happened in the last two minutes, Buck looked down at his hand. Freshly wrapped and definitely looking neater than he had ever managed it.
“Yeah, whatever,” he grunted. “Looks fine I guess.”
Diaz narrowed his big brown cow eyes at him suspiciously. “So show me how to do it with the other hand,” he challenged.
Buck shrugged helplessly. “I’ll YouTube it. It’ll be perfect next time. You’ll see.”
The only reason Buck caught Diaz rolling his eyes is because the man didn’t completely manage to turn his back to Buck in time to hide the gesture. After a second, with a huff, Diaz turned back around to glare at him.
“Give me your other hand.” Diaz held his own out, palm up and expectant. “You aren’t breaking a knuckle here.”
Head ducked low, Buck did as he was told. The admonishing tone rankled, just as scalding as his parents’ ‘Oh, Evan’ voices were back when he was actually a kid who could be scolded.
Buck bit his tongue, forcing himself not to say anything as Diaz manhandled him into a basic fighting stance in front of the punching bag. He could make it through this one session and then ask for another instructor. Someone who didn’t make him feel so woefully inadequate. Anyone else. He just had to make it through this one lesson.
Only the fucking criticism was a constant stream.
Diaz didn’t let up when he made Buck stretch before they got started. Keen eyes watched every move Buck made, nudging him with the toe of his sneaker or tapping his shoulder with the back of his hand when he didn’t think Buck was in proper form.
Even something as simple as toe touches didn’t meet Diaz’s high standards. Buck was acutely aware of the way his basketball shorts pulled tight across the curves of his glutes as he bent forward, leaving him feeling oddly exposed.
“How have you not pulled a hamstring by this point?” Diaz muttered, low enough that Buck was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear. It still made him flush, a hot rush of blood racing from his chest to the tips of his pale ears where he knew Diaz could see.
Being at Diaz’s mercy shouldn’t have felt good. It was almost the opposite of how working out usually made him feel—strong, in control, determined to dominate his goals. This weak-in-the-knees, hot, tight feeling burned like humiliation and made his heart race like a hot chick slipping her number in his pocket. It made him want to tip his head back and offer his throat to Diaz’s sharp teeth. And that reaction kind of pissed him off because it didn’t make any sense.
Confusion roared in Buck like a tornado of fire.
“It’s just a stretch man, it’s basically nothing, you don’t have to be such a dick about it,” Buck snapped, his frustration finding an obvious target in Diaz.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Diaz sounded resigned, rather than satisfied as he gestured for Buck to stand up out of the last stretch. “If you want to workout cold and sprain something, that’s on you. Just don’t come crying to me.”
The idea of crying in front of Eddie sent another mortifying bolt of that inexplicable shame-desire roaring through him. Reflexive anger at his own weird response to this guy shot tension through his half-stretched muscles.
“Yeah, as if.” Buck rolled his eyes for good measure, crossing his arms and letting his biceps bulge. He was technically bigger than Diaz, even if it didn’t feel like it.
Diaz looked toward the ceiling like he was praying for patience. The heat at the back of Buck’s neck ramped up another few notches.
“Let’s try some basic strikes,” Diaz said in that longsuffering yet reasonable tone of voice that made Buck want to chew on furniture.
Diaz demonstrated the sequence of punches first, with a running commentary on how to properly execute each move. There was nothing but static between Buck’s ears as he watched the man’s muscles bunch and flex. Sometimes it got like this in his head—he couldn’t focus at all or else he couldn’t stop focusing on something that wasn’t doing him any favors in the moment.
“Harder,” Diaz ordered as Buck hit the bag. “I know you’ve got more in you than that.”
Buck panted, sweating, trying not to think of how those words would have sounded in any other context. He wasn’t even gay but the idea of Eddie’s toned, perfect legs wrapped around a strong pair of hips, still issuing commands as he was fucked into the mattress…
“You aren’t even paying attention!” Diaz snapped. “We aren’t moving on until you get this right. Start over.”
Buck gulped. Those dark eyes laser-focused on him. That scowl, indelible proof that he could get under Diaz’s skin just as thoroughly as Diaz got under Buck’s. Usually guys with hot tempers made Buck uneasy—he was a people pleaser and definitely more of a lover than a fighter, no matter what his size occasionally made people think.
But this time a mischievous hunger sizzled in Buck’s gut. He wanted to take Mr. Perfect and mess him up. Make that obviously hard-fought composure break. And he was beginning to think that he could.
“Like you could do any better,” Buck said snidely.
