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All on the Line

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It’s Saturday night and Buck’s apartment is regrettably quiet. 

Buck can’t remember the last Saturday he wasn’t on shift that wasn’t spent on his living room sofa with Chris and Eddie, and some pizza, and video games. It wasn’t a routine Buck developed intentionally, but somewhere between making up after the lawsuit and now, he’d gone from being friends with the Diaz boys to basically living in their pockets. They come over for Games Night, and he joins them at their place for dinner and homework help when they're off shift weeknights. At this point, Buck spends more Sundays than not in Isabel Diaz’ kitchen for brunch after church, such a far cry from the Sunday mornings he used to spend, hung-over, corralling one-night-stands out of his sharehouse before his roommates could sink their teeth in – Buck never would have guessed he’d become someone so downright domestic. 

As for this Saturday evening, and the Sunday to follow, Buck’s calendar is wide open, and he’s all the lonelier for it. Chris has the flu – a simple stomach bug, Eddie’s assured him – but he’s out of commission for Games Night, at home, in bed, sleeping off a fever and an unsettled stomach, and Eddie’s warded him off from coming over, lest he catch sick himself. 

It’s only eight o’clock, but Buck is so disoriented, so unmoored, without his usual company, he finds himself pacing the length of his apartment, beer in hand and half-forgotten, condensation beading under his fingers. He picks up the remote a few times, then sets it down. Gets as far as turning his console on, then turns it off again, any desire to play quashed quickly by the harsh reality that there’s no one to play with. No one to show off for. 

There’s a relentless itch under Buck’s skin, a nervous, jittering energy, and he downs the remaining half of his bottle of beer in one long pull, before setting it down on the coffee table and taking the stairs to his loft two at a time. He yanks his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, dropping it to the floor alongside the rest of a heap of laundry he’ll get around to doing tomorrow, now that he’s got all this spare time. 

The itching doesn’t stop when Buck pulls off his shirt. It’s still crawling, twitching in his muscles. He thinks about switching his jeans out for a pair of shorts, of going out for a run to burn some of the energy off. The idea feels wrong, like it isn’t that kind of energy, and that isn’t the release he needs. 

It’s… been a while, Buck’s willing to admit. His relationship with Ali ended over a year ago, and there hasn’t been anyone since. Buck remembers how disbelieving he was, when Abby told him she hadn’t had sex in over a year. He gets it now, now that he’s discovered how much he enjoys being in a relationship, how much he enjoys having sex with someone he actually has feelings for. Hooking up is a cheap replacement. 

Especially when Buck knows exactly who he wants to be having passionate, meaningful sex with. 

They weren’t feelings Buck developed intentionally, but somewhere between pulling a live grenade out of a man’s leg and basically co-parenting a child together, he’s gone ahead and fallen in love with his best friend, like that doesn’t put in jeopardy the best relationship he’s ever had. 

Buck’s never been so in love with someone, so completely a part of their life, their family. He started getting there with Ali, had been so close with Abby. But Eddie’s stayed, been a constant in the ups and downs in his life, like Buck’s been there for the ups and downs in his, even if he lost his way for a while when the crushing weight of the accident, and the tsunami, and of being replaced and abandoned again had pulled him somewhere dark and vindictive and a little self-destructive. 

Buck knows that the nervous itch under his skin is because Eddie isn’t here, isn’t throwing heat pressed against his side, or staring at him over the lip of a bottle. Buck can’t reach out and clap him on the shoulder, let his touch linger just long enough to make his stomach flip with anxiety that this time, Eddie’s going to catch on, he’s going to feel the way Buck’s so reluctant to let him go and he’ll understand why, that Buck wants to never take his hands off Eddie’s body, that he wants them to be so much more than just friends.

So far, Eddie hasn’t. 

Buck isn’t sure if he’s glad for it, or if it’s some form of torture. 

Grabbing a fresh pair of underwear and his comfiest pair of sweatpants from his dresser, Buck heads back downstairs and turns on the shower instead, hoping to ease the tension in his body with heat, and pressure, and a slick grip around his cock. 

