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Eddie has a problem. The problem isn’t that Buck flirts with other people while they’re together—it’s not. It’s that Buck is beautiful and warm and friendly, and people are naturally drawn to him. Buck always shuts it down when they ask for his number, explaining he has a boyfriend, sometimes even gesturing toward Eddie across the room as he slides an oxygen mask over a patient’s face.
Eddie isn’t a particularly jealous man. Even then, he usually manages to swallow it down. Those people barely bother him. He knows Buck is his; he knows Buck is going home to him every night, crawling into his arms and kissing his mouth. He knows. He does.
The problem is just that Buck has made a new friend.
David from the gym.
David is nice, sure. In theory. But Buck doesn’t seem to notice that David is flirting with him right in front of Eddie—squeezing his bicep, complimenting him nonstop, even asking at one point whether he and Eddie are “in an open thing” before saying it was just out of curiosity.
They are not in an open thing.
Buck is his, and he is Buck’s, and it took them seven years to get here, and frankly, they’ve earned a quiet, easy, soft ending. The ending being the rest of their lives side by side, in love and untouched by death and suffering. And by fucking David, if Eddie’s got anything to say about it.
It’s unrealistic, to imagine a world so simple and painless, but Eddie is happy. For the first time in his life, he’s truly happy. The elephant that’d been on his chest for years was lifted the second he was able to admit to himself that he couldn’t fulfil the ideal life of marrying a woman and settling down with her. Now, he’s settled into his skin and into his relationship with Buck and is healing his relationship with his kid. Things are good.
They’re so good.
And then fucking David, stupid fucking David from the gym, plucks an eyelash off Buck’s cheek and tells him to make a wish while Eddie is a metre away on the treadmill.
Eddie turns the treadmill up three levels and then three inclines, running harder and harder.
Eddie is not a jealous asshole. He’s reasonable. Logical.
He does not care about fucking David.
Except then David tells Buck how beautiful his eyes are up close. Buck laughs, thinking it’s a joke, something harmless—and Eddie has had enough. He slams the stop button on his treadmill, stepping off and approaching.
“Hey, Buck. Can you help me with something for a sec?”
“Oh, we were—” David cuts in, gesturing to the weight bench where presumably they were going to spot each other. Damn. That sucks. Eddie really doesn’t care.
“Sorry, man. Just a minute,” Eddie says, forcing a casual smile.
Buck looks mildly confused, but as he always does, looks thrilled that Eddie is here and close. It does something to ease the tightness in his chest. He reaches out, brushing his fingertips across Eddie’s forearm.
David glances at the point of contact. Scowls.
Good.
It’s not even that he’s jealous, maybe, but he’s possessive. Buck belongs to him. Buck spends every night in his bed, in his home, cooking meals for their family, and being fucked through the mattress by him, wearing a collar with a dog tag with Eddie’s fucking name etched into it. Because Buck belongs to him. Not because he has to, but because so desperately, he wants to be. He wants to be Eddie’s—to be devoted, worshipful and loving. And he is. He’s perfect, and he’s Eddie’s and—
Okay. Perhaps Eddie’s quite possessive. Whatever. Buck follows along anyway, Eddie’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, tugging him through the gym.
“Where are we going?” Buck asks once they exit the main floor.
“Bathroom,” Eddie answers, voice firm.
“Why are we—”
Eddie knocks the bathroom door open with his foot, tugging Buck in and closing the door behind him, snipping the lock closed. It’s a small room with a shower in the corner, a toilet in the other and a small sink in the corner with large mirrors along the wall.
Buck watches him carefully. “Are you—are we good?”
Guilt tugs at his chest. He steps forward, sliding a hand underneath Buck’s tank, fingers skimming along his sweaty side before settling in the small of his waist. “Yeah, sweetheart, we’re good.”
He rises onto his toes and kisses along Buck’s jaw. Buck’s breath hitches, his hand flying to Eddie’s side, gripping tight.
