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It takes a while, but once Buck gets going, he really gets going. As the words rush out of him, his scent opens up, green and warm, like the orange blossoms Eddie’s abuela used to coax from the potted tree in her living room every winter.
“—and then he said I was going to end up breaking his heart. Because he was ‘my first.’ Like I’ve never been in a serious relationship before.”
Eddie knocks back the rest of his beer and sets the empty aside. “I’m still stuck on the part where he called you a himbo.”
“Right?”
When Buck first appeared at Eddie’s door earlier that night, he’d smelled confused and hurt. Eddie can still detect a whiff of that tension through the other layers of his scent now: the fading musk of his date-night cologne, the citrus and grass of the IPA they’ve been drinking, and beneath that, something like flowers and turned earth. A base note that’s all him.
Eddie shoves down the thought that Buck smells good, even with the bitter edge of heartbreak on him. The last thing he needs right now is Eddie sniffing him like a possessive asshole.
“I don’t know.” Buck shifts to face Eddie. His body curls inward as he pulls one foot up onto the couch and tucks it beneath his thigh. “I guess I just… really thought I’d figured it out—that Tommy was gonna be the one who finally stuck around.”
“Makes sense. You spent years not knowing you were into guys. Of course you’d get hung up on the idea of making it work with him.”
Eddie doesn’t point out that half the time, Buck and Tommy barely seem to tolerate—never mind love—one another. He’s not one to kick a man while he’s down.
“Ugh.” Buck flops back against the couch cushions then raises his beer bottle to his lips. It settles something inside Eddie, knowing Buck came here, to his house, instead of going out and drowning his sorrows at a seedy bar. Maybe flashing those baby blues and picking up a pretty girl (or worse, a man) to warm his bed for the night.
So much for not being territorial.
Truth be told, Eddie likes that Buck comes to him. Knowing he can be the kind of alpha Buck needs—safe, sane, and stable—grounds Eddie and gives him a sense of purpose. Somehow, the two of them have always just worked. Despite the alpha-omega bullshit that could’ve messed them up. Despite Eddie wanting more than he should. Buck’s the one person he’s managed to do right by.
(And Eddie’s not blind to the bitter irony of it: with Buck, he’s the alpha he wanted, but failed, to be for Christopher. If the disaster with Kim taught him anything, it’s the importance of reigning in his more selfish impulses so others don’t get hurt.)
“So you think that’s it?” Buck asks. He rolls his head to the side to look at Eddie. “Tommy and I are done?”
“Sorry, bud. But yeah… it sounds like it.”
Buck tries to shrug it off. “Don’t be.” He makes a face, considering. “It’s kinda like karma, I guess.”
“Karma?”
“He was your friend first,” Buck elaborates. “I just… swooped in. Stole him from you.”
“Well, I do have great taste.” That gets Buck to crack a smile, thank God. “And anyway, last time I checked, Tommy kissed you,” Eddie says. “You weren’t the one doing the swooping in and stealing.”
Buck doesn’t need to be let in on this, but Eddie isn’t all that broken up about the end of his and Tommy’s friendship. They were done the moment Tommy waltzed into Chim’s hospital room wedding with Buck in tow, soot from his clothes and face all over Buck’s mouth—his scent all over Buck’s skin.
Buck smelling like smoke and alpha wasn’t unusual. Eddie had breathed it in a hundred times after calls—Buck’s scent tangled with Eddie’s own and the rest of the team. But this was different. This was Buck drenched in fire and someone else’s alpha, and it made something ugly and possessive rear up inside Eddie.
And so Tommy made his choice, and Eddie made his.
“I get it, you know,” Buck goes on, blissfully ignorant. “If you still want to hang out with him.”
Eddie bites back about ten different things he could say (See, Mom? He can be tactful when he wants to be) and replies shortly, “I don’t.”
“Eddie. You don’t have to cut him out—not for me.”
“Want another? Something stronger?” he asks, brushing off Buck’s concern. Eddie’s got a fifth of Herradura in the cabinet above the fridge he wouldn’t mind getting into. It’s been a hell of a day, and they could both do worse than drowning out all thoughts of Tommy Kinard with mid-grade tequila.
“I shouldn’t.” Buck sighs and pushes himself upright, sending the pillow he’s been hugging tumbling to the couch. Eddie’s fingers itch to retrieve it and settle Buck back into his nest. “It’s getting late.”