While he waits for the water to come up to temperature, Buck sends Eddie a quick text. 

>> How’s the little guy doing?

He’s undoing the button on his jeans when his phone dings with a response. 

>> Fast asleep. His fever finally broke

Buck sends back a couple of thumbs-up emojis. He slides his jeans over his hips. The heavy fabric drags over the bulge in his underwear, and Buck tries not to think about how he’s getting hard while Eddie texts him, none the wiser. The combination of guilt, and arousal, and steam rising through the air stands up the hair on his arms, his claves, the back of his neck. 

>> You getting up to anything exciting without us?

Buck groans. 

>> It’d be more exciting if you were here

Buck’s brain is mush. He knows he shouldn’t be so forward, even if Eddie isn’t going to pick up on the innuendo. Maybe especially because Eddie isn’t going to pick up on the innuendo. But most of the blood that should be in his head is filling his cock, and the air is damp and sticky and hot against his bare skin like sweat, and common sense isn’t something Buck has the firmest grasp on anymore. 

>> Oh yeah?

>> What are you doing?

Buck is so fucked. 

>> Wouldn’t you like to know?

He backpedals out of his messages and pulls up Spotify before the temptation to send anything even more brazen can win over his sense of self-preservation, and the desire to preserve his and Eddie’s friendship. He cranks his Shower 2 playlist – a benign enough title, so none of the artists have to get a notification they’ve been added to a playlist titled Songs I Jerk Off To – and sets his phone on the counter, screen side down. 

Stepping out of his underwear, Buck pulls back the curtain and gets under the spray. The water pressure in his building is hit or miss, but tonight, it’s downright sinful, easing the knots in his shoulders, and flushing his whole body with heat, starting in his chest, then radiating outward, up his neck, through his belly, into his groin. 

“Fuck,” Buck pants, pressing his palms against the slick, tiled wall to keep his knees from buckling. He ducks his head under the spray, like it might wash away some of the fog wrapped around his mind like a vice. He hasn’t even touched himself yet and he’s so hard. Hasn’t even started thinking about how good Eddie would look on his knees, with Buck’s hands in his hair, big brown eyes blinking up at him while his lips wrap around his–

“Fuck,” Buck says again, groans it, back arching, fingers twitching against the rapidly-heating tile. 

He makes quick work of grabbing the shampoo and lathering his hair. He rinses it out just as fast, passing a washcloth sudsing with mint-scented shower gel over his body while he does. Buck wants to cum so hard his legs shake, needs it more than he thought he did before climbing into the shower and letting his mind wander, and there’s nothing he hates more than having to wash off after he’s so thoroughly wrecked himself. 

When the last of the soap gets washed away, Buck drops the washcloth from between his spread cheeks and lets his fingers linger instead. It lands heavy on his foot with a wet plop that barely registers, he’s so wrapped up in the feeling of his index finger rubbing firm and insistent against his hole. 

He hasn’t had time for this in a while, between work, and exhaustion after work, and having Eddie near constantly in his space. But he can take his time now, finger teasing, pressing, breaching that ring of muscle. He’s hot, and tight, and the water trailing down his back is nowhere near slick enough, but it’s still so good to feel himself open. He pictures deft, tan, calloused fingers in place of his own and huffs out a deep, desperate breath, sliding his finger in farther. 

“Eddie, please,” Buck whimpers. His cock aches to be touched but he can’t yet. He isn’t needy enough. It’s always so much better when he’s so needy, he feels like he’ll do anything. 

Buck’s phone vibrates on the counter. 

He knows it’s Eddie. It has to be Eddie. They were in the middle of a conversation when Buck got int0 the shower, when he started touching himself, fingering himself open thinking about Eddie’s hands and lips against his overheated skin. 

Buck’s too needy, and the king of bad decisions. Instead of ignoring the notification and letting himself come undone to the second half of whatever song by The Weeknd is currently playing over his tinny cell phone speakers, Buck turns off the water and gets out, patting himself down with his towel, careful to avoid touching his cock, and grabs his phone to check Eddie’s text. 

