Archive of Our Own

Buck sucks in a sharp breath.

“100.6.” He reads off the thermometer. “You, sir, have a fever.”

Buck doesn’t add the I told you so. But he did—tell him so.

He had noticed something a little off about Eddie towards the end of their shift yesterday.

Eddie looked more tired than Buck had ever seen him, metro dispatch days included, but he chalked it up to the very chaotic, very draining 24 hours they had just endured. It was like everyone in the 118 response zone woke up and decided it would be the perfect day to call 9-1-1.

When they got home, Eddie dragged his feet into their bedroom, knocking out in minutes. Buck had let him sleep in, taking care of some errands, and tidying up the house. But once 4 pm had rolled around and Eddie still hadn’t woken up, Buck knew something was wrong.

He slowly crept into their room, onto Eddie’s side of the bed. Kneeling over, Buck took in the sight of Eddie: tiny droplets of sweat along his temple, his hair stuck onto his forehead, miserably breathing through his mouth, shaking like a leaf. Buck frowned deeply, his heart sinking a little in his chest; his poor baby was sick.

Something dormant, activated inside of him at that moment, and it was roaring in his ears. Something rumbling deep, clawing its way up to the surface.

Buck was moments away from becoming disgustingly overbearing. He could feel it sticking onto his skin, like the Venom symbiote. His fate was sealed.

While he rummaged through their cabinets and fridge to make a comprehensive list of everything Eddie might need in the next 72 hours, he heard muffled coughing through the walls. Buck ran quicker than he ever has, bursting into the room, to a wide-eyed Eddie blowing his nose.

And now they’re here, arguing for the past 15 minutes about whether Eddie was, in fact, sick.

Eddie shakes his head vehemently, and honestly, it looks like it hurts.

“No, that’s impossible,” he remarks, like he isn’t currently laying in their bed wrapped in 3 blankets. If his arms weren’t stuck somewhere deep in the swaddle, Buck was almost certain he would snatch the thermometer clean out of his hands. “I don’t get–”

“–sick,” Buck finishes, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, except you do. Clearly.”

And the thing is, maybe even just 12 hours ago, Buck might have believed him.

Buck doesn’t even think he’s noticed Eddie blowing his nose before. It’s a little weird, right? They’ve known each other for years—he’s basically witnessed Eddie in multiple life-threatening situations, one of which was a literal shooting, on the brink of death. But somehow, he’s never actually seen him deal with something as common as the flu. It’s a little weird.

And jarring—it’s so jarring to witness. A part of him wonders if Eddie wound himself so tight in the past, built such an impregnable fortress around himself, that not even germs could get through.

Maybe it’s even something to be proud of, being so comfortable in his skin, he can allow himself to be sick.

He does not google if repression can make you immune to the flu. That would be silly.

“Are you sure you’re reading it correctly?” Eddie asks, sniffling—like that doesn’t completely undermine his entire argument. It’s adorable, even though Buck is this close to ripping his hair out.

Buck pinches the bridge of his nose, scoffing. “I’m not even gonna justify that with an answer.”

Eddie just stares at him miserably. “Buck, I’m literally fine,” he says, teeth chattering up a violent storm between every word.

“Oh, yeah, super convincing,” he replies, twisting his mouth to avoid laughing outright—he doesn’t want to poke the very ill and frustrated bear. Buck catches the beginning of a long-suffering groan as he stands up to get Eddie another bottle of water.

When he returns to their bedroom, Eddie is giving him a death stare—or, well, his best attempt, anyway. His eyes are sluggish, half-lidded, like he’s forcing himself to stay awake just to bicker. His stubbornness knows no bounds, it seems.

It’s a little hard to take him seriously, though, when his nose is all scrunched up in a really cute fashion, the tip a smidge pink, matching the tint of his cheeks. His lips are a little chapped, a little hueless, and Buck wants to kiss them—wonders if he should.

It’s been hours since he has, which feels like weeks, and if he really thinks about it, that’s basically a month.

It’s just a little flu, right? One kiss wouldn't kill him. Buck’s walked away from far worse—they both have. They share everything, they should share this.

Besides, they’ve been together for the past 48 hours. He could very well be on his way to being sick, too.

Eddie sniffles again, and it brings Buck back to the moment. He blinks and sets the bottle down on the nightstand.

“You know, you can give me that look all you want, but you’re not lifting a finger until your fever breaks,” Buck warns him.

Eddie glares at him, his mouth twitching like he wants to argue, and there’s a little wrinkle in his brow that Buck wants to smooth out with his thumb.

“Okay,” he sighs eventually, like it’s physically hurting him to lie down and do nothing while he recuperates.

Buck doesn’t beam, but it’s a close thing.

“Perfect. I’ll probably run to the store in a bit, grab some stuff. We don’t really have any cold and flu stuff,” he says, remembering the current state of their medicine cabinet: just a stockpile of different pain medications from over the years.

Eddie grumbles his assent.

I should just kiss him, Buck thinks. But he doesn't. Instead, he pats Eddie’s knee twice and turns to leave.

“Wait, can you get me some orange juice?”

Buck’s mouth forms a thin straight line, all the muscles in his face fighting against the urge to smile. “Of course, anything for you,” he says. It’s such a small, inconsequential thing, asking for orange juice, but it makes Buck swoon all the same. He’s so, so in love; it makes him stupid.

“By the way, is this you finally admitting that you’re sick?” He can’t help but ask.

Eddie replies to that question by tossing a pillow at Buck.

Granted, Eddie doesn’t have much strength in him right now, so it doesn’t even hit Buck, just falls sadly at his feet instead. He peers down at their pillow, then back up at Eddie.

“Very cute. Now rest.”

“Fine,” he says, pouting like Buck just somehow inconvenienced him. He gets comfortable in the bed, snuggling further into the blankets. “I cannot believe I’m being forced to nap.”

Buck’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. “Forced?” He laughs, pointing to the state of Eddie with his index finger. “Eddie, you’re basically sleep-talking.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth curve further downwards, and Buck sighs, kneeling on the ground near him.

“Baby, let me take care of you,” he says softly, cupping his warm face, thumb stroking his cheek reverently.

Eddie sniffles, again, his nose wrinkling in a way that makes Buck want to bite it. “Fine,” he repeats, a little softer this time. He still rolls his eyes, though. Naturally.

“Thank you,” he says, like Eddie is doing him a favour. And maybe he is.

Eddie scrunches up his lips, and Buck really, really wants to kiss him.

And like clockwork, like he can read his mind, Eddie speaks up. “Can you kiss me?” His voice is a little stuffy and whiny, and Buck’s heart obviously does a stupid triple somersault in his chest.

“You’re sick,” he tells him, a weak counter argument, like he’s not already leaning in. It’s beyond his control at this point—he really, really wants to. And more importantly, Eddie wants to, and Buck has to give it to him. He just has to.

Eddie barks out a wet, congested laugh, and it bounces off the walls. Buck is probably the only guy on Earth who thinks that sound is cute.

“Buck, I know you don’t care about getting sick. And I can tell you really wanna. So just do it already,” he stresses, squirming in the bed.