“You leaving?”
“Mmm.” Buck looks at Eddie through his lashes. Eddie used to catch Buck glancing at him like that all the time, back when they were new to each other.
He doesn’t do it as often anymore. Eddie wonders if it means something.
“Mind if I crash here tonight? I don’t want to go home right now,” Buck asks, worrying his bottom lip.
“You know you can stay over anytime,” Eddie says, trying to sound normal about it. He stands, needing a task. “I’ll grab the stuff for the couch.”
Eddie gathers their empties and retreats to the kitchen, giving Buck some space. He putters for a bit—wiping down counters that don’t need it, checking the back door lock twice—before heading to the hall closet for the guest bedding.
For years, Eddie kept a single set of worn sheets and one of those awful scratchy wool blankets with the satin trim for the rare occasion someone crashed on his couch. When Buck came into his life and sleepovers became a regular thing, Eddie gradually started upgrading his kit. He swapped the hand-me-down sheets for percale cotton from Pottery Barn, replaced the wool blanket with a heavy duvet and extra pillows.
Now, he bundles up the bedding—which, for all intents and purposes, belongs to Buck—and makes his way back to the living room. Eddie catches Buck’s scent on the fabric as he moves. It’s warm and floral, with that hint of something nameless Eddie’s alpha wants to curl around and keep.
In Eddie’s absence, Buck has stripped down to just jeans and a t-shirt. His jacket’s draped over the back of the chair in the corner, his wallet and keys arranged neatly on the seat cushion. Eddie treads heavily, not wanting to startle him.
“Here you go,” he says, handing over the bedding. He must be doing something with his face, because Buck shoots him a smile.
“Thanks. I really do appreciate it.”
“Because you staying over is such a hardship.”
Buck looks down and fidgets with the corner of the top sheet. “It just… everything there still smells like him, you know?”
When Eddie’s parents took Christopher last May, Eddie spent weeks wandering through his house in a daze. Occasionally, he’d catch a phantom note of his son’s green cardamom scent as he drifted past the closed door to his son’s bedroom. Every time, a little wave of grief followed.
What was worse was the day he realized he couldn’t smell Chris at all.
“I get it.”
Buck’s doing that thing again: looking at Eddie without really looking. There’s something shyly submissive about his sidelong glance—his eyes flicking up to meet Eddie’s before darting away again.
It’s driving Eddie’s alpha crazy.
He clears his throat and takes a step back. “I should let you—”
At the same time, Buck blurts out, “I’m going to miss your mustache.”
What?
Caught off guard, Eddie laughs. “I thought you hated the mustache.”
“I got used to it,” Buck admits. A pretty pink flush creeps up his neck. “You looked good.”
“I don’t know… felt like I was trying too hard.”
What was it he’d said to Father Brian—that it was his way of hiding? Eddie still doesn’t know if that’s the whole truth, but it’s the closest he can come to explaining how he felt every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Buck’s expression softens. “Maybe. But you don’t need to try at all.”
“No?”
“No.” Buck holds Eddie’s gaze for a long moment, then looks away. “Anyway. I liked it. That’s all.”
Huh.
The conversation has nowhere left to go, but neither of them moves. Eddie knows they should be saying goodnight, separating, and falling asleep alone.
He can’t quite bring himself to leave, is the thing.
He keeps thinking about the smudges of soot he’d seen on Buck’s face at the wedding, around his mouth. He keeps thinking about self-denial and the things that could—would—bring him joy if he just let himself have them. His jaw tenses and aches.
So, because he’s apparently insane, he says, “I could help you.”
Buck’s eyes are shining in the low light. Now that he’s shed his jacket, Eddie can see the bare curve of his forearm—the stark, black lines of his tattoo breaking up all that pale, freckled skin.
“What do you mean?”
“With the scent thing,” Eddie says. “I mean… if you want me to.”
Gently, he takes the sheets and duvet back from Buck and sets them on the couch. Buck releases the bedding without protest, watching him the whole time. Eddie can see Buck calculating, working through the angles. Probably worrying he’s asking for too much.
“It’s up to you,” he says.
It makes sense, Eddie thinks stubbornly. He and Buck have scent-marked each other before. Not often, and not recently. By unspoken agreement, they avoid it when either of them is in a relationship. They both know how it looks.