“E-Eddie, what are you—”
Eddie’s head drifts a little lower, sucking a mark into the side of Buck’s throat, the skin beneath his mouth turning red, then as he pulls back, dark shades of purple and crimson with little red splotches throughout. Buck is whining, head tilted back, gripping onto Eddie’s side like a lifeline.
“Shit—shit,” Buck breathes.
When he pulls back, the mark he’s left behind is such a pretty shade in contrast to the pale white of his skin. “There you go, puppy,” Eddie murmurs. “Wanna see how pretty you look now?”
Buck, as expected, whines high and long the second the name leaves Eddie’s mouth. Eddie lifts a hand, catching his chin between index and thumb, and tilts his head down. Buck’s eyes are already foggy, his pink plush mouth ajar and panting softly, sweat glistening across his cheeks.
On his tongue, Eddie tastes him—salt, sweat, faint musk, and just Buck.
Buck holds his gaze for a beat before nodding slowly. Eddie guides him back toward the sink, stepping aside at the last second and tipping Buck’s head up to expose the dark mark blooming on his throat to the mirror.
“Should do a whole line of ’em sometime,” Eddie says quietly. “Make a pretty collar out of it.”
Buck looks dazed, already slipping under. “Uh-huh.”
Eddie shifts his grip, cradling Buck’s jaw instead, leaning in until their noses brush. “Wanna fuck you here. Remind my puppy who he belongs to. That okay?”
Their heads almost collide violently with how hard and quick Buck nods. “Yeah, y-yeah. Fuck me. I’m yours, you know that,” he agrees, easily. “Holy shit, Eddie. What has gotten into you?”
Eddie hates the possessiveness. The jealousy. It twists something ugly in his gut every time it surfaces. But this isn’t about reminding Buck. Not really. It’s about reminding himself—Buck is his. He isn’t going anywhere. There’s no one Buck wants more than him.
His hand glides down the side of Buck’s neck, landing on his shoulder, before nudging him downward to his knees. “Down.”
Buck, despite the fact he’s still waiting for an answer, wordlessly complies. He lowers himself down to his knees, never moving fast enough to dislodge Eddie’s hand from his shoulder for even a second. His face leans forward, dropping against Eddie’s crotch, nuzzling and mouthing at his still mostly soft cock through his gym shorts.
Maybe Eddie should’ve offered to shower—he’d been running hard—but Buck doesn’t seem to care. He buries his face deeper, inhales, then moans softly, mouthing wetly at the shape beneath the fabric.
“Good boy,” Eddie breathes, fingers threading through Buck’s sweat-damp curls. “I know you love to lick, but I’m gonna fuck your throat.”
It’s not a question. Buck doesn’t want to answer questions like this most of the time, just content to let Eddie guide him where he wants him and use him as he pleases. Buck knows his safe words, both verbal and not, and Eddie trusts him to use them. He also, despite rarely trusting himself, does trust himself to know Buck and Buck’s body language enough to know if something is wrong.
So Eddie doesn’t wait. He tugs Buck back by the hair, smiling when Buck fights the pull, eager to get closer again. Eddie holds firm. He shucks his shorts and underwear down one-handed, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock hangs heavy now, half-hard.
Buck’s tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip, wide, wet blue eyes flicking upwards as Buck lets out a pleading little whine.
“Yeah? You want a treat, honey?”
Buck nods rapidly, clearly trying his hardest to stay restrained and not fight against Eddie, holding him firmly in place. It’s clear he wants to break out of the hold and choke himself on Eddie’s dick, but he’s good. He’s such a good fucking boy.
“Desperate dog wants dick down his throat, huh?” Eddie coos, tugging Buck’s curls a little too hard. “So needy for it. Bet you’d do anything I asked just to get a taste.”
Buck whimpers, still nodding, eyes locked on Eddie’s like he knows he’s supposed to. That’s when Eddie notices his hands—tucked neatly behind his back, just the way Eddie likes when he fucks his throat.
God.