>> Sounds like maybe I might

The phone chimes again while it’s still in Buck’s hand.

>> You home?

>> Alone?

The blood boils in Buck’s veins. He chews his lip and tries not to cum untouched against his bathroom cabinets. Eddie can’t know how this sounds. What this is doing to him. 

>> Yeah

Buck leaves his underwear folded on the counter, but slides into his sweats to save his neighbors the eyeful as he moves through the apartment and back to the loft. The way his cock very obviously tents the soft grey fabric all but defeats the purpose. 

He gets another text from Eddie by the time he makes it to the top of the stairs. 

>> In bed?

>> About to be

>> Where were you before?

Buck gnaws his thumb and whines, cock throbbing in his pants. He flops onto his back in bed, the sheets cool against his clammy skin. He’s desperate to dip his hand under his waistband but knows he can’t, not when he doesn’t know if Eddie understands the kind of reaction he’s inciting from Buck on the other end of the line. His brain is addled with and humming with lust, but he can’t touch until he’s sure, he knows that. 

>> In the shower


Buck cants his hips. There’s nothing there to meet him, nothing to provide friction. It’s maddening, and his breathing quickens and shallows. 

>> Was starting to

>> Sorry I interrupted

>> Are you in bed now?

>> Yes

>> You gonna finish what you started?

Buck whines, high and needy. He tosses back his head, bares his throat, spreads his legs. His toes curl and uncurl in the blankets. He can’t help but be honest. 

>> Yes

Buck stills for a moment, panting heavy while he watches the three little dots that precursor an incoming message dance across his screen. Eddie responds. 

>> What are you wearing?

He sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath and feels the tug of arousal in his belly threaten to white his brain out entirely. He knows what Eddie means. There’s no other way to ask that question. But he has to be sure. 

>> Call me?

For almost a full minute, Buck’s phone stays silent, and he’s ready to curse himself for misreading the signs, for letting his libido get the better of him, for risking everything he and Eddie have on the off chance Eddie’s feeling horny and lonely, too. 

Then, his phone rings. 

Buck answers on the first ring. “I just need to hear you say it. So I know I’m not making it up.” 

Because if he can hear the same raw, needy desperation in Eddie’s voice that’s so plainly audible in his own, he’ll know for sure Eddie wants this, too. He’ll know Eddie wants to hear Buck come undone, and Buck will let him. He’ll let Eddie have anything he wants. 

Eddie’s breath is harsh and labored in Buck’s ear, like he can barely contain it. “What are you wearing?” 

Buck whines. His whole body jerks; he can’t stop his hips from moving, like he might find Eddie’s body pressed atop his if he can just lift them high enough. “Fuck, Eddie.” 

Eddie groans. “This is okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Buck hisses, fingers skimming across the ridges of his abs while his hips roll again at just how wrecked Eddie sounds. “Please,” he adds, desperate and needy and beyond being too proud to show it. “Eddie, I need it.” 

“Tell me what you’re wearing, Buck,” Eddie says. 

“Sweatpants. The grey ones I like on the weekends,” he answers. 

Eddie hums. “The ones I can always see your dick through?” he asks. 

Buck gasps. He writhes and tosses back his head and teases his fingers along his waistband. Eddie plays off his reaction better than Buck would have known how to ask for. 

“Is that why you wear them?” he asks. “So I know just what to picture wrapping my hand around when I go home and touch myself later?” 

“Yeah,” Buck huffs, though it’s never once been the case. The idea that somewhere, deep down, it’s what he’s wanted – the idea that it’s exactly what Eddie’s been going home and doing – sends a shock of heat down his spine. 

“You like showing yourself off for me, Buck?” 


“You know how to be real good to me, don’t you, cariño,” Eddie purrs. Back’s back arches. “So good for me.” 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck whines. His hips thrust again, up, then back down, grinding into the mattress until the springs squeak. 

“Are you touching yourself?” Eddie asks. 

Buck shakes his head, not that Eddie can see. “No,” he says. “I want–” and he does know what he wants, but he isn’t sure how to say it.