The thought annoys Eddie, irrational as it is. If he and Buck were of the same designation—or if one of them were a nice, neutral beta—no one would question a familial scent bond, given the fact that they live in each other’s pockets. But because of their dynamic, people assume it must mean something. An unmated alpha, scent-marking an unmated omega.
“Are you sure?” Buck asks finally. He’s in Eddie’s space now, his head ducked low, gaze warm.
Eddie swallows. “Of course.”
He sounds more confident than he is. His pulse is fluttering, butterfly-fast, at the base of his throat. It means something that Buck’s letting Eddie wipe away another alpha’s claim. What it means, exactly, Eddie’s not sure. He’s trusting his instincts, which, given his recent track record, is probably a terrible idea.
Still, his brain keeps circling back to two facts:
One, Buck came here, to Eddie, for comfort.
Two, Eddie can give this to him.
(He needs to give this to him.)
“How do you—?” Buck starts, uncertain.
“Here.”
Eddie steps into Buck’s space, then hesitates. Usually, he scent-marks Buck the same way he does Chris. They settle on the couch with Buck’s head in Eddie’s lap and put something mindless on TV—Love Island or Traitors or that British baking show Buck likes. Eddie works his fingers through Buck’s hair, rubbing lazy circles against his scalp so the scent glands in his wrists brush over Buck’s neck and shoulders. Easy, incidental.
Sometimes they switch roles: Eddie’s head on Buck’s lap, Buck’s fingers in Eddie’s hair. When Eddie was still mated to Shannon, she’d scent-mark him after long shifts on-base. He’d come to crave that closeness, the mutual satisfaction of claiming and being claimed. Falling back into the habit with Buck had felt natural. After all, Shannon had been his best friend once, too.
Now, Eddie’s alpha is eager to reassert its claim. Eddie wants Buck in his arms, wants to card his fingers through Buck’s hair until he’s drenched in his scent.
There’s just one problem: Eddie isn’t wearing any pants.
He could make his excuses and go change, but he worries any interruption would shatter this moment. One of them would second-guess, back down, laugh it off. Eddie doesn’t want that, though the mental image of Buck’s curls pillowed against his bare thigh pushes the boundaries of plausible deniability, even for him.
So he chooses another approach.
Tapping two fingers against Buck’s jaw, Eddie says, “Tilt your head back.” His voice is soft, but there’s something in his tone he doesn’t recognize. The ghost of a command.
For a second, he thinks Buck’s going to fight him on it, something stubborn flashing across his face. But then, Buck gives in. He lets Eddie position him, yields to his touch with a kind of blind faith that makes heat spread through Eddie’s chest. Because it’s one thing knowing Buck will follow wherever he leads, and another thing entirely to watch him surrender.
Eddie breathes out through his mouth, steadying himself, before leaning in to crowd Buck’s space. Up this close, he can scent the remnants of another alpha on Buck’s skin. It’s faint, and he wonders if Buck ever noticed the half-measures by which Tommy claimed him.
Eddie had noticed, though he never said anything. It wasn’t his place to question Tommy’s motives. And maybe, if he’s being honest with himself, it’d soothed him to know that Tommy was never really a threat. Tommy and Buck were always doomed to end, and all Eddie had to do was sit around and wait.
The waiting is over, now, and so Eddie presses his face against the bared column of Buck’s throat. He drags his cheek and nose over the scent gland there, savoring the rasp of Buck’s day-old stubble against his skin.
Buck exhales, his breath warm against Eddie’s temple. Eddie’s palm finds Buck’s chest, feeling it rise and fall like a bellows. There’s something addictive about being this close to him. Biting distance, Eddie thinks, half-drunk on Buck’s scent.
He mouths at Buck’s skin and thrills at the quiet noise Buck makes in the back of his throat. He wants to hear that sound again. He shifts closer, nuzzling deeper into the curve of Buck’s neck, breathing both of them in. Eddie had showered earlier, and he smells entirely like himself—cedar and ash and green, smoking things—no blockers left to dilute his scent.
Buck smells like himself, too, and so finally—finally—Eddie parts his lips and tastes him.
Buck jolts when Eddie’s teeth meet his flesh. Eddie doesn’t mean to do it—to bite, to sink his teeth just beside where a claim would sit, close enough that it’s almost cruel in what it isn’t—but he can’t seem to help himself. He feels Buck exhale against the side of his face. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, keeps nipping and sucking at his skin as Buck goes limp in his hold. He’s just as beautifully responsive here, arrested in the amber shadows of his living room, as he is at work, when they move together.