He hums, shifting closer so his body is awkwardly leaning on the edge of the bed. “First, admit you’re sick and I’ll kiss you.”

“Hm.” Annoyingly, Eddie pretends to mull it over, his finger tapping on his chin, and it’s more than obvious that he gains some sort of special joy from torturing Buck.

Buck draws forward, a little antsy now, their mouths inches away from each other, and he’s this damn close to kissing him, anyway.

After what seems like a millennium, Eddie opens his mouth. “Okay, maybe,” he says, slowly, his breath warm where it fans against Buck’s lips. Their noses brush, and their proximity sends a sharp thrill down Buck’s spine.

“Maybe, my body is experiencing symptoms that could also be your typical cold and flu symptoms.”

Well, that’s good enough for Buck, who presses their mouths together.

Yesyesyesyesyesyes, all the synapses in his brain fire off, singing in perfect harmony.

He doesn’t know how he ever went almost a decade of knowing Eddie and not kissing him, he barely survived a few hours. He never wants to go that long again. It’s just inhumane.

Eddie melts into it immediately, like he’s been suffering, too; his fingers wrap around Buck’s neck, working their way into his hair. His chapped lips scratch against his own, and Buck wants to bite and lick them until they’re puffy and moist.

Buck’s hand finds a familiar spot on Eddie’s jaw, a spot that should have an imprint from how often he’s touched there—the skin there is plush and warm and a little damp from sweat.

They easily get lost in it, kissing and kissing and kissing. It’s slow and deep, but Buck’s a starving man, so it’s only a matter of time before it veers into something desperate and dirty. Buck is one step away from unhinging his jaw and consuming him whole.

However, much to his chagrin, Eddie pulls back before it can really get there, taking in a deep, deep breath.

“No, wait.” Buck pouts, and as he tries to lean in again, there’s a solid hand that stops him dead in his tracks. Buck makes a frustrated noise and his head falls forward onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“Ugh,” he groans.

“I need to take a breather,” Eddie mutters through shallow breaths, his fingers tugging at Buck’s hair with a firm grip. “My nose is plugged, you animal.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, laughing. He totally forgot that little fact. But he isn’t exactly known for his patience, which is why he waits all of 3 seconds before he drags his lips all over Eddie’s face.

A soft moan escapes Eddie, arching his back like he can’t get close enough. The grip in his hair gets a little tighter, and Buck smirks against the skin.

Eddie yanks his head so Buck has no choice but to look at him. He’s so bright, so beautiful; it hurts—Buck should be wearing those special eclipse glasses.

“You’re so gonna get sick, by the way,” he mumbles, amused.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, before he dives in again. “So worth it, though.”

Eddie chuckles, a godly sound, and Buck continues pressing kisses wherever his mouth can reach. His cheeks, his chin, his forehead, his nose, even his ear. Buck doesn't know if he can stop, doesn’t know if he ever wants to.

“Okay, you can kiss me on the lips again,” Eddie tells him, his breathing finally evening out. Buck can hear the smile in his voice.

But right before he does, his phone rings from the other room. He glances in the general vicinity of where the ringing is coming from, but Eddie manhandles his head again, forcing Buck to face him.

“No, just ignore it.”

“But–but, what if it’s Chris?” Buck stammers.

Eddie gives him an unimpressed look.

Buck frowns. “It could be Chris. What if he wants to tell us about some cool science thing he’s been learning about?”

Chris is currently at a prestigious science camp in San Diego for the next two weeks—a program that gives high school students hands-on experience in different fields through workshops alongside professional experts.

He was very excited about it, and so were Buck and Eddie. And proud—they were so proud. He applied all by himself; a lengthy process, and Buck didn’t do well with leaving him to do his own thing. Chris was this close to putting a lock on his door.

Eddie teased him mercilessly, like he was any better, with his constant hovering, pestering Buck for any information he knew. But somehow Buck was the crazy one.

Eddie visibly softens. His fingers slip down the length of Buck’s neck, and he gently pats him on the chest. “You’re right.”

Buck scrambles off the edge of the bed and out of their room to find his phone. It’s on the kitchen counter, and when he checks his missed calls, it’s not Chris, but Hen. He sighs.

He’s allowed to be little disappointed, alright? Today is marine biology day at the camp, and Buck was looking forward to hearing all about it. He texts Chris to call him when he’s free, and saunters back into their room, sullen. Eddie is sitting against the headboard, twiddling his fingers. He raises his eyes, bright and expectant, the most awake he’s looked in hours.

“So?”

Buck leans against the doorframe, waving his phone. “Not Chris.”

“But today is marine biology day,” he sulks, his shoulders hunching over.

“I know,” Buck laughs.

Eddie makes a quick recovery, however. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asks, making grabby hands. “Come back here.” And Buck is only so strong. But he has a plan—a plan that cannot be derailed any further by his very sick, very sexy boyfriend.

Keeping the distance between them, lest he get sucked into Eddie’s orbit, Buck says, “Baby, I have to run to the store. We need groceries, and you need medicine. And you should rest some more.”

Expectedly, Eddie doesn’t really vibe with that plan, groaning and bringing the covers over his head.

“Just go,” he says, and it’s all muffled.

Buck takes an involuntary step forward and stops himself.

He really should go. Even though all he wants to do right now is kiss Eddie into submission—kiss him over and over until he’s pliable, until he just does whatever Buck tells him to, no arguments.

But regrettably, he has to be the responsible one. Spinning on his heels before he can change his mind, he yells, “I love you,” over his shoulder. Eddie makes some sort of noise that Buck will translate to mean he loves him, too, and grabs his keys.

+++

Before he leaves their driveway, he rings Hen back, remembering he had promised to bake a cake for Mara’s birthday this upcoming month, which is probably why she called in the first place—to iron out those details.

It’s supposed to be a quick conversation, just to confirm the flavour and dates, but of course, she asks him where he’s off to, and it snowballs into the Wilsons having their own debate about Eddie’s supposed immunity to the influenza.

We’ve known him for years, I don’t even think I’ve seen him sneeze, Hen points out.

You were almost a doctor, Hen. You’ve been a paramedic for years–you know that’s not possible, Buck hears Karen argue.

It’s weird, Karen!

With a grin on his face, he lets them go back and forth for a while—it’s entertaining—until it’s not, so he pointedly clears his throat.

“Oops, sorry, Buck. Tell Eddie we hope he feels better soon, and thanks again,” Hen tells him, a little sheepishly, while Karen chuckles in the background.

After Buck hangs up with them, his hand hovers over the ignition. Then his mind wanders to Eddie, alone and annoyed in bed, and he just can’t help himself, he just has to go to check on him. Maybe kiss him again.

He hops out of his car, trekking back into the house. He enters their room quietly, and to both his delight and disappointment, Eddie’s snoozing away, all bundled up.

Buck just watches him for a while, like he’s in a trance, like he couldn’t look away if he wanted, like he doesn’t have things he needs to be doing right now. He watches the rhythm of his chest rise and fall, and he thinks he could spend the rest of the night doing this. Maybe even for the rest of his life, if he’s lucky.

