nightwideopen
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He still gets stuck in it sometimes: the absolute silence after the shot, and time so, so still in that endless second when Eddie’s eyes met his. When the air turned cool against the skin of Buck’s face because there was something else, now, something warmer, sticky in his eyelashes, pooling at the corner of his mouth. Staining him in a way that will never, never come out, all in the time it took to remember how to breathe again.
It didn’t happen fast at all. There are days when Buck wakes up and thinks it might still be happening.
And Eddie is—Eddie won’t—Eddie—
or, six months after the near-fatal shooting of a member of the LAFD, footage of the incident surfaces on social media.
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The doctor tilts her head to the only source of warmth in the cold, hospital room. “And who’s he?”
Buck’s eyes drift to Eddie, hungry for the sight of him. They fall upon the tense line of Eddie’s shoulders, the firm press of otherwise plump lips, watching like the very air in his lungs depend on Buck’s answer.
“That’s Eddie,” Buck answers, and the smile sneaks up on him. “Eddie Diaz. My partner.”
There. Relief washes through Eddie in a visible wave: his shoulders drop, features relaxing with the soft push of an exhale. Buck warms at the sight. Right answer.
—
A polysemy is a word with multiple, related meanings. The word partner, for example, can mean close friendship, a teammate, a co-parent. To someone else, it can also mean a lover.Bookmarked by nightwideopen
22 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
i've spontaneously bursted into flames please send help.
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Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”
Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”
A thumb swipes across his cheekbone, searching eyes boring into his. “Buck. What’s wrong?”
Buck closes his eyes, then blinks them open. “Nothing,” he says, because he doesn’t know how to tell the truth. He doesn’t know what the truth even is. “Everything’s, uh—everything’s fine. I just—” he chews on his lip. “I was just thinking that, uh, maybe we shouldn’t go any further tonight? You know, not with Christopher in the house.”
in which buck is avoiding having sex with eddie.
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Bookmarked by nightwideopen
23 May 2026
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“You’re cheating,” Buck accuses.
“I’m winning,” Eddie pants, looking far too smug.
“I’m—” Buck tries to tug his arms free from Eddie’s hold to no avail. How is Eddie so damn strong? “I’m letting you.”
“You’re letting me pin you down? Do you like getting your ass handed to you, Buck?”
Heat floods Buck’s gut. He does like getting his ass handed to him. Or—no, well… he likes being pinned, or thrown against walls, or–or floors. But that’s different. That’s a sex thing. This is definitely not a sex thing. This is a bro thing. They’re bro-wrestling. Bro-housing. This is the most platonic thing Buck’s done in his entire life. He doesn’t know why he’s sweating.
Channelling his inner carpet python, he gives a determined wriggle, but Eddie’s hands tighten around his wrists. The feeling sends a shock through Buck’s spinal column.
Oh no.
Eddie, breathless and beautiful above him, repeats, “Say uncle.”
Breath stuttering out of him, Buck freezes.
Use your head, Buck thinks. His dick twitches. Then, panicked, the big one.
Or: Buck and Eddie wrestle over the remote. They forget the remote.
Series
- Part 16 of ejo + 911
Bookmarked by nightwideopen
23 May 2026
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“You think we should have sex?” Eddie clarified — still in that slow, deliberate tone, like any sudden movement would cause the ceiling to cave in around them.
Buck rolled his eyes. “I mean…not for real.”
“Okay. So you think we should have fake sex."
“Yeah, like reading Our Bodies, Ourselves isn’t the same as watching porn, right? It’d be educational sex.”
“Well if it’s educational sex...”
Or: Buck learns that Eddie's never had a prostate orgasm. Clipboard sex ensues.
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Bookmarked by nightwideopen
13 May 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
i've been enlightened by demisexual buck