“Excuse me?” Diaz asked, anger bleeding into his tone.
“You’re all talk,” Buck taunted. “I bet you’re one of those people who can’t do anything so you just teach instead.” Buck knew every word out of his mouth was bullshit. He didn’t believe that garbage about teachers, but the delicious way that red was rising across Diaz’s face made it impossible to stop. “You’re not talented enough to be a fighter yourself so you get off on criticizing everyone else, is that it?”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Diaz snarled. His blistering eyes raked up and down Buck’s body. A snake-mean smirk curled up the corner of Diaz’s mouth. “You’re just a mouthy little punk.” He said the words without rancor, smooth and simple like he was stating an obvious fact. “All bark and no bite.”
Buck squeezed his hands into fists so hard one of his knuckles popped.
“I can bite,” he snarled.
Diaz smiled, infuriatingly, like what Buck said was cute. “Then I’ll have to train that out of you.” The confidence in every line of his posture made Buck want to whine. It was mortifying, feeling this way.
“Get down on the mat.” Diaz pointed, treating Buck like he really was nothing more than a dumb dog failing his first puppy training class. “We’re going to work on grappling next.”
Buck dropped to his butt before he’d even fully processed the words. Diaz’s smirk deepened.
“Good,” Diaz purred.
Buck shivered, feeling himself chub up just a little in his shorts. It was a rush to the head, that sudden praise after so many criticisms. Just the idea that he could please Diaz had saliva flooding his mouth.
“This is a basic hold,” Diaz dropped to his knees, wrestling Buck onto his back and pinning him in place. Warm, smooth skin slid along Buck’s. It was intoxicating.
“You’re not strong enough to hold me,” Buck challenged, in one last-ditch attempt to antagonize Diaz, to keep his attention no matter what.
“You just don’t know when to quit,” Diaz accused. He roughly manhandled Buck, locking his elbow around Buck’s throat in an inescapable (to Buck’s limited skills) chokehold. “Is that why you need MMA classes?” Diaz hissed against his ear. “Does that big mouth of yours get you in trouble?
“And out of trouble,” Buck quipped. “You wouldn’t believe how fast people forgive you when they’re having an orgasm on your tongue.”
“So you’re a little slut, is that it?” The question wasn’t harsh the way the words implied. It was softer and smoother than satin. Buck shivered as he felt the words settle over his skin.
“I’m sorry,” Diaz said immediately, his grip loosening as he made to pull back. “That was so—”
“I am a slut,” Buck agreed, arching back into Diaz’s hold. He had no idea what this was, what the fuck he was even doing, but he knew he wanted more. “But at least I get some. You’re so pent up because your girl hasn’t been putting out, is that it?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Diaz snapped, earlier apology instantly forgotten. “You don’t know anything about it.”
Buck wiggled his way out of Diaz’s hold while the guy was distracted, turning quickly and shoving the other man down to the mat. Diaz’s back barely touched the mat before he was rolling over, pinning Buck again effortlessly.
This worked just as well for Buck, who thrust his hips up against Diaz’s despite knowing there was no escape. “Your cock’s hard.” Buck had never heard his voice like that before. Dark, deep, and gravel-rough.
“Yours is too,” Diaz snapped a scowl on his face. He transferred Buck’s wrists to one hand and used the other to reach down and roughly grab Buck’s dick in a painful hold. “Is this what you wanted, being such a fucking brat the whole day, hmm?” Diaz squeezed a little tighter, making Buck whimper. “Someone to be mean to you? To put the little slut in his place?”
“Please,” Buck whined, arching into the hold, sweating. He fought against closing his eyes. Diaz looked like an avenging God above him and he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.
Diaz’s hand relaxed around his cock, thumb rubbing a soothing line along the shaft in apology. His dark eyes had gone from unreadable to hungry. He leaned a little further over Buck, their faces barely a foot away from each other.
“Please what, puppy?"
“Please let me show you how good I can be.” The words spilled out of his mouth without any apparent detour past his bain, which seemed to be completely offline by this point.
Diaz shook his head, disappointment curving his mouth down. “You’re a pathetic fighter. Not even my teaching skills can get you up to par in an hour.”
Buck whined, more of that shameful-good squirming feeling parking in his gut.
“I can be good in other ways,” he promised. He tilted his head back, showing Diaz the line of his pale, unmarked neck. An offering.
Scoffing, Diaz let Buck go, triggering a whine to crawl out of Buck’s throat for a completely different reason. His whole body felt cold where Diaz had been blanketing it.