He inches closer, reaching over, like his hand has a mind of its own, brushes some of the stray hairs away from his sweat-sheeted forehead.

Eddie shifts around, and he freezes, worried he’s just reset the clock on getting out of here. But Eddie just mumbles incoherently in his sleep and resumes his old man snoring. Buck lets out a sigh of relief.

Because he has zero self-control, Buck leans over and plants a tiny kiss on the top of his hair.

Before he leaves again, for good this time, Buck leaves a note on his nightstand. It says he’ll be back soon and that he loves him so much; drawing him a picture of a little sick cat in bed with a thermometer in its mouth with the words, that’s you right now, next to it.

He texts him the same spiel, too, just in case he misses the note. The emojis just aren’t as cute as the little picture he drew, though.

+++

Buck heaves out a long, tired sigh.

He concludes that some things in life just shouldn’t be this hard as he glares at the cold and flu section of the pharmacy.

DayQuil, NyQuil, Mucinex, Robitussen, Sudafed—it’s so ridiculous, seeing as these are all basically the same formula, so it shouldn’t matter, but Buck hesitates anyway.

See, if it were for him, if he was the one that was sick, he would just grab whatever was closest and run out of here. But it’s for Eddie, which means he deserves the best of the best that Big Pharma could offer him.

He stares and stares some more, until eventually, all the packages on the shelves start to morph and look the same. After calling Maddie and Chimney, who are no help, by the way, choosing to poke fun at him for being so neurotic instead of answering his questions seriously, he haphazardly grabs multiple boxes of different cold medicines, figuring it can’t hurt to have some variety.

Tylenol and Advil for Eddie’s fever and body aches—Eddie doesn’t like Advil liquid gels, but it’s extra strength, so that might be enticing. If not, he'll be glad that Buck had the forethought of getting him some Tylenol, too.

He also snatches up lozenges of various flavours, three different kinds of cough syrup, a multi-pack of tissues, vapor rub, nasal spray, and some of those breathing strips. By the end, he curses himself for not grabbing a basket on the way in.

“Something coming I should know about?” the woman at the counter asks as she scans his items, eyeing them a bit peculiarly. Buck can’t really decipher her tone, can’t tell if she’s joking or genuinely wondering, so he plays it safe: mutters, No, ma’am, and flashes her a polite, disarming smile.

His next stop is the grocery store, and as he’s pulling up to the parking lot, Chris finally calls him.

He answers it eagerly, with a face-splitting grin, not even letting the first ring finish. “Hey buddy!”

“Hi, Buck,” he replies, his voice booming through the car speakers. There’s a bunch of commotion in the back, a melody of noise, but Buck can hear him clearly.

“Swim with any dolphins today?” Buck jokes.

“Buck,” Chris says in a tone so specific, he can picture his perfect little scowl so clearly in his mind, the one that makes him look so much like Eddie. “This is a serious program.”

Buck stifles a laugh. “Okay, big man, tell me what you learned today.”

Chris does just that—talking a mile a minute, shooting off facts about different plankton samples they collected and analyzed under a microscope, stressing the importance of how climate change affects those little guys.

Buck’s overwhelmed with pride—their adorable little genius. Buck is already looking up marine biology programs in Los Angeles as they speak.

“That’s really cool, Chris. Glad you’re enjoying your time there. We really miss you.”

Chris has only been gone for 5 days, and Eddie’s already made several offhand comments about empty nest syndrome—they might be in serious trouble when he goes off to college. God bless them if he goes out of state; he’s getting heart palpitations just thinking about it.

“I miss you guys, too. How are things at home?”

“They’re good, but uh, your dad’s got a pretty serious fever,” Buck explains, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “I think it’s the flu.”

“Oh, no,” he starts, then stops for a brief second. “Wait, I bet he’s pretty upset about that.”

You don’t know the half of it. Buck rubs his forehead, picturing a grumpy bed-ridden Eddie. “Yeah, something like that,” he huffs.

“He rarely gets sick, though. I don’t even think I remember the last time he was,” Chris points out, his voice a little tight. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

Buck softens, the corners of his mouth curving downwards. He wishes he could ruffle Chris’ hair, give him a tight, reassuring hug. “He will be. I’m gonna take good care of him, okay? Don’t you worry one bit.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replies, a little more relaxed. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Buck gently reminds him to call his dad later, since Eddie is sleeping. He promises he will, and Buck lets him go.

“Love you so much,” Buck says.

“Love you, too. Keep me updated on Dad.”

When he’s finally in the grocery store, he pushes the cart around, distractedly shoving ingredients into it as he mentally creates a menu of hearty, vitamin-rich meals that he’ll cook for the next few days. Maybe he’ll make some sort of roast, he thinks as he evaluates the parsley closely. This could give him a chance to play with some different soups and stews. There isn’t a meal Buck’s made yet that Eddie hasn’t liked, so he isn’t too worried. Which reminds him, Buck should call Bobby for his tortellini soup recipe. Eddie loves that dish.

He makes sure to grab some tea, as well—peppermint and ginger-honey, Eddie really likes those, and some elderberry concoction that looks kinda interesting. And lots of electrolyte-filled liquids, fruit popsicles if he has a sore throat. And of course, orange juice, as requested—no pulp—Eddie hates pulp, always going on about he’ll just eat an orange if he wants to.

Once he’s finished, Buck grimaces at his cart. Thankfully, there's a self-checkout at this store. He shuffles into the line and thoroughly avoids any sorta-kinda-judgemental employees this time round.

+++

Funnily enough, after all of that, Buck doesn’t even feel like cooking anymore. He’s exhausted, so he makes the executive decision to stop by their favourite deli, this little hole in the wall by their house that they frequent often. He picks up some minestrone for Eddie, a turkey sub from himself.

When Buck gets home, he diligently hauls in all the bags, which turns out to be a mini workout—there’s a good chance he may have gone overboard.

He’s halfway through stuffing vegetables in the fridge when he hears Eddie shuffle in, slippers dragging on the floor.

Mid-yawn, he asks, “Buck?”

“Morning, sunshine,” he chirps, even though it’s almost 8 pm. He pokes his head out of the fridge, and his chest does an embarrassing amount of fluttering upon seeing Eddie. He looks good, like really good. It’s kinda insane how that’s always the case, even now.

He’s wearing an oversized knitted cardigan that swallows him up, and Buck wants to pick him up, swing him around. Rosy cheeks, hair unruly, big brown glassy eyes. It’s too familiar. It’s kinda like—well, it’s definitely like when they’re—there’s a record scratch that echoes in his brain.

Buck swallows hard, shoving that thought into a tight little box marked for a thorough examination later. He clears his throat, ignoring the prickling feeling in his cheek, the rising temperature of his own body. “Oh, uh, how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Eddie says, rubbing his eyes, and sounding the opposite of fine.

Buck blinks at him. His nose is so obviously stuffed, he wonders just how long Eddie will keep this charade up—he’s honestly a little impressed at his level of commitment to the bit.