Eddie knows Buck, and Buck knows him; they have each other’s choreography down, their patterns and tells mapped out. It’s easy to walk him backward, to push him down onto the couch, to keep going.
Eddie’s about to climb into Buck’s lap when he sees the dark streak on his throat.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
“What is it?” Buck asks. Following Eddie’s gaze, he reaches up and tentatively touches the spot beneath his jaw. His fingertips come away red.
“Buck, I’m—” Eddie doesn’t want to keep staring at it, but he can’t quite bring himself to look away.
He did that to Buck. He almost…
“Hey.” Buck’s eyebrows draw together. His hands find Eddie’s waist, and he pulls him forward from where he’s standing—frozen, still hovering—until Eddie’s sitting on him. He perches awkwardly, trying not to put his full weight on Buck. He smells unbearably good.
Buck looks at Eddie seriously for a moment. Then he touches Eddie’s face, his fingers still tacky with his own blood, and reels him in for a kiss.
The kiss is perfect: soft but deep. Between one breath and the next, Buck parts his mouth and slides his tongue against Eddie’s, tasting. He drags his thumb along the blade of Eddie’s cheekbone, and sparks spiral through Eddie at the touch.
“Eddie, Eddie,” Buck mumbles against him. “Let me.”
Eddie wants to, so he kisses him back.
He molds his body to Buck’s, pushing him further back into the couch, no longer self-conscious about putting his weight on him. He wants to cover Buck’s body completely—chest to chest, hips to hips—so he does, kissing him hard until they’re both gasping for air.
When they part, it’s to look at each other seriously. Eddie puts his thumb on Buck’s lower lip and draws it down, exposing the white and pink line where his teeth meet his gums. Buck nips at the pad of Eddie’s finger in response, chastising, and Eddie spends a blissful moment fantasizing about sliding his fingers into Buck’s mouth and curling them against his tongue.
He must linger in that fantasy a touch too long, because when Buck speaks, it startles him. He’d almost forgotten they can both use words.
“Are we—” Buck’s voice wavers. “Are we really doing this?”
The cold, crystalized anxiety that’s kept Eddie from following his instincts to their natural conclusion spreads through him again. Years ago, in the back of his parents’ Camry, Shannon had asked him the same question, damn near word-for-word. Eddie remembers his knee planted in the cradle of the backseat, the upholstery smelling like sun-warmed dust. How Shannon had looked up at him, so needlessly and foolishly trusting.
Her scent changed after that—brightening, sandalwood and magnolia giving way to something grassy and slightly camphorous—accommodating what Eddie’s mother would call, in the unforgiving light of their family room, ‘the consequences of their actions’. Shannon sitting beside Eddie on the couch, one hand curved over her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he says, though he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. Buck must understand him somehow, because his gaze turns gentle.
“It’s okay, Eddie,” he says. “You can take what you need.”
Wants and needs are not the same thing. Eddie knows that. But at some point, doesn’t wanting become indistinguishable from needing, anyway?
“Please,” Buck says.
Eddie doesn’t want to dwell on it, so he kisses him again.
He runs his hand up the ladder of Buck’s ribs, feeling the soft vibrations rising from deep within his chest. Eddie’s only heard Buck purr a handful of times before, and only ever in pain or distress. He wonders if it means something different now—pleasure or submission instead of self-soothing—and if Buck is even aware he’s doing it.
Getting a grip on Buck’s shoulders, Eddie pushes him down until he’s flat on his back, sinking into the couch. Physically, Buck’s never fit the idealized stereotype of the small and dainty omega. He’s taller than Eddie. Broader and heavier these days, too. Eddie likes it. His alpha thrives on having to work for it.
Buck seems willing enough to play along. He lies back, looking at Eddie with a brand of sultry intensity he’s never directed Eddie’s way before. The mean, jealous part of Eddie—the one that found something wanting in all of Buck’s exes—hates that there’s something practiced about it. That it’s evidence Buck has given these pieces of himself away to others before Eddie, and that he’ll do it again, with someone else, when this thing between them runs its course.