“What a good fucking boy, you’re drooling for it,” Eddie murmurs, approvingly, “Open.”
Buck’s mouth drops open without hesitation, excitement flickering in the blue of his eyes, tongue eager and waiting.
Eddie feeds himself into Buck’s mouth slowly. Once he’s halfway in, he pulls back just enough to drag the tip along the slick pink muscle of Buck’s tongue, watching the way Buck holds himself perfectly still. There’s a sharp tension across the line of Buck’s shoulders—Eddie can tell he’s gripping his own wrists behind his back tightly, fighting every greedy instinct to move.
He sinks inside, his now mostly-hard dick seated on Buck’s tongue, but Buck is being so patient.
“You wanna suck?”
Buck nods, eyes glazed, knees pressed into the cool tile. Eddie won’t keep him like this long—between the risk of interruption and Buck’s knee—but he doesn’t intend to. He wants Buck against the mirror, stuffed full and whining. Buck’s always been good at that.
He doesn’t have any intention of keeping Buck just on his knees, anyway. He wants Buck against the mirror, stuffed full of dick and whining on it. He’s always been real good at that.
Eddie’s cock, just at the thought, twitches on Buck’s tongue.
Buck whimpers. Desperate. Begging.
“Okay, puppy, suck,” he commands, sliding his fingers into Buck’s curls and gripping at them. He has to guide Buck—not always, but the second the word puppy drops from Eddie’s mouth and he starts pushing Buck around, Buck needs the guidance, too lost in the fog of it, his thoughts fuzzy around the edges. He looks to Eddie for a leading hand, always eager and needy to be compliant, and sweet, and cared for.
And Eddie’s all too happy to give him exactly what he needs.
And right now, specifically, what he needs is Eddie’s thick dick bullying its way into Buck’s pretty throat, over and over, till Buck’s brain is nothing but soup.
Which Eddie does. He starts slow, a few experimental rolls of his hips to let Buck adjust to the feeling, but before long, he’s got his hand cradling the back of Buck’s skull, pulling him down to meet every thrust as he buries himself inside the warm, welcoming, wet heat of Buck’s perfect mouth.
“Jesus Christ, puppy. You just take it, huh?” He exhales, staring down at the obscene sight of his beautiful puppy taking exactly what he’s given. Buck can’t speak or nod, but he does moan around the girth of Eddie’s dick, his throat fluttering and vibrating with the noise. It sends shivers shooting up the length of Eddie’s spine, only urging him to fuck deeper.
He could come like this. He has many times before. There’s nothing his sweet puppy loves more than Eddie coming all over his face before dragging a finger through it, feeding it into his mouth and then thrusting his fingers into Buck’s tired mouth, his jaw aching.
It’s one of Eddie’s favourite things to do.
He’d keep going, even through discomfort, embarrassment and pain, as long as Eddie asked, but Eddie would never push it. The trust is there—undeniable and unbreakable. They look after each other, here and everywhere they go.
The possessive ache in Eddie’s chest eases as he nears the edge, soothed by Buck’s submission and the wet warmth of his mouth, saliva pooling behind teeth and slowly slipping down Buck’s chin.
Fuck.
He slides out, and despite the hand firm in his hair, Buck tries to follow, a whine torn from his throat as he fights against the grip to get Eddie back in his mouth.
“Hey, hey,” Eddie says, gentle. “Enough.”
A desperate noise is torn from Buck’s throat—it’s nothing close to a word, but Eddie knows what it means without a second thought.
More, please, fuck, more. Buck always wants more, more, more. He’s so endlessly greedy—desperate to be touched, to touch, to be fucked, to be filled, for all of it. Buck can never get enough.
That’s why Eddie’s gotta keep him in line, otherwise he’d stay down on his knees, fucking his mouth down onto Eddie’s dick for hours.