“Did you see my note?”

“Yeah. I love you, too, by the way,” he says, and before Buck can ask, he adds: “And, yes, the drawing was very adorable.”

“That was some of my best work, so, thank you,” Buck laughs as he closes the fridge. He’s promptly met with Eddie’s wide eyes, surveying the overwhelming amount of groceries and medication.

Buck pulls a face, holding his breath.

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes multiple times. “Baby, did you buy, like, the entire store?” His tone isn’t accusatory; he just sounds amused, maybe a little stressed.

“Not the entire store,” he replies, sheepish. “I don’t know. I wanted you to have options.”

“Options,” he echoes, with a light chuckle. “Buck, our kitchen looks like a pharmacy. I really don’t need all of this.”

Buck shrugs, his eyes roaming around the bags on every flat surface in their kitchen.

Okay, he definitely went overboard. But, he’s reasonable, he’s willing to admit that. To himself, anyway. Not to Eddie—Eddie would think one measly box of a generic cold medicine is overkill, so his opinion doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Well, this way, I have no reason to leave your side until you’re better,” he explains. Yeah, that’s plausible.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie huffs, unconvinced, taking a couple of steps towards the bags. He rifles through one of them. An eyebrow shoots up curiously. “Vapor rub? Really, Buck?”

“Hey, it’s really useful,” Buck defends, throwing his hands up. “You know, for sore muscles, congestion. Stuff like that.”

“Sure, but I don’t have any of that stuff like that,” he mumbles. Buck doesn’t really believe him.

Eddie takes it out of the bag, examines the packaging closely. A corner of his mouth curves upward, and he throws a deliberate glance towards Buck. A muscle in Buck’s face twitches, and the air in the kitchen shifts tremendously.

Eddie inches closer, slowly—almost methodically—and Buck stiffens.

Staring up at him through his long lashes, he says, “Or maybe I do. I could. I definitely could. If I did, would you rub it on me?”

His body immediately betrays him; so attuned to Eddie’s flirtatious tone like a dog hearing the rattle of his favourite treat. A stab of heat hits him right in the gut, warmth spreading throughout all of his extremities. The mental image of that, coupled with how ruined Eddie looks at the moment, is too much for his brain to handle right about now—he’s blue screening.

Buck takes a preposterously deep breath before answering; a hard reset, and it comes out all wobbly.

“If you need me to, yeah,” he says, his voice low and tight. The back of his neck is on fire. “Yeah–I can do that. If that’s something you need, yeah.”

Eddie tilts his head curiously, just stares at him, like this is exactly what he wanted.

Fuck.

Figuring a subject change would be good right about now, he snatches the vapor rub from Eddie’s hands, stuffs it back in the bag. “But never mind that.”

He removes the rest of the bags from the table before gesturing to a chair. If his wrists shake a little, that’s his business.

“Uh, I got you some soup. Come sit before it gets cold.”

Eddie snorts, but he obliges—struts past him very ridiculously, planting himself on one of the kitchen chairs. “You look a little flushed,” he points out, smug, and Buck really wants to swipe the smirk off his face.

Then, Eddie coughs into his sleeve, and Buck figures he’s probably going to hell for lusting over a sick man.

“Yeah, I, uh. I turned on the heat,” he lies, pointing to the hall. Well, it’s actually not a lie. He did turn up the thermostat earlier. “Someone’s teeth were chattering so hard, I was afraid he might bite his tongue off.”

“Funny,” he deadpans, giving Buck a look. “Now where’s that promised soup?”

“Right here.” Buck fishes the soup container out of the bag. He wasn’t sure how hungry Eddie would be, or if he would want leftovers another day, so he bought the biggest container they had. The man at the deli said it would feed at least six people. Fortunately for him, Eddie doesn’t make a comment about the absurd amount of soup in front of him; he just waits patiently.

Buck can feel Eddie’s eyes tracking him, like he’s prey, and it reminds him of all those nature documentaries he watches. Somehow, he’s unknowingly caught himself in a dangerous game.

He tries his hardest to ignore it, gathering a bowl and a small ladle, dishing out some soup. He makes sure to get the appropriate amount of pasta and veggies before placing the bowl in front of Eddie.

“Do you want more, or?”

Eddie peers down at the steaming bowl. “Hm, no, I think that’s enough for now,” he tells him, his eyes glued to the soup. “Smells amazing. Is it spicy?”

“Level 3,” Buck replies, wiggling three fingers.

Eddie flashes him a small satisfied smile, and Buck turns to grab a spoon from the drawer. He plops down next to Eddie, scooting the chair closer, the legs scrape annoyingly against the linoleum floors.

Eddie huffs, his eyes narrowing. “Uh, hi?”

“Hi,” Buck says to him.

“And what, exactly, are you doing?”

Buck doesn’t answer; it’s kinda obvious. He just stirs the soup with the spoon. He scoops some up, gingerly blowing on it before lifting it up to Eddie’s lips with one of his hands under the spoon to ensure nothing drips onto the table or floor.

Eddie just blinks at him multiple times.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, knocking their knees together.

“You don’t need to feed me,” he mutters under his breath. Buck levels him with a flat look.

Defeated, Eddie sighs, opening his mouth diligently. Buck feeds him and tries not to stare too intently at where his lips wrap around the spoon.

Some soup dribbles down Eddie’s chin, and Buck’s thumb automatically catches it. He rubs the skin there, feverish and a little damp. The immense urge to edge his thumb closer into Eddie's mouth floods him, almost knocking him off his seat.

Instead, because he’s trying to display a modicum of couth, he clears his throat and asks, “Good?”

Eddie nods, licking his lips. Buck’s eyes flicker to them for a moment too long, then back to the bowl in front of him. Eddie notices, because of course he does, and huffs out a small laugh.

“I know what you’re doing,” Buck says, unimpressed, and a little turned on. God, he hates the fact it takes essentially nothing to get him going—a skill he usually appreciated, until today. He’s been on a hair trigger since Eddie shuffled into the kitchen; a light breeze could probably have him sporting a half-chub right now.

“I’m not even doing anything,” Eddie says, a little too innocently.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he huffs, feeding Eddie another spoonful of soup.

His mouth still full, Eddie asks, “What are you having for dinner?”

Buck points to the brown paper bag on the table. “I got myself a sub. I’ll eat as soon as we’re done here,” he says, bringing the spoon back to Eddie’s mouth.

“Turkey? With jalapenos and an overbearing amount of olives?”

“That’s the one,” Buck says with a smile.

Eddie hums, opening his mouth again. His nose starts running, the soup doing exactly what Buck had hoped, opening up his sinuses. He twists his upper body to grab some tissues from the counter, and before he can wipe Eddie’s nose for him, a set of warm fingers wraps around his wrist.

“I think I got it,” Eddie says, his lips doing that thing they do when he’s amused. Feeling caught, Buck ducks his head, chuckling.

“Fair enough,” he concedes.

Eddie blows into the tissue, and Buck’s eyes stay glued on him, like a weirdo. When he’s done, he sniffles and scrunches his pink nose, and what else could Buck do other than kiss him?