Spurred by a flash of jealousy, Eddie presses his face against Buck’s neck again. He laps at the blood there, now a sluggish trickle, relishing the copper-salt taste of it on his tongue. He traces his nose up behind Buck’s ear to the sensitive curve of his scent gland. Buck tips his head back, obliging, giving Eddie room to explore. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s bare thigh, fingers drifting upward, learning Eddie’s body as Eddie learns his.
Buck shifts, widening his legs and hooking his ankle over Eddie’s calf to pull him in closer. His cock fattens up against Eddie’s hip, and Eddie catches the scent of his slick—dark and treacly, a little like burnt sugar where it clings to the back of his throat.
Eddie bites down on Buck’s neck again. Not hard enough to break the skin this time, but hard enough to leave a bruise. He pushes his tongue against the corded muscle there and glories in the low, guttural moan Buck gives up in response. Buck’s hands slide up Eddie’s thighs to grope at his ass. His middle finger slips beneath the bottom of Eddie’s briefs, grazing the skin and causing the fine hairs there to stand on end.
Eddie pulls back, breathing hard. The bite mark on Buck’s throat is already darkening—red edging toward purple.
“You smell good, Buck,” he rasps.
Buck’s pupils are blown wide, and Eddie can see the tip of a fang pressing against his lower lip. “Yeah, you too. You smell so—” Buck cuts himself off. His hips roll beneath Eddie, seeking friction. That low purr keeps rumbling through him. It’s doing something to Eddie’s ability to think straight.
Eddie starts unbuttoning his shirt, eyes still on the mark he’s left on Buck’s skin. “I want to knot you,” he says bluntly. Because if they’re doing this, they might as well do it right.
“Uh, y–yeah. Okay.”
Buck swallows, and the movement draws Eddie’s eye to the pink flush spreading down his chest, disappearing beneath his shirt collar. Eddie wants to follow it with his mouth and see how far it goes. He’s so caught up imagining it—sinking his teeth in lower, marking Buck everywhere—that he almost misses when Buck’s expression changes. The uncertainty melts from Buck’s face, and something confident, almost cocky, takes its place.
Buck’s hands slide down from his ass to grip his thighs, biceps flexing. Eddie’s alpha bristles at the shift—the way Buck’s bracing himself, preparing to move. For a split second, he thinks Buck’s about to try to flip them, pin Eddie down. But Buck just scoots backward along the cushions, bringing Eddie along, until his back meets the armrest. He settles there at an angle, half-sitting, with Eddie still on top of him.
Instincts quieting, Eddie peels off his shirt and lets it drop to the floor.
“Feeling overdressed here,” Buck says with a grin. He wiggles his hips beneath Eddie. “Help me?”
“Up.” Eddie taps Buck’s shoulder and waits for him to lift his arms so he can work his t-shirt off. It’s a little awkward with Buck still wedged against the couch, but they manage it together. Buck’s hair gets thoroughly ruffled in the process. His curls stick out in every direction as the fabric finally comes free.
Buck’s shirt joins Eddie’s on the floor. Eddie scoots backwards so he can undo his belt and jeans. This time, Buck doesn’t move to help him. He just leans against the arm of the couch, his gaze hot and intent as he watches Eddie fumble with his zipper.
Eddie briefly looks up from what he’s doing to take in the broad expanse of Buck: the defined chest, the tight rosebud nipples, the tattoos scattered across his upper body. The sight goes straight to his cock.
“Figures you’d make me do all the work,” he says, ducking his head again to focus on the task at hand.
“My big strong alpha,” Buck says. His tone is lazy but goading. “Gotta make you earn your keep somehow.”
Eddie bites his lip. “Jesus, Buck.”
Managing to get Buck’s belt and fly undone, Eddie taps Buck’s hip so he’ll lift up. Buck obeys easily, letting Eddie pull his jeans down and off his legs, though his eyes stay on him the entire time.
Eddie’s skin prickles under the weight of Buck’s attention. He’s hyperaware of how hard he is, how his cock presses up against the flimsy fabric of his briefs and leaves nothing to the imagination.
It’s only a little comforting to see that Buck’s just as affected.
“You’re pretty calm for an alpha about to knot,” Buck observes. It’s not quite a taunt, but it’s close.
“Yeah, well,” Eddie says. “I’m not always an animal—unlike some people.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Buck touches the bite on his neck and flashes him a grin. “First time for everything though, right?“
Eddie tosses Buck’s jeans to the side and pulls down his underwear. His mouth waters as he’s hit with the full, ambrosial scent of Buck’s slick.