“Enough,” he says, firmer this time. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
Buck seems to snap out of it then, his hips squirming a little as he catches his breath properly. When they’re like this, he tries to only ask questions where Buck barely has to think—because he knows Buck’s brain gets all dizzy and empty when Eddie fucks the thoughts out of it. It’s Eddie’s own fault, really; he gets too lost in cooing at him till Buck is helpless to do anything but listen and be guided. It just means he has to use a firmer hand sometimes.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Eddie says, hand curving underneath Buck’s chin instead, tilting his head up. “Beg.”
Buck doesn’t hesitate. His swollen mouth stays open as soft, needy whimpers spill out, eyes wide and locked on Eddie’s.
“There you go. Good dog.”
Eddie lets go of Buck’s chin and offers his hand to help him up. Buck clasps it, rising to his feet on shaky, Bambi-like legs. Instead of kissing Eddie, he leans in and presses his face into the sweaty crook of Eddie’s neck.
Buck mouths at the skin there with clear intention—not to kiss, just to taste. His tongue drags over Eddie’s throat, cleaning away sweat and leaving his own spit behind.
It tickles, but Eddie lets it happen for a moment, content to give Buck the illusion of control before taking it back.
“There you go. All fuzzy in your head, aren’t you?” Eddie says, voice low.
Buck nods against Eddie’s neck, hands clutching aimlessly at Eddie’s side, drifting up and down with little focus, just desperate to touch, touch, touch.
“‘S okay,” Eddie tells him. “I’ll look after you. You know I will. I always do. ‘Cause you’re mine. Gotta look after my good boy.”
Against his throat, Buck whimpers, a quiet, sweet little noise that makes Eddie’s dick twitch where it’s hanging between his legs.
“Let’s get your shorts off, yeah?” Eddie says. “Puppies don’t need clothes.”
Buck scrambles immediately, shoving his shorts and underwear down before Eddie can help. When he straightens, Eddie takes him in: thigh hair sticking faintly to the plush curve of his legs, the elastic mark where his shorts had been digging in across his stomach—and right in the middle, Eddie’s favourite place to be.
He has to fight the urge to drop to his knees and eat his puppy until he’s sobbing. There’s no time. Outside, the gym hums—top-40 music, chatter, doors opening and closing. Just not theirs.
Eddie backs Buck up against the mirror. His hand slides between Buck’s thighs, the back of two fingers tapping twice against his inner thigh. Buck complies immediately, spreading his legs and leaning back against the cool glass.
“Fuck,” Eddie exhales. Those same fingers part Buck’s slick folds, revealing his hardening cock. Eddie adjusts his grip, dragging his thumb over the sensitive nub. Buck clenches and sighs, eyes fluttering shut. Eddie is stuck between deciding whether to watch himself toy with Buck, or whether he wants to watch Buck fall apart, eyes locked on his lax, flushed features as he gets nothing more than a few touches to where he’s most sensitive and needy.
He decides on the first. Dropping down to his knees to get a better view before easily pressing two fingers inside Buck’s hole. Buck gasps at the intrusion despite how troublelessly his body takes it. His fingers thrust in and out, quickly coated and soaked by Buck’s slick.
“Dripping for it, huh? Had them all drooling over you working out, all big and pretty. Bet they wanted you to fuck ‘em, bud. But they don’t know, do they?”
Buck makes a soft, confused noise, his hole clenching around Eddie’s fingers.
“They don’t know you’re just made to take dick, do they? That you’re made to take my dick. My fingers. My tongue. Just for me.”
That’s all it takes to have Buck heaving breath and squirming, trying to fuck back against Eddie’s fingers as they pump almost leisurely inside him.
Eddie has to drag himself away, or he’ll drag his tongue over Buck’s dick, or dip it inside just to taste the tang, the musk, the Buck of it all.
He leans forward, just once, pressing a kiss to the curly hair above Buck’s dick. Buck’s hips shift upward, trying to get Eddie where Buck wants him most, but Eddie doesn’t care. Or well, he does, but he knows Buck prefers it when Eddie doesn’t, when Eddie at least plays pretend that he doesn’t truly care about Buck’s pleasure, but only his own, Buck’s body merely a toy for him to make that happen with.