He sways forward, firm hand on the back of Eddie’s neck, pressing their lips together. Short and chaste, but it ignites the kindling sitting idle in his gut. Eddie lets out a soft moan, and that pours gasoline all over it.

Reluctantly, he pulls back and licks his lips, tasting the salt and spice from the soup. “Delicious,” he says, his voice rough.

Eddie arches an eyebrow. “Me? Or the soup?”

Buck huffs a dry laugh. “I’m not answering that.”

“So, definitely me,” Eddie teases.

Buck feeds Eddie the rest of the bowl, and makes sure he drinks every drop of the orange juice he pours him. He huffs and puffs like Buck is actively torturing him when he makes him take his medication.

Eddie sits with him as Buck eats his sub, even letting him take a little bite; they chat about everything and nothing—random topics, work gossip, their upcoming schedules. Buck even spoils marine biology day for Eddie.

Every so often, Eddie peers up at him through his eyelashes in a way that makes the sandwich go down like sandpaper along his esophagus. Buck’s not entirely sure if Eddie is doing it on purpose anymore, but he’s worried this is becoming a thing for him.

There’s a deep, intrinsic, perverted part of Buck that actually likes having Eddie this way: clingy, and whiny and needy. Flushed and miserable and—it’s not like he wants his boyfriend to be ill. Of course not, he’s literally nursing him back to health.

It’s just—‌he didn’t realize how much the whole thing turned him on. He wants Eddie so fucking bad, there’s all this dangerous, untapped energy flowing through him.

It’s a problem, is what Buck’s trying to say, a big one. He doesn’t even know if he can wait until Eddie is feeling better; he’s falling apart. But he should wait, right? They can’t even make out without Eddie having to stop to catch his breath.

Buck needs to be smart and responsible, he’s supposed to be taking care of him. He’s supposed to let Eddie recover and regain his strength. Sex can wait—yeah, it can wait.

His eyes slowly glance to Eddie, his face blank as he scrolls through Buck’s phone because he lost his somewhere in their bed. He doesn’t even have a clue that Buck is currently picturing bending him over multiple surfaces.

Buck wonders if they still perform lobotomies.

He gulps. “So, h–how are you feeling?” he asks, a last-ditch attempt to remind his twisted little mind that Eddie is ill.

Can someone have some sort of sick kink? Is that a thing? Is that where all that sexy nurse stuff came from? Is there something wrong with him?

Eddie sets Buck’s phone down and shrugs, absently playing with the sleeves of his cardigan. “I feel okay, a little tired, though.”

Buck’s unraveling at the seams, so deep in his spiral that Eddie’s reply sounds far away, like he’s underwater.

“I see.” He bites into his sub. “Do you wanna lay on the couch? You don’t have to sit with me while I eat,” he tells him through a mouthful, nodding towards the living room.

“I don’t want you to eat alone,” Eddie pouts like he’s offended, his bottom lip plump as it protrudes. Buck wants to bash his head into the table.

Buck hums and forces himself to finish his sub. Once he’s done, he guides Eddie to the living room so he can rest on the couch while he cleans up and puts away the rest of the stuff he bought.

But of course, after a couple of minutes, Eddie gravitates back to the kitchen, like he can’t help himself, just watching Buck work for a while, and his gaze feels like a sniper’s laser.

While he’s doing the dishes, Eddie walks over, wrapping his arms around him, a solid warm mass attached to his back.

A corner of Buck’s mouth perks up, and he twirls in the circle of Eddie’s arms so he can properly reciprocate the hug, embracing him tightly.

It’s nice, sweet, comforting, but since Eddie is a ball of heat right now, Buck feels his own core temperature start to rise, his neck clammy and warm where Eddie’s face is burrowed.

“Hm, how would you feel about a bath?” Buck asks.

Eddie looks up at him, chin digging into Buck’s chest, with furrowed brows and a deep frown. “Are you–are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“What? No,” Buck stammers, squeezing his waist tight. “For your fever, you psycho, it could bring your temp down.”

But now that he thinks about it, Eddie never really smells.

Even when he should, like after a long, non-stop shift, when the rest of them smell like ass, a lethal combination of smoke and chemicals, Eddie smells like flowers and vanilla and coffee. Even his sweat smells good—tastes good, too.

Buck wonders if there’s a scientific merit behind that, or if he’s just so enamoured that his olfactory system is somewhat biased.

Either way, that’s between him and Reddit tonight.

Eddie blinks. “Oh,” he says goofily, relaxing in Buck’s arms. “Yeah. Yeah, I could go for a bath.”

+++

For someone who is pretty adamant about how he’s the living embodiment of health, Eddie certainly has no qualms about letting Buck give him a bath.

Buck secretly loves it. Except, it’s not really a secret. He internally fist pumped, biting back a huge grin, when Eddie made a noise and tugged the hem of his shirt when he attempted to leave after preparing the tub.

There’s an unspoken tension that fills the bathroom, no words being exchanged for minutes. The only sounds that can be heard are their combined breathing, Eddie’s a little heavier than Buck’s, and the ripple of water echoing off the walls.

He’s never actually given anyone a bath before; the thought dawns on him as he wipes the soaking wet washcloth on Eddie’s back.

He’s helped Eddie shower before, sure. The shooting left him immobile, groggy from pain meds for a while, and he scrubbed the dirt off him after the well. Even back then, it felt normal.

They take showers together, too. Mainly at work, but sometimes at home—the space was definitely not made to fit two grown men, but somehow, they always make it work.

But this? This is a whole different ball game, an unfamiliar situation under new pretenses—it isn’t even necessarily sexual.

(Although, it could be. It could—and that has Buck reeling.)

No, it’s just awfully intimate; in a way it’s never been before. So intimate it hangs in the air, like a thick cloud.

Eddie watches him carefully through heavy, damp eyelids, his gaze unreadable. Buck can tell he wants to say something.

“You love me,” he whispers eventually, his voice small and delicate. Not a question, just a statement. An observation, maybe.

“I do,” Buck says simply, because it is. The easiest thing he’s ever done. “Are you surprised?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, not at all. I mean, I’ve just never had anyone take care of me like this,” he admits. He slowly faces forward, staring daggers into the tiled wall in front of him, like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

Buck hums agreeably. He gets it—he really, really does—well aware of the journey they both took to get to this point. Before he can float away, wax poetic mentally over his love and devotion for Eddie, he speaks up again.

“It’s a lot, sometimes. Y’know? Overwhelming,” Eddie whispers, hugging his knees to his chest. He looks vulnerable like this, fragile and precious; Buck wants to hold him in the palm of his hand, protect him forever and ever.

After a moment, Eddie adds quickly, “Not in a bad way. Obviously.”

A goofy grin tugs at Buck’s lips. “Obviously,” he says back at him, unable to hold back the amusement that seeps into his tone. “But it’s also kinda natural, right?”

Eddie turns to look at him again. His gorgeous eyes are a little red and misty, and Buck can’t tell if it’s due to the nature of this achingly tender moment, or if he’s holding in a sneeze—something Buck has, in fact, caught him doing.