“You’ve never been with an omega before,” Buck goes on, matter-of-factly. And this is what Eddie gets for being best friends with the person he’s about to sleep with—Buck knows Eddie’s entire, not very impressive sexual history, and he isn’t afraid to use it against him.
“Was never really interested,” Eddie says. The ‘before you’ goes unsaid.
“But you are now?”
“I am now,” he agrees.
He settles back on top of Buck, knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him. There’s something intimately familiar about being here like this—on the couch where they’ve spent hundreds of nights together. Eating cheap takeout, watching movies with Christopher, bingeing shitty reality TV. They’ve sprawled here together, cuddled and dozed. Buck’s slept in this very spot countless times: when he was too tired to go home, or when just didn’t want to. Like tonight.
It raises the question: has Buck ever done this on Eddie’s couch? Eddie thinks he might’ve caught the scent once or twice before—slick and arousal—when he’d wandered out to the kitchen on those mornings after Buck stayed over.
His alpha wants to know. Wants Buck to tell him every dirty detail.
“I thought you were straight,” Buck says, solemn.
Having just wandered down the trail of his non-platonic thoughts, Eddie nearly laughs.
He’s spent years hiding it. Letting people assume his interest ran in one direction only. It was safer than giving strangers (or god forbid, his family) ammunition. Alphas who liked men and women were just proving the stereotype right—that they couldn’t control themselves. That they’d fuck anything that would move.
But hearing Buck say it out loud—that he thought Eddie was straight—makes the absurdity of it hit Eddie at once. All that careful masking, and for what? So Buck wouldn’t know that Eddie could want him like this?
“What gave you that impression?”
He chooses that moment to roll his hips down against Buck, who stutters before breaking off with a gasp and a whine.
“I’m n–not really sure.”
“Well, I’m not,” Eddie says, conversationally, “straight.”
“Eddie.”
Eddie is getting impatient. He shifts back, sitting on Buck’s thighs, and pushes himself up on his knees to pull his own underwear down. Buck zeroes in on Eddie’s hand as he palms his cock and starts stroking himself.
Buck begins to babble, sweet and eager. “So pretty. Wanna taste it. Fuck, Eddie, please let me taste it.”
Eddie can smell how ready he is. “Yeah,” he says. He feels dumb with how much he wants it. He’s probably dropped a dozen IQ points in the last few minutes. There are things he should be thinking about that aren’t the plush pink of Buck’s lips, how good Buck’s mouth is going to feel around him in a moment. But for the life of him, he can’t seem to hold onto anything that’s not connected to Buck or sex.
Eddie rocks forward and brushes his cock over Buck’s bottom lip. Buck sticks his tongue out to lap at the bead of precum gathering at the tip. Eddie forces himself to still. Part of him is dying to push forward, but he doesn’t want to hurt Buck.
Buck settles the debate by saying, “C’mon, I want it.”
Eddie doesn’t need to be asked twice. He leans in, feeding his cock into Buck’s mouth properly this time. He’s entranced by the stretch of Buck’s lips around him, the way Buck sucks at the head a little before taking him in. Buck looks up at him—flushed and open, like something blooming.
Eddie gives Buck a moment to adjust before he slowly starts working his hips. Buck’s lips slide over him, fangs carefully tucked away. His tongue is hot and wet where it works the bottom of Eddie’s shaft.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that Buck’s a natural at sucking cock. He’s got an oral fixation a mile wide, chews on pens and straws and his nails during any nervous silence. But somehow, in all of Eddie’s years of quietly longing for his best friend, he never put two and two together to imagine Buck like this.
“Fuck,” Eddie says wonderingly. He releases himself, letting Buck swat his hand away and take over. He gives Buck’s shoulder a squeeze then reaches up and tugs at his hair, reveling in the sharp sting.
Buck hums in response and begins jerking Eddie off properly, his grip firm at the base of Eddie’s cock where the sensitive skin of his knot is starting to swell. It makes his toes curl, the way Buck takes him in with his mouth and lips and tongue. Buck’s other hand lands on Eddie’s ass. He kneads the muscle there, pulling Eddie forward and forcing him further down his throat.
“Shit. Bu—this is going to be over real soon if you keep doing that,” he gasps.