“If I wanted my dick sucked there are plenty of places I could go to—” Diaz never finished his dismissive sentence, because Buck was up on his knees in a heartbeat, clutching at Diaz’s hips and rubbing his cheek against the hard, hot line of the man’s erection.
Buck had never even fucked a guy before. Never even thought about it. None of that mattered. His skin was too tight, itching with the need to feel Diaz against every inch of him.
“You think I can’t be as good as she is? I can do so much better,” he whispered against the shaft. He had no idea who the ‘she’ was, but Diaz seemed to react when he implied he had a girlfriend before. That was all Buck wanted, more than anything, to push this guy’s buttons. To get every last scrap of that attention on himself.
On a whim, he breathed against the light fabric of the man’s workout pants.
Diaz shuddered, a high-pitched noise escaping him. Wide-eyes watched Buck mouth at the black material over his crotch until it turned wet and darkened.
“Shut the fuck up,” Diaz’s voice was heated, but his gaze never wavered from Buck. “Don’t talk about her.” His wide, calloused hands curled around the back of Buck’s head, pressing him into Diaz’s dick with a surprising amount of caution. Almost like he was asking permission.
It was oddly charming.
“Make me,” Buck whispered, nipping playfully at Diaz’s cock.
“Fuck.” The word sounded like it was forcibly torn out of Diaz. With one hand, Diaz shoved his pants and briefs beneath his balls. “You want it, honey?” he said absently. “You want to be a good slut for me?”
Yes. Buck’s mind supplied the answer immediately.
Diaz had a fucking perfect cock. Pink and curved towards his belly with a mouthwatering vein along the underside. Not quite as long as Buck’s but probably about the same girth.
“Use me,” Buck begged against the slick hard skin pressed to his face. Being useful, being wanted, that was an addiction he was familiar with. Better than sweet whispered lies or promises broken before they were uttered. Only pleasing others, fulfilling their needs and desires, made him feel safe and steady. Useful tools weren’t usually thrown away. At least, not until a better one came along.
“Fuck my throat.” It was big talk for a man who had never been this close to another guy’s dick before. The distant, rational part of his brain, struggled through the fog of lust to inform him that this was a terrible idea.
Buck didn’t care.
“Fuck.” It sounded like a prayer. Diaz gently guided Buck to swallow his cock.
Buck moaned at the musky taste, the funk of Diaz’s sweat and the soapy hint of his bodywash. The choking fullness where he had never realized he was empty before. Experimentally, he undulated his tongue against the thick cock. Diaz’s hips hitched involuntarily forward, pressing his cockhead a bare inch into Buck’s throat.
Buck gagged, pressing away a little and ignoring the litany of apologies above him.
“Is that all you got?” He grinned up at Diaz, knowing exactly how he must sound and look. Fucked out voice with a shiny gloss of saliva on his lower lip. “I thought you were gonna fuck me, but if you aren’t interested I can go find someone else who will.”
Anger flashed across Diaz’s face, wildfire quick and hot. He was a lot less gentle when he shoved his cock in Buck’s mouth the second time. Buck gagged a little, face flushing hot with embarrassment, thighs trembling as they kept him at the perfect height for his face to be fucked. Unused to this kind of abuse, the back of his throat was already a little sore, but that challenge, the tantalizing hint of discomfort, only fed the desperate need howling through him.
An ugly choking sound made Diaz hesitate, cockhead lingering on Buck's tongue. Buck pulled on the backs of his thighs, drawing him back into the wet, spasming clutch of his throat. The concern on Diaz’s face morphed into a sharp determination. He moved on Buck’s head, forcing a quick, rough pace that had his spine melting. Lungs burning, unable to breathe except for quick little gasps between thrusts, Buck felt every last thought drain away. It was pure bliss, being a thing made to be fucked by this man. Everything else melted into insignificance, overtaken by a haze of arousal.
Moaning at the wet, sloppy sounds, Buck started sucking.
“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Diaz groaned above him. “You’re so fucking—look at you, so pretty with your pouty pink lips all full of cock. This is all you wanted, huh? This is what you needed from the beginning, to be put in your place, used the way you were made for.”
Buck moaned again, long and loud. His fingers tightened over Diaz’s hips, begging for more in every way he knew how.
“Are you hard from getting your face fucked, sweetheart?” Diaz’s sexy fucking infuriating smirk was back. He pushed his foot between Buck’s spread knees. Buck instinctively humped his cock forward against Diaz’s shin, shuddering with the friction.“Yeah, you’re desperate.” Diaz spoke so casually, he might as well have been discussing the weather.