Either way, he continues.

“We’ve been looking out for each other for years,” he says, rubbing circles into the curve of Eddie’s shoulder with the washcloth. “I think we were always meant to end up here.”

Eddie stares at him before replying. “Yeah,” he sighs, his fingers running through the lukewarm bathwater absentmindedly. “Me too.”

“Careful,” Buck teases, his voice low. “You sound dangerously close to admitting we’re soulmates.”

“We are,” he says, all too quickly.

Buck’s lips part slightly in amazement, watching as a slow flush creeps its way up Eddie’s bare chest to his cheeks.

Eddie clears his throat, composing himself. “Not in the universe is real and we were destined to be together kinda way,” he clarifies. “More like, we worked our asses off to get here, to create this family. To allow ourselves to cross that line–so, yeah. We are soulmates. But because we made it that way. Us and Chris. The universe does not get to take credit for it.”

Buck’s face is incredibly warm right now, the bathroom beginning to feel humid and foggy. He swallows hard, throat thick with emotion, an unmoving stone. “Yeah, I, uh. I couldn't have said it better myself.”

Eddie smiles faintly, extending his wet hand out, and Buck takes it, threading their fingers together.

“You’re always so good to me.”

“You always deserve it.”

“Mm. I love you,” he says, like that wasn’t abundantly clear after the little speech he just made. Buck appreciates it anyway, it’s always nice to hear.

Buck ducks his head. Matching Eddie’s timid smile, he replies, “I love you,” because it’s always nice to say, too.

+++

In the morning, Buck wakes up with Eddie on top of him.

He’s not surprised. It’s how he usually wakes up, how he prefers to wake up; bodies flush, skin-to-skin, limbs entangled, like some strange 2-headed, 8-limbed creature.

On those rare days he does happen to wake up, not cocooned around Eddie—well, those days are just no good.

It’s perfect, really. He's never liked sleeping alone, and now he’ll never have to again. Unless they’re at work, where they’re strictly banned from sparing a cot—Bobby is just no fun sometimes.

The problem today is, because of the toasty conditions of their home right now, Buck went to bed without a shirt, and Eddie is basically a furnace right now, warmth emanating off of him like a space heater. If he looked closely, he would probably see those squiggly heat lines.

He doesn’t want to risk waking up Eddie, though, before he’s ready, it took him a while to settle in last night.

So, there lies Buck, under Eddie: sweaty, overheating, and a little on edge. There’s another issue, too, because the universe just loves fucking with him. He’s hard as hell, achingly so. His morning wood is just poking into Eddie’s stomach, and that can’t feel comfortable, he thinks, as he stares at Eddie just snoring away, sleeping like a log, oblivious.

It should be gross, in theory. It should be enough to calm his boner down—the sight of Eddie breathing through his mouth, drooling all over his chest. But it’s not, it somehow makes him hornier, and Buck needs to go back to therapy, or something.

He squeezes his eyes shut and prays Eddie wakes up sooner rather than later.

Their house is really quiet right now; the hum of the heater is the only thing Buck can hear right now, and it adds to his current predicament, serving as an insistent reminder of how hot it really is in their room.

Buck forces himself to think about all the things he has to do today—things that do not include having marathon sex with a very sick Eddie.

He should tidy Chris’ room up—Chris has left it a mess before he left for camp, clothes thrown all over—the place seriously looks like a tornado passed by.

Laundry, because Eddie is on his last pair of clean briefs, which means Buck is three pairs away from his last. Eddie is a chronic clothing stealer, and not even his underwear is safe.

He should call Bobby and get that recipe so he can make it for lunch. Before he can start figuring out what to do for dinner, Eddie stirs on top of him, groaning. He peels open one eye, glancing up at Buck.

Buck flashes him a sweet smile, a finger drawing circles into his back. “Good morning, sunshine,” he chirps, like he hasn’t been fighting for his life for the better part of an hour.

“Morning,” he mumbles sleepily, closing his eye and pushing his face further into the crook of Buck’s neck. Muffled, he asks, “What time is it?”

“Good question.” Buck reaches over to tap his phone. He stretches his neck to check the time, jostling Eddie, earning him a very unhappy noise.

“Sorry, baby,” he grimaces, pairing the apology with a forehead kiss. “It’s 9:30.”

Eddie hums, perking his head up, fully awake now. “Too early,” he grumbles.

“Way too early,” Buck agrees. He runs his fingers through Eddie’s messy hair. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, a faint smile on his lips, and it reminds Buck so much of a cat.

“You feeling any better? Your fever still hasn’t broken,” he points out, frowning. Even his scalp was burning hot.

“Kinda,” Eddie says, pressing slow, torturous kisses on the side of his neck. “Are we staying in bed all day?”

Buck breathes out a noise, tilting his head back automatically. He stares at the ceiling like it’ll save him.

“Because I have some ideas,” he adds, his warm breath fans against Buck’s sweat-damp neck, and he might as well be spitting out fire directly onto the skin.

Oh, that’s good, Buck thinks, he should get used to the heat. Since he’s going to hell.

Buck clears his throat, trying so hard to ignore whatever is unfurling in his chest. “Well, you are definitely staying in bed all day,” he says, his voice frail.

Eddie scoffs, nipping him gently at the base of his throat. “That’s no fun,” he purrs. It’s all nasally, and it only serves to spur Buck on further.

“Eddie–baby, you should be resting,” he tries to reason with him.

“C’mon, don’t you wanna take care of me?” Eddie, the love of his life—the bastard asks, like Buck will ever answer no to that question.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the words dissolve on his tongue when Eddie’s fingers find his nipple. God, Buck is just not strong enough for this. He’s gonna cave, he’s certain of it—there’s no other ending to this scenario.

“Yes, always. Oh my g–Eddie, you seriously have no idea,” he barely manages to say, feeling like barbed wire has found its way into his chest cavity, wrapped around his lungs. Because Eddie seriously has no idea, and Buck can’t fucking breathe over it.

Eddie hums, low. “I have some idea,” he says, trailing a line down Buck’s body with his finger, until he reaches his crotch, palming Buck through his pajamas.

“Ha, but–you’re–” Buck grinds up into his hand automatically, and his hips stutter.

The friction is so good, so mind blowing, words are failing him. He honestly might pass out. “Eddie, your fever. You’re not–you should be resting,” he repeats, weaker this time. “I should be making you a healthy breakfast, force-feeding you medicine.”

“It’ll make me feel better, I promise,” Eddie tells him, and Buck doesn’t really think that’s true, but he’s inclined to believe him. So inclined, his boxers are unbearably tight.

“C’mon, take care of me,” Eddie continues, his open mouth dragging along Buck’s jaw. There’s the slightest hint of teeth and Buck has to hold back a full body shiver.

“You gotta stop saying that. I’m worried it’s gonna have, like, a Pavlovian effect on me. You know Pavlov, right?” Buck asks, delirious—he doesn’t even know what he’s blathering on about right now.