Eddie seems to know, too, because, unprompted, he supplies, “want me to tell you that you can? Tell you the way I want it?”

“Please,” Buck begs. He’s nearly sobbing, he’s so desperate for it. It’s been so long since someone’s done this for him, taken the reins and let him fall apart. And he trusts Eddie, so deeply. It takes next to no encouragement at all for Buck to allow himself to be putty in his hands. 

“Take your pants off,” Eddie orders. 

Buck does. 

“Are you wearing underwear?” Eddie asks. 

“No,” Buck replies. 

The noise Eddie makes in response, a deep, throaty, primal growl, is downright sinful. “So fucking good, baby,” he says. “That’s a good–”

Eddie cuts himself off, short and abrupt, like his brain is finally catching up with his mouth. Buck whines and bares his throat. “No. Say it, please.” 

“That’s a good boy.” 

Buck is helpless to stop the needy mewling sounds that punch from his lungs. Eddie’s words hit him like a physical blow, every one of his nerve endings lighting up, synapses firing like fireworks as sparks go off behind his eyes. His limbs feel impossibly heavy and disembodied all at once. 

“Yeah?” Eddie checks. 

“Yes,” Buck hisses. He rubs the barred skin of his neck, presses his fingers hard against his thundering pulse. “You can – as much you want. I like – it’s good.” 

“Of course you like it,” Eddie says. His voice is tight and strained. Buck can just hear the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. “You’re my good boy. So needy for me. I bet your dick is leaking. Tell me how wet you are, cariño.” 

“I’m– fuck,” Buck groans. He glances down at his cock, thick and flushed and dripping precum, smearing against the neatly trimmed hair on his abdomen every time it twitches, desperate for attention. “I’m so wet, Eddie.” 

“For me,” Eddie says. 

Buck nods. “Just for you. Everything, it’s all for you.” 

“God, Buck.” The slick noises on the other end of the line speed up. “Wish I was there to taste you. Mark you up. Make sure you know who you belong to.”

Buck pants. “I know,” he says. “Yours.” 

“Mine,” Eddie affirms. 

Buck’s chest flushes. He presses his fingers against the sides of his throat. 

“Wrap your hand around yourself.”    

His fingers twitch around his neck before he understands, moves his hand down to grip his cock. 

“Want you to feel good like you’re making me feel good,” Eddie whispers. 

Buck’s back bows nearly in half at the first drag of his closed fist. He makes the neediest noise, and Eddie matches his intensity on the other end of the call with something low and guttural and absolutely wrecked. 

“I’m not gonna last,” Buck warns. 

“Don’t want you to,” Eddie replies. “Want you to let go for me, cariño. Cum for me. You can do it.” 

Buck quickens his pace. He mewls and gnaws at his lips as the pressure builds low in his belly, winding him tight like a spring. He shimmies his legs open wider, imagines Eddie slotted between them, watching Buck jerk his cock while he kisses his thighs, slides a slick, thick finger into Buck hole to work him open. 

“No, no, don’t do that,” Eddie says. “Don’t muffle yourself. I wanna hear you cum for me.” 

Buck’s hips rock against the bed. The mattress groans. The sound of his hand working his cock, of slick skin against skin, the ragged sound of his harsh breathing and the tiny kitten noises that slip past his lips sound like thunder in the quiet apartment. Buck flushes up his chest, into his hairline. He already sounds so wanton, so needy. He sounds like a whore. It makes his cock twitch as much as it makes shame claw at the back of his throat. 

“I’ll be loud,” Buck whispers. “Chris, I don’t wanna wake him up.” 

Eddie chuckles softly. The sound is warm and familiar and verging on dismissive in a way that sets Buck’s nerves alight. “Between the fever and the Gravol,” Eddie says. “He’d sleep through a bomb.” 

Some of the tension eases in Buck’s shoulders. He opens his mouth, lets his breath pass across slack, swollen lips. 

“Besides,” Eddie adds. “You’re not on speaker. I’ve got you pressed right up against my ear, so I don’t miss a thing. You sound so beautiful, cariño. Please, can I hear you?” 