Eddie drags his fingers out and stands back up. Buck’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes open now, focused intently on Eddie. Eddie, who then brings those two soaked fingers up to Buck’s mouth, tapping on his bottom lip wordlessly.
Buck’s lips part further, sliding over Eddie’s digits, taking them into his mouth. He seals them around the fingers, dragging his tongue as much as he can along the bottom of them, his cheeks hollowed as he cleans them off.
Fuck.
Eddie’s patience frays. He thrusts his fingers once, twice—just to make Buck take it—before pulling them free. He wipes his hand on his shirt, then grabs Buck’s hip, fingers digging into warm, solid muscle.
“You’re gonna keep your eyes on the mirror for me, puppy,” Eddie instructs, drawing a small circle against Buck’s hip bone. “I want you to watch yourself take it. I want you to see yourself come on my dick. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Eddie knows, on some level, that Buck can’t—not without trying very hard. And still likely, in the end, failing. But Buck’s a good boy. He’ll try.
Buck nods, leaning in and nosing at Eddie’s cheek.
Eddie grins. He uses his grip on Buck’s hip to turn him, tugging his ass back and arching his spine just right, giving Eddie easy access, he takes a second to trace his thumb into the indent of a dimple just above Buck’s ass. With his other hand, he fists his dick, jerking it off a few times before he angles it toward Buck’s hole—and then doesn’t push in. Not immediately.
Instead, he drags the tip through Buck’s slick heat, letting it coat him, savouring it.
Buck pants against the mirror, hands braced on the glass, breath fogging it up.
If Buck were more coherent, he’d be begging. He usually does, right before Eddie pushes in. Instead, he’s just panting and squirming, his body fluttering like it’s trying to tempt Eddie, or pull him in on its own.
Eddie gives in—just a little. He presses the tip inside, then pulls back again, drawing a desperate, wrecked sound out of Buck.
Later, when they’re home, he’ll buckle Buck’s collar around his throat—the one that’s got Eddie’s name and number engraved on the back, and he’ll let Buck curl up on the couch with him, face pressing against Eddie’s stomach as he melts into it. Only good dogs get to sit on the couch with their owners, and fuck, Buck is the best dog.
But for now, Buck just has to take it. Eddie will look after him. He always will.
Unable to hold himself back any longer, he eases his cock in, inch by inch. The first glide in always knocks the air out of him. Buck’s so hot and wet inside, the feeling is something he can barely even describe with anything more than a moan.
He squeezes at Buck’s hips, just to feel the muscle beneath them, before finally feeding the last inch of his dick in, watching as it disappears inside of Buck.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie exhales, smoothing his thumb over Buck’s skin. “You’ve got no idea how perfect you look like this, Buck. You’re so tight every—” He pulls out in one slow drag, eyes lifting to the mirror to catch Buck’s gaze, to make sure he’s watching. “—damn,” he snaps, thrusting back in sharply and making Buck yelp. “Time,” Eddie finishes, rolling his hips shallowly, grinding just enough to make Buck feel all of him.
Buck, predictably, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push back, desperate for Eddie to fuck him properly. Eddie grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs, sharp and unkind.
“What’d I say, mutt?”
In the mirror, Eddie watches Buck’s pretty blue eyes fly open, locking onto his. Buck whimpers.
“There you go. Just watch yourself fall apart on my dick. That’s all you need to do.”
Day to day, Buck does so much. He saves lives, sure—but more than that, he carries everyone around him, always giving, always steady. That’s what makes this special to Eddie: he gets to strip all of that away, the pressure, the weight, and take care of Buck in the one way no one else can. Taking his thoughts, his worries, his stress, and pulling him apart until there’s nothing left but something Eddie can put back together with his steady, loving hands.
Here, now, all Buck needs to do is listen and comply. And he does, staring himself in the eye despite how embarrassed he can tell Buck is by watching himself bend over like this and take it.