Buck pulls off Eddie’s cock with a filthy, wet sound. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Can’t knot you if I’ve already come.”
“Right. Okay.”
Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away and gets to his feet, legs gone to jello beneath him. Buck, for his part, gets a hand on his own cock—which is long and pretty and pink. He gives himself a few lazy tugs while Eddie watches and decides how he wants him.
The smell of Buck’s slick, and the enticing gleam of it where it’s starting to leak down his thighs, makes the decision for him.
“Flip over,” he says.
Obeying without hesitation, Buck gets on his hands and knees. It’s a tight fit maneuvering them both into position on the couch. Had Eddie any presence of mind when they’d started this, he might have steered them to the bedroom where he’d have the space to spread Buck out on his bed and move him around as he pleases. As it stands, Eddie likes the cramped urgency of doing it here, like this—both of them marking this space as theirs.
Buck will smell them here every time he stays over from now on. Eddie’s not mad about that.
He rubs his thumb over Buck’s hole, feeling the soft give of the rim as he presses down. The honeyed scent of Buck’s slick makes Eddie’s head swim. He’s smelled it before, of course. They’ve worked and lived in close quarters for years now. Preheats are a fact of life, and blockers can only do so much. But this is the first time Eddie’s smelled Buck without any barriers between them.
He’s desperate to get his cock inside Buck, but he also wants to taste him. Steadying Buck with a hand on his flank, Eddie dips down and gets his mouth on him for the first time. Buck’s slick coats his jaw, Eddie’s skin stinging where his razor recently scraped it clean. Eddie swallows and gives Buck an exploratory lick, then another. He laps at Buck’s hole, teasing out more slick before driving his tongue inside him.
“Eddie.” Buck whines, rocking forward like it’s too much, and drops his forehead against the arm of the couch.
Eddie nips at the flesh of his ass in response. “You taste amazing,” he says, feeling strung out and a little slick-drunk. “Knew you would.”
“Yeah, Edd— yeah.” Buck’s panting. He’s got a hand on his cock and is slowly working it from base to tip. Eddie gets with the program long enough to bat it away.
“Gonna take care of you,” he promises.
“Please.”
He likes the way Buck sounds, whining and begging so prettily, so he goes back to the task at hand. Buck moans as Eddie starts to lick and suck at the tender softness of his hole. Eddie keeps a grip on either of Buck’s thighs, pushing them apart while the muscles twitch beneath his hands. He wants Buck spread out and needy for him.
He always liked eating his girlfriends out. Liked getting them wet, wet, wet, with their juices smeared across his face.
“Never popped a knot inside someone before,” he confesses, pulling off Buck just long enough to start working his fingers inside him.
Buck groans and looks over his shoulder, trying to see what Eddie’s doing. “You’re gonna love it,” he says. “It’s so, so good. When Tommy—”
Eddie growls—actually growls—at that, and yanks Buck’s by the hips until his ass is flush against him. Eddie knows Buck’s just being a little shit, egging him on until he gets what he wants. But God help him—as a strategy, it works.
He rubs his cock over Buck’s hole, letting it slide across his taint and bump up beneath his balls. Getting it sopping with Buck’s slick before he mounts him.
“Don’t talk to me about Tommy,” he says, and then he pushes inside.
He starts moving his hips and it feels like bliss. Buck’s hothouse flower scent rises between them, petrichor and scorched earth mingling. Eddie leans forward, draping himself over Buck’s back. He wraps an arm around Buck’s chest and pulls him upright until Buck is sitting in his lap. His focus zeroes in on Buck’s neck—the dried smear of blood that trails from his throat to his jaw, and further back, to where his curls stick damply to the nape of his neck.
It’s the spot where, if Eddie bit, things would really take.
“Eddie, Eddie. Alpha—” Buck’s nearly incoherent now. He pushes himself back onto Eddie’s cock, chasing his pleasure. Eddie gets a hand on him and starts jerking him off properly. When Buck turns his face to the side, gasping, something about his profile—his flushed cheek, the flutter of his eyelashes—reminds Eddie of when they first met: how young he was, how pretty, how much he needed to be wanted.
Though it’s Eddie’s own lack of self-control that’s gotten them into this situation, he can’t help but wonder if Buck’s always wanted this too. If he’s thought about Eddie before, and if so, where and when and how often?