Buck doesn’t need any further encouragement. Like a match struck against sandpaper, the gravel of Eddie’s voice pulls Buck’s orgasm from him in a rush. The tug of arousal at his belly button feels like a camel pulling through the eye of a needle. He screams – he’s sure of it – feels the raw burn in his throat when he floats back down to earth. His consciousness hovers somewhere above his body, while the endorphins flow through his veins, make him feel loose, and hot, and happy. 

“Fuck, Buck,” Eddie says, frayed, frantic. “That’s it, baby. That’s so good. You sound so good for me. Gonna cum.” 

Buck’s so spent, but he still feels a shock of heat run through him as Eddie speaks. “Please, Eds,” he whispers, strung out and hoarse. “Give it to me. Cum for me.” 

That’s all it takes. Eddie moans over the line, and Buck revels in the sound of it, how raw it is, how carnal. It’s so close to his ear, Buck imagines what if would be like for real, to have Eddie pressed that close, his breath puffing against Buck’s sensitive, overheated skin, ticking the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, slow and languid as he comes back to himself. Buck hears the note of trepidation in his voice, and a lead weight settles in his belly, makes his throat feel thick, congested. 

“So, that really just happened, huh,” he continues. 

Buck swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he replies. The uncertainty of it all is starting to turn his stomach. 

“Should I be freaking out?” Eddie asks. 

Buck shakes his head. “Nah, man,” he says. “No, it’s fine.” 

“I was hoping it might be a little more than fine,” Eddie replies. 

Buck breathes deep. Doesn’t let himself get his hopes up. “What were you hoping?” he asks. 

Eddie hums. “Mainly, I was hoping the first time we got off together, I’d get to hold you after,” he says. “Hope that’s not too cheesy.”  

Buck can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He chuckles, bright and airy, like it’s a release. “It’s the exact right amount of cheesy, actually,” he says. 

They’re quiet for a moment, listening to each other breathe, collecting their thoughts. Finally, Buck asks, “can I please come over tomorrow?” 

“I don’t wanna give you Chris Germs,” Eddie answers reluctantly. 

“I can handle the flu,” Buck assures him. “I can’t handle not seeing you. Not after this. I need to know we’re okay.” 

He can practically hear Eddie’s frown. “Of course we’re okay,” he says. “We’re more than okay, right?” 

“I wasn’t expecting any of this,” Buck says, a non-answer. 

Eddie huffs. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, exactly,” he says. Understatement of the decade. “But I’ve wanted– for a long time now. I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Or if you’d even want–”

“I want,” Buck tells him, before he can spell out the rest of his doubts. Buck doesn’t need to hear him. He’s felt every single one firsthand. “I’m glad it happened,” he adds. “Even if it was more horny than romantic.” 

Eddie makes a curt, dismissive sound. “What are you talking about?” he says. “This was super romantic.” 

“Is that so?” Buck chuckles. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, doubling down. He’s quiet all of a sudden, serious. “Like the part where you said you were mine.” 

A shiver runs up Buck’s spine. “I am yours,” he says. 

“Good,” Eddie says. “I’m yours, too, you know. Me and Chris. You have us.” 

Buck melts into the mattress. His chest is a mess of sweat and cum, and he knows he should get up to clean himself off, but Eddie’s voice, and the haze of his orgasm, makes his limbs uncooperative. He shimmies enough to grab a shirt from his laundry pile and uses it to wipe himself down instead.  

“I can’t wait to see you,” Buck murmurs. “To kiss you.” 

“And when you get the flu?” Eddie asks. 

Buck smiles. “It’s okay,” he says. “I know you’ll take good care of me.” 

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “Always,” he says. 

Buck tries to think of something to say in reply, but his mouth is suddenly as weighty as the rest of him. Eddie must be able to tell, because he whispers softly, tenderly, “get some sleep, cariño. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Love you,” Buck sighs, half-asleep as his phone slips from his shoulder. 

The last thing he hears before sleep takes him is Eddie’s awed, gentle voice whispering back, “I love you, too.”