It pressed on all the off buttons for Buck’s brain and all the on buttons for his dick. He humped forward again, swiveling his hips in a dirty little grind.
“You just wanna hump my leg like a little puppy, huh?” There was a dark delicious promise in Diaz’s voice. Without hesitation, Buck humped forward again. He would have barked, rolled over, played dead—anything the man ordered him to do.
“Show me,” Diaz ordered, panting. His eyes were dark and fathomless. “Show me how hard you are for me.”
Fumbling, Buck pushed his basketball shorts down until they pooled around his knees.
Diaz pushed him off his cock, rubbing a disconcertingly gentle thumb over his jaw and making him shiver.
“Shirt off too.” There was no room for negotiation in that tone, not that Buck could have strung two words together even if he wanted to.
Diaz raked his hungry gaze over every inch of Buck’s skin. Buck shivered, acutely aware of the fact that he was basically naked while Diaz had only pulled out his cock and was otherwise completely covered.
“What the fuck,” Diaz muttered, staring at Buck’s admittedly above average cock. He shook his head a little, slow smile creeping up the corners of his lips. “No wonder you’re such a slut, swinging that thing around all day. Go on, show it off for me. That’s what you’ve been trying to do, right? Go on.”
Biting his lip, Buck leaned back on one arm, so his abs pulled taught. He cupped his cock with his other hand and jacking it a couple times before holding it out toward Diaz, putting himself on display like a toy the man might be considering buying.
Diaz’s smile widened until it was all teeth. He reached down, thumbing one peaked nipple before pinching it hard enough that pleasure-pain shocked through Buck’s body. He chased after the feeling, sagging his body against Diaz’s legs and panting.
Those long, thick fingers scrubbed through Buck’s hair. “Good boy,” Diaz groaned. “God, you’re such a good fucking boy when you get what you need, aren’t you? I’m gonna give you what you need, sweetheart.”
This time, Buck didn’t need a hand on the back of his head, or a single word of direction. Mouthing sloppily at Diaz’s dick, he looked up at the man through watery blue eyes. Blinking, he let the tears fall down the cheeks. He hoped he looked as undone by this man as he felt.
Diaz’s face and chest were flushed a bright red. He panted as he watched Buck work.
Mewling, Buck took his chances and ground his cock against Diaz’s shin again. The thin material of Diaz’s workout pants was silky, damp with Buck’s own pre-come.
“That’s it,” Diaz groaned. “You know what to do.”
Buck wrapped his hand around the base of the man’s cock, jacking the inches he couldn’t swallow without rhythm or finesse. With his other hand he rubbed up and down Diaz’s muscular, solid thigh until he gathered the courage to reach up and gently tug on his balls.
Diaz threw his head back, pawing at Buck blindly, his hips hitching in aborted little thrusts. It wasn’t long after that.
The bitter tang of semen shouldn’t have been a shock. Choking, he frantically tried to swallow as much as he could, even as trails of cum leaked from the corners of his mouth. He lapped at Diaz’s pulsing cock, slurping and gasping for air as he tried to keep all the cum inside him.
“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Diaz chanted. When the last dribble of his orgasm was dripping down Buck’s chin, Diaz looked down again through lust-hazy eyes.
“God, you’re a mess.” Diaz wiped up the cum that had escaped Buck’s mouth with the pad of his thumb, feeding it back to him. Watching intently as Buck sucked every last trace of it off the proffered digit. “You can finish.” Diaz’s voice was husky, gravel rough like he was the one who’d been getting his throat fucked to within an inch of his life. “You did such a good job, puppy.”
With a whine, Buck clawed at the man’s hips, rutting against his leg. Orgasm flashed through him like a lightbulb exploding, sending sparks of light and heat through every artery and vein. Time vanished as his vision blacked out, vacating everything inside of his brain to make room for a shock of uncontainable pleasure. He shuddered, rubbing his oversensitive cock against his own mess, totally soaking Diaz’s pant leg in his come as he rode out the last gasps of his orgasm.
Moments passed, marked only by the rough drag of their uneven breathing. Diaz massaged Buck’s scalp in a lazy way that seemed like an unconscious fidget.
“Well, that was unexpected.” Buck didn’t recognize the ruined husk of his own voice. It would have sounded smoother if he’d been gargling gravel for the last hour.
“Fuck.” The word snapped out of Diaz, a harsh croak.
The sound of it hit Buck harder than a slap. He had been someone’s one night regret enough times by now to know exactly what it meant.