“There you go. You look like a slut, huh? All fucked out, and I’ve barely been inside you,” Eddie mocks fondly.
“It’s okay. You’re always like this. You can’t help it. You’re just—” Eddie speeds his hips up now, pumping his hips and getting lost in the sound of skin against skin, of the slick shlicking noises reverberating off the walls every time he pushes inside. He barely hears the words coming out of his own mouth. “A desperate, pretty toy. You’re just a slut for it, sweetheart. My good toy. My good—”
“E-Eddie,” Buck gasps, and when Eddie looks up, Buck’s tears are spilling freely down his cheeks.
Eddie sighs, folding over him, chest to Buck’s back, one arm curving around to press two fingers into Buck’s mouth.
Buck watches, wide-eyed, transfixed.
“Puppies don’t talk, do they?” Eddie murmurs, rolling his hips deep. “They just pant, and whine, and beg. What kind of mutt talks?” Another slow grind. “But you’re a good puppy, aren’t you? You’re gonna shut up and take my dick, right?”
Around his fingers, Eddie feels Buck’s whimper more than he hears it, the noise muffled by Eddie pressing down on his tongue.
“There you go,” Eddie praises, dragging his fingers out. His hand drifts downward, curving around Buck’s hip instead, framing Buck’s dick with a knuckle on either side. “You want a treat?”
Eddie watches over Buck’s shoulder as he goes to open his mouth, but instead, he just nods, letting out a soft whine as Eddie strokes his clit between his fingers.
“Gonna let you come on my dick for being so good for me.” Eddie keeps his head tucked over Buck’s shoulder, watching Buck intently as he fucks into him.
Buck tightens around him unexpectedly, and Eddie’s almost a goner—his dick kicking inside Buck, balls drawing up. He pauses, still seated fully inside, and takes a steadying breath, pressing his forehead against the back of Buck’s shoulder.
His fingers don’t stop, though, they jerk Buck off, the wet schlicking sound of Buck’s slick coating his dick filling the room as Eddie catches his breath. Buck squirms, unable to keep still, grinding back on Eddie’s dick, fucking his pussy onto the length.
Eddie groans, his other hand gripping Buck’s hip, holding him in place. Fuck. he can’t. He can’t—
He's gonna come. Fuck.
He nudges them forward, Buck’s hands dropping down, his face instead pressed against the cool mirror. He fucks into Buck, sloppy and desperate, chasing his own high. His fingers don’t stop, knuckles tucked on either side of Buck’s aching dick, dragging him to the edge right with him.
Buck, despite how close Eddie feels, is still the one who falls first. He flutters around Eddie, crying out as Eddie fucks him through it, slickness gushing over Eddie’s length as it’s fucked in and out of him. Eddie knows there will be splashes of it over both their thighs when Eddie pulls out. He wishes they had time for him to lick it up and suck Buck’s oversensitive clit into his mouth, working it over with his lips and tongue while Buck tries to fight the urge to pull away from the overstimulation.
Predictably, Eddie follows right after him, always meeting Buck in the middle. He feels his cock somehow harden even more, his whole body tensing as he sinks his teeth into Buck’s shoulder to attempt to muffle the groan that’s ripped out of him as he spills inside.
His hips don’t slow, if anything, they speed up, fucking his come deep inside Buck, the movements slicked even more by his own spend. Buck is shaking in his arms, flushed and in pieces. Eddie slows down after a moment, releasing the bite on Buck’s shoulder and looking at Buck in the mirror.
Buck looks ruined. His own hand is in his mouth, teeth sunk into the flesh to keep himself quiet, drool and mess drying on his chin from where he’d sucked Eddie off. His pupils are blown wide and his eyes are rimmed with red. Eddie lifts his hand—the one that isn’t soaked—and wraps his arm around Buck’s torso, swiping his thumb gently through the drying tear tracks on his cheeks.
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie whispers.