A quietly terrified part of him hopes this isn’t just an impulse or a moment of weakness for Buck—driven by Tommy’s rejection and his insatiable need to be loved. Eddie knows him well enough to realize it’s a possibility.
Tucking his face against Buck’s neck, he suppresses the urge to bite down and make Buck his. Instead, he contents himself with breathing him in. It’s selfish—all of this is selfish, Eddie knows—but he’s never been good at wanting someone without needing to possess them.
So Eddie keeps fucking Buck, driving his cock into that sweet spot that makes him keen. He jerks him off at the same time and revels in the messy slide of pre-cum coating his fist. Eddie can give Buck this much: his body, these moments, whatever pleasure he can offer before reality catches up. There’s no taking it back now, anyway.
“My knot,” he warns, breath hitching. He feels a tell-tale heat starting to spread at the base of his cock. Despite Buck’s earlier begging, Eddie’s not sure he really wants to be tied. He tells himself he can hold back if he tries.
Buck, thank God, seems very sure, because he responds by grinding back harder against Eddie’s lap. Eddie’s mouth waters, saliva pooling beneath his tongue. Worried he’s about to lose what little control he has left, he gets a hand between Buck’s shoulder blades and pushes him back down onto his hands and knees.
Buck yields immediately, his back arching into a perfect curve that makes Eddie’s teeth ache. Giving in to his instincts, Eddie drapes himself over Buck and grinds his knot inside him until it swells and takes. As he starts to come, he catches the nape of Buck’s neck between his teeth. Not biting. Just holding Buck in place while he shudders beneath him.
Buck makes a sound between a hiccup and a sigh then comes all over Eddie’s fist. Eddie nearly whites out from the pleasure of it. Buck’s hole squeezes tight and hot around his cock, wave after wave of warmth pulsing through Eddie as he floods him with his spend.
“Buck,” he moans, half-collapsing on top of him. He buries his face in the space between Buck’s shoulder and neck, breathing him in. Buck whimpers something half-coherent that might be Eddie’s name.
Once he’s caught his breath, Eddie carefully turns them so his back is against the couch, Buck tucked into the space in front of him. Around them, the living room is still and dark. A car drives by outside, its headlights filtering through the curtains and moving over their naked bodies. Eddie can make out the shapes of their clothes, discarded on the floor. Music is still playing in the background, something low and bass-heavy.
The lights pass over them and leave them in darkness again. Eddie moves his hand to Buck’s chest, touching him lightly over his heart, trying to calm the anxiety taking root in his body. He blinks and focuses on the painting of Mexican sunflowers over the fireplace mantel—they’re vibrant and yellow, though they’re already starting to wilt in their vase. He counts the spaces between Buck’s heartbeats, feels his pulse slow and the beats get further apart, like thunder moving into the distance.
Slowly, they both come down from their high. The creeping dread beneath his skin gives way to a heavy lassitude that wants to pull him closer—into Buck’s scent, his heat, the broad planes of his back. Tears prick behind his eyelids, and he closes his eyes.
“Eddie?” Something about the plaintive uncertainty in Buck’s tone is almost enough to break him.
“Mmm?”
Selfishly, Eddie’s glad he can’t see Buck’s face. Buck always wears his emotions plainly, and Eddie’s not sure he could stand to see them right now, when he doesn’t know what to do with his own.
“Was that…?” Buck tries again.
Leave it to Buck to be so cocksure in the moment—flirting and drawing Eddie into bed with him—and then so uncertain after.
Eddie doesn’t want to hurt him, so he says, “Wanted it. Stop thinking so hard.”
As far as reassurance goes, it’s not much, but Buck relaxes a little in his arms.
“‘Kay.” He presses a kiss against the back of Eddie’s arm where it’s draped over his chest. His scent is blooming again, still hot and floral, but there’s something thick and choking about it now. Eddie breathes through his mouth, trying not to taste the complex layers of them mingled together—the smoke that wants to press thick against the back of his tongue.
There’s something else there, too, Eddie realizes with a queasy jolt. Something like a forest floor: moss and fern and green, tender shoots mixing with fallen pine needles.
He knows what it means. Or he thinks he does. His heart hammers against his ribs.
But this is Buck. This time, he has to be better.
After a moment, Eddie finds his voice. “Buck?”
“Yeah, Eddie?”
His throat tightens. The taste of copper and salt in his mouth turns bitter.
“We should talk.”