Eddie lifts his head slightly, staring at Buck, with wide eyes. Buck swallows, harsh.

“Really?” Eddie says incredulously, huffing a laugh. “You really wanna talk about Pavlov right now?”

Buck thinks he says no, he’s not really sure, because he’s distracted, he’s floating out of his body—the only tether to reality is Eddie’s mouth, pink and puffy, compelling him to bring their lips together.

The kiss is instantly dirty, and wet—flashes of sharp teeth and the warm slide of tongues, like Eddie’s trying to further his argument, and Buck must admit it’s captivating.

Buck runs his hands along the taut, firm length of his back, until he reaches the curve of Eddie’s ass. He shoves them into Eddie’s shorts and gives his ass a good, hard squeeze.

Eddie pulls back, gasping, staring down at him with droopy eyes. Buck doesn’t know what his face is doing, but it seems to satisfy Eddie.

Eddie kisses him. “Yeah?” he mumbles directly into Buck’s mouth, like he’s giving him life, and he is. He always has. “You wanna fuck me?”

Buck breathes out like he’s been punched 40 times in the stomach. “Yeah,” he chokes out, nodding erratically. He’s a weak, pathetic man. “Yeah, yeah, I do, fuck. I really do.”

Eddie makes a delighted noise, instantly slipping off Buck and flopping down beside him, like his work here is done. Buck misses the weight instantly, feeling a little empty.

“Well? C’mon,” Eddie whines, impatient.

“That’s how it’s gonna be? You want me to do all the work?” Buck huffs, rolling his eyes, like he’s somehow annoyed at that. He isn’t.

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m so, so sick,” he replies, faux-sniffling. “You don’t want me to use all my energy, do you?”

“So brave of you to admit you’re sick,” Buck quips, carefully manoeuvring himself right on top of Eddie, careful not to settle all of his weight on him.

Eddie says, fuck that, linking his arms around Buck’s neck, pulling him further down, his legs following suit, until Buck is completely flush against his body, and their mouths meet.

Somehow, they manage to stop kissing long enough for Buck to rip off their clothes. He reaches over for the lube, hand shaking as it opens the nightstand. He doesn’t even have to look, it’s muscle memory at this point. Leaning back on his heels to uncap the lube, he makes the grave mistake of looking down at Eddie.

Eddie, with his heaving chest, pink cheeks, swollen mouth. Eddie, with his red and angry cock, basically begging to be touched, belly sticky-wet and glistening with precome.

Buck truthfully doesn’t know how long he’ll last, but it’s too late in the game to go fishing for his cock ring, so he squeezes the base of his cock a few times with his free hand. Just in case.

Eddie observes the entire ordeal with a knowing expression, half-amused, mouth twisting to the side. Buck hates him, sometimes—but he loves him all the time.

Sucking in a deep breath, Buck drizzles some lube onto his fingers. “You ready?” he asks, his voice hoarse, almost unrecognizable.

Eddie nods lazily, lips parted, his dark eyes tracking Buck’s fingers as they inch closer. Buck folds over, pressing sloppy kisses into Eddie’s abdomen as he rubs a circle around his rim, slow and mean and deliberate.

“You gotta be kidding me right now,” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth.

Buck bites him, lapping his tongue over the skin. “Relax,” he laughs. It makes him feel better—that Eddie is losing his mind, too, that no matter how many times they do this, it’ll always be this exciting and consuming.

He presses his finger in, and Eddie’s hole is so fucking hot—feverish, and soft like velvet—he almost blows his load right there. Buck doesn’t have a clue how he’s supposed to put his dick in there and not explode in 0.02 seconds.

“Fuck.” He gulps, figuring that’s a problem for the Buck a couple of minutes from now, and just focuses on opening Eddie up. One finger turns to two, then three. Buck is good at this part. He gets really into it, taking people apart piece by piece with just his fingers; there’s an extra layer of gratification that floods him with Eddie, though. Maybe it’s their shared love, or maybe because it drives Eddie up the wall, or an intoxicating cocktail of both. He could come just from this, and be happy, elated. He has.

But not today—today, he needs more.

Eddie arches his back, head thrown back against the mountain of pillows. There’s a thin layer of sweat covering his entire body, almost sparkling in the morning light.

Buck’s calmed down a bit, so he can really enjoy it, his mouth hovering over Eddie’s pelvis while he fingers him into oblivion. Eddie tugs roughly at Buck’s hair, at his own nipples, at the sheets beside him, clearly aching for some sort of reprieve. Buck could suck his dick while he does this, take the edge off, or chew on his skin until it blossoms into purple marks, but he’s memorized, he’d rather watch Eddie squirm around through hazy eyes—he couldn’t rip his gaze off him if he tried.

Buck loses all sense of time. Suddenly, Eddie jolts upright, and before he can react, two large hands seize Buck’s face, pulling him up.

“Please,” he rasps, probably on the brink of losing his voice. Buck doesn’t get a chance to react before he’s being dragged into a messy and dirty kiss.

Their lips part with a wet sound, a string of spit breaks in the middle. “Please,” Eddie begs.

In lieu of an answer, Buck breathes out, slow and deep, removing his fingers and wiping them on their sheets.

“How should we do this?” he asks as he gets on his knees.

Eddie leers at Buck like he’s fucking crazy for even asking that, scrunching his brow up in confusion.

“Like this, so I can see your face when you sink into me.” Obviously, Buck’s cock twitches where it stands after hearing that, smearing more precome all over his lower stomach. He’s a little lightheaded, which makes sense, considering there’s no more blood in his brain, too busy rushing south.

“Wow, so I really am doing all the work,” Buck tries to joke, but it falls flat by Eddie’s vice grip on his shoulders, toppling him over until they’re face-to-face again. Eddie stays silent; his demeanor speaks for him: spit-wet lips, hair stuck to his forehead and an absolute look of insanity in his eyes, glazed over with desperation.

“Oh, shit.”

With haste, Buck lathers lube on himself, almost bursting into tears as he strokes himself. He draws in closer, and Eddie’s legs spread a little wider, making more room for him.

With a trembling hand, he lines himself up. The tip barely breaches the ring of muscle before his hips falter and shake.

“Oh, shit,” he says, out loud this time, his hands quickly landing on either side of Eddie’s head so he doesn’t fall face first into his chest like an idiot.

“Oh, shit,” he repeats, because that’s all he can really say.

Buck expels quick puffs of air. It’s so hot—everything is so, so hot. Literally and figuratively. The room is boiling, hotter than any Los Angeles summer he’s ever endured, any fire he’s trekked through.

Eddie is an open flame, burning everything in his path, and Buck is currently trying to stick his dick in him without bursting into ashes.

Because he doesn’t comprehend the direness of the situation, Eddie’s heels keenly dig into his ass, rushing him forward. This causes Buck to sink in a little deeper.

He squeezes his eyes tight—so tight he sees a constellation.

“Ugh, you’re killing me here,” Eddie whines, blunt fingernails raking over his back.

Buck almost wants to laugh in his face.