Buck smiles, blissed-out and loose. Eddie eases himself out, slick fingers pushing the mess back in as he crouches down and grabs Buck’s shorts and underwear. He eases his fingers out, taking only a quick second to drag the tip of one of them over the tip of his oversensitive, hardened clit. Buck, predictably, whimpers, his thighs still twitching from aftershocks. Eddie kisses his ass, just a quick, sweet peck before guiding his legs back into the shorts and underwear. They work in quiet, hazy sync, Buck lifting his leg while Eddie drags the item up, Eddie’s fingers skimming over Buck’s overheated skin absentmindedly, and Buck leaning against the mirror, watching fond and blissed-out as Eddie works.
As quickly as he can—he finishes dressing them both.
Once he’s done, Eddie cups Buck’s face, cradling him like the precious thing he is, and kisses him slow and soft. Buck sighs into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed.
They linger there, unhurried and sweet, until a knock sounds at the door. Eddie glances at the mirror—fogged, smeared with Buck’s handprints—and winces. He looks down at the floor below, where a couple drops of cum have landed, and several drops of Buck’s wetness has slid down his thigh and into the floor. He winces a second time.
He grabs a papertowel, swiping the floor and tossing the paper before he interlaces their fingers together and unlocks the door, tugging both of them out of the small room.
The guy standing there looks perplexed.
“Sorry, man,” Eddie says. “He was feeling under the weather. Had to make sure he was good.” Even to his own ears, it sounds like bullshit, given how dishevelled they both look.
Eddie can’t even remember why he’d been so desperate to fuck Buck right then, right here. Doesn’t care, not anymore. Not when Buck is smiling all dopey and squeezes Eddie’s hand once as they head out of the gym together.
They loiter in the parking lot for a beat, Buck’s fingers interlaced with his halting his path toward the truck.
“What’s up?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hand.
“You’re okay?” Buck tugs gently on Eddie’s hand, pulling him closer. Eddie follows. Would follow him anywhere.
He leans into Buck’s space, the front of his shoe knocking against the front of Buck’s sneaker. “Yeah. I’m good. I just—he was—”
“I’ll tell him to stop.”
Eddie’s eyes widen—just a fraction. “Buck, it’s fine. I know you’re not interested, I know you’re with me, I know you’d never …”
“But it makes you uncomfortable. How friendly he is with me.”
“He flirts with you.”
Buck leans forward, leaning his forehead against his. “You wanna know the truth?”
Eddie hesitates. “...Sure?”
“I didn’t even notice. I don’t notice anymore. Not till it’s like, really obvious. It just doesn’t clock anymore.”
He knows what Buck is implying here—that it’s impossible to notice the attention of anyone else when he’s so content, and happy in his relationship with Eddie. Eddie steals a kiss, nothing hungry, just a comfortable, praticed movement, the sweet slotting together of their mouths. They’ve done it hundreds of times before. They’ll do it a hundred times again. Because they’re it for each other.
He knows that.
“Okay,” Eddie says.
“I’ll tell him to back off.”
The corner of Eddie’s mouth quirks up, the ghost of an almost-smile. “Thank you.”
“You still have to fuck me like that against the mirror again, though. Holy shit.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, pulling back and tugging Buck the rest of the distance to the car.
Buck drives them home, talking to Eddie about nothing in particular—or maybe everything all at once. He jumps from geese to the parent-teacher conference they’re attending next week, then spends several minutes on hoses. Eddie listens, asks the occasional question, but mostly just leans back and lets Buck talk, content to be there with him.
It makes sense, Eddie thinks, to feel a little possessive over this, even if Buck doesn’t notice anyone else anymore.
Eddie isn’t sure he deserves him—maybe he never has—but he’s watched people want Buck and then discard him, over and over again, proving how careless and shortsighted they are.
Strangers who hit on Buck at calls, or the gym, or the grocery store don’t understand what they’re asking for—they know he’s beautiful, and he’s sweet, and perfect, but they don’t know what it’s like to keep him.
They don’t know what it means to really love him—to hold him, to know him, down to his core. They don’t understand what a gift it is.
That part is Eddie’s.