He peels his eyes open with force and tears stream down his face. It’s so hot in here, he wouldn’t be shocked if they evaporated into the air.

“You gotta give me a second here, baby, you don’t know how good you feel,” he whispers, somehow stringing together a coherent sentence.

Eddie makes an unhappy noise but, to his credit, loosens his grip. A solid hand gently lands on his cheek, a warm thumb wipes a tear from Buck’s cheek. He swivels his head, presses a kiss into the heel of his palm. He nods, and Eddie returns it, a tired half-smile plastered on his face.

Buck runs his fingers through his sweat-drenched curls and slides in further. Eddie is so tight, so hot, he feels it everywhere, engulfing him. “Oh, god, oh, fuck.”

“Good, good,” Eddie gasps, rubbing his bottom lip with a featherlight touch. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

Buck groans every inch of the way, until he’s finally seated at the hilt.

“Good,” Eddie says again, maintaining dangerous eye-contact. Buck shivers. “Now, fuck me like you mean it.”

All Buck can do is nod dumbly, leaning in to kiss him again.

He gives an experimental thrust and almost passes out. Eddie feels so good around him—he’s fucking hysterical.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Buck groans as he starts to fuck Eddie earnestly.

“A little–ah, fuck. A little cold was never gonna stop me from having you,” Eddie breathes, thin and loose.

“A little cold,” Buck says back to him, his hips slowing down. “You have a fever, Eddie.”

“Are you really trying to argue with me right now?”

Buck considers it—ultimately deciding, no, thrusting in again. And again and again. The headboard knocks against the wall repeatedly, and the mattress holds on for dear life as Buck fucks into him like this is what he was made for; an air of confidence surrounds him now.

Under him, there’s a constant stream of, oh my god’s, obscenities and faint praises flowing, throaty moans and groans. Buck wishes he could bottle these sounds up, play them on a never-ending loop.

Eddie’s fingernails return to their favourite spot on Buck’s back, digging into the skin so hard, a familiar, grounding sort of pain.

He can’t fucking stop, maintaining a relentless pace he didn’t know he had in him. His body vibrates, and his blood morphs into molten lava, singeing every artery in his system, a white-hot energy builds in his gut, burning through to his spine. He’s close.

Through the haze, he locks eyes with Eddie, and he’s close, too.

“Touch yourself,” Buck says.

Eddie rocks his head side to side. “No,” he breathes, his voice broken and ragged. “No–I think–I think I can come like this.”

“Oh, shit. Fuck, okay, yeah,” he rambles, swifty changing course. He lists backwards, one hand firmly gripping Eddie’s knee, the other latches onto his shoulder. His thrusts become deeper, harder, laser-focused on that sweet spot. His heart pounds and pounds in his chest, pulse thumping like a bass drum.

Buck pulls Eddie down so his head is flat on the mattress instead of against the pillows, perching on one elbow while he seals their lips together.

It happens all at once—Eddie’s face screws up, mouth falling open against Buck’s as he gasps, cock shooting out ribbons of white; he comes so hard, it lands on his sternum. Simultaneously, Buck cries out, his cock buried deep in Eddie, coming in warm pulses.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, breathing heavily. “Holy fucking shit.”

Buck huffs and slumps onto Eddie like a puppet whose strings have been cut, his face promptly landing in the crook of Eddie’s neck. His legs and arms feel like fucking jelly.

Eddie wraps his arms around him, rubbing circles into his back. It’s sticky and damp between them, a mix of sweat and cum rubs against their chests.

It’s relatively quiet in the room now, aside from their steady panting and the dreaded hum of the heater. He’s levitating around, currently in that good place he goes after sex. That dwindling high; before everything feels gross and uncomfortable, before his joints ache. He’s pretty sure he’s half asleep right now.

He jolts wide awake by the sound of Eddie sneezing, a loud, sudden thing. Buck stares down at him with wide eyes, and after a moment, they burst into laughter.

“How long have you been holding that one in?” Buck asks, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Eddie purses his lips, pausing to think. “Um, probably since I started seducing you,” he says brazenly.

Buck huffs, shaking his head. “Of course.”

+++

Exactly 3 days later, Buck wakes up in a cold sweat, his head throbbing from a constant dull pain. Eddie’s side of the bed is empty, and that is the conclusive sign that his day would suck.

He peels himself off the bed with great effort and drags his feet over to the bathroom. Switching on the light, he winces at the brightness, his vision blurring before settling to reveal his very sad state; pale cheeks, vacant eyes, and a pink, runny nose.

“Fuck,” he says miserably at his reflection.

Buck eventually emerges into the living room where Eddie is lounging on the couch with some tea and a book.

“Good morning, baby,” he chirps into the room. Buck groans in response as he gets closer to the couch, hoping that’s sufficient to relay how he feels.

“Buck?” he asks, setting down his book and mug quickly. “What’s wrong?”

He tries to stand up and Buck lightly pushes him back down, flopping beside him, instantly curling up in a fetal position, his head nestled comfortably on Eddie’s lap.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbles, his cool, nimble fingers combing through Buck’s sweat-drenched curls. It’s a little unbearable, but mostly soothing. Buck fights back a deep shiver—he really doesn’t want to lose his touch.

He folds over and presses a kiss on Buck's ear. “I get to take care of you now,” Eddie tells him.

Buck snuggles his head further into his lap. “I’m sorry.” Eddie looked so peaceful, so soft, enjoying his morning before Buck ruined it.

Eddie’s hand freezes in his hair. “Why the hell are you sorry?” he asks, amused.

“Because,” Buck starts, flailing a hand around helplessly. He sounds like a whiny little baby. “You’re finally starting to feel better. Now you have to take care of me.”

Eddie sighs, frustrated. “You make it sound like a chore. You just did the same for me. This is what we do for each other, right? You said that–that we’ve always looked out for each other.”

Buck makes a noise. God, he really hates when Eddie is right. Buck can’t even be dramatic without Eddie shooting him down with sound logic.

“Okay,” he replies after a beat, still a little skeptical but ultimately relaxing again. Eddie mutters something under his breath, and it sounds awfully close to idiot.

Eddie keeps stroking his hair, and it feels so nice, Buck wants to cry. “You know, we can’t exactly say we didn’t see this coming,” he says, his voice low.

Buck wants to snort, but his nose is all plugged up. “Worth it,” he tries to say instead, but the sentiment is lost somewhere in an obnoxious sneeze. It was—worth it. He would have ended up here anyway, his course set in stone the moment Eddie got sick; they share everything.

Eddie brings a tissue to his nose, urging him to blow into it. That’s not fair, he thinks. He didn’t get to blow Eddie’s nose.

“Maybe next time,” Eddie replies, laughing as he smooths out the confused crease between Buck’s eyebrows. Okay, maybe he didn’t just think that.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, a smile tugging at his chapped lips, cracking a little as he speaks. “I’d like that.”

After a bout of silence, he feels Eddie shift under his head. “Hey, maybe I’ll get to rub that vapor rub on you,” he points out, a little too excitedly.

Buck pats his knee. “That’s it, baby. Dream big,” he sniffles.