Work Text:
Buck has, indeed, pulled out another clipboard. But not for his meticulous, control-freak ways. In a sense yes but not really like that.
This is the very special Baby Eddie Clipboard. It has Eddie’s name in pretty loopy handwriting and is decorated with princess and stars stickers, courtesy of Jeeyun herself. He made it the moment Eddie had told him the news, only a few months ago, taking one home from the firehouse (not that Chimney will even notice one of the clipboards being gone) and as soon as he got back—and kissed Eddie senseless, maybe a bit more—he sat down on the kitchen and got to work.
The clipboard is a little bit inspired by Lilo & Stitch, specifically the scene where Lilo keeps tabs on the anger in Stitch’s body. In his defense, Jeeyun had seen the live action first and he, offended, put her on the cartoon, and now every time he goes to visit Maddie and Chimney he can hear a little bit of Elvis Presley coming from the living room where he’s sure to find Jeeyun and baby Nash watching the TV with bright eyes, and so many rewatches had made a tiny lightbulb come to life right above Buck’s head, eureka style. But Buck’s Baby Eddie Clipboard does not measure the baby’s mood, or anything related to it—
It measures Eddie’s everything.
“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” Maddie says when Buck tells her over the phone. “Are you really conducting experiments on your pregnant boyfriend?”
“I’m not experimenting on him!” Buck whines, holding his phone against his head with his shoulder while he opens the oven, pulls out the brownies that just finished baking. “Really, I’m not even close to testing the waters. I’m just… you know. Tracking stuff.”
“Tracking stuff,” Maddie repeats, “like you’re a real life app that tracks what, exactly?”
Buck puts the brownies on the cooling rack and closes the oven door, taking off his oven mitts and now grabbing the phone again. “Pregnancy stuff. Side effects. Moodiness, nausea. If he has any specific food aversions, which, by the way, is very important because if Eddie suddenly turns into a picky eater because of our baby then I have to make a whole new grocery list for him and I’m seriously considering buying another fridge just to avoid cross-contamination between his and Chris and I’s food—”
“Okay, okay, Buck,” Maddie cuts him off with a small laugh. “Calm down. You’re acting like Eddie being pregnant will suddenly make him turn into a weird monster and he’ll no longer be the same—that’s not how pregnancy works.”
Buck knows that’s not how pregnancy works, he doesn’t say. He was there for Maddie when she was pregnant, both times, helping her out and even taking some PTO to be with her when Chimney was recovering from the lab and couldn’t fully attend to his pregnant wife. He’s pretty much an expert in pregnancies now, if he dares to say—hell, he even knows how to deliver them, unable to forget the image of 10 laboring mothers in a yoga studio and him, as brand new as they come, looking up at Bobby with panicked eyes as the older man slowly guided him through it all with a hint of laughter in his voice whenever he talked to Buck.
He’s a Pregnancy Pro, patent pending.
The thing is that Maddie doesn’t know how Eddie works. And Buck does. Better than anyone. So the clipboard is not insane—in fact, it comes in handy sometimes. So he says, “yeah, well, this is Eddie we’re talking about, I’m allowed some… precautions.”
“You’re truly one of the weirdest men I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you!”
“It wasn’t really a compliment.”
Buck grins. “I take pride in being a little weird from time to time.” There’s a sound then, that comes from Eddie’s bedroom. It’s barely audible, really: it sounds like wood creaking, and it could easily be the door opening, but then again, Buck knows Eddie, and that was a complaint. A whimper, maybe.
“Mads, gotta go. Eddie needs me,” he explains quickly. Maddie reassures him it’s okay and to call her back later if he’s free, which he promises to do, and they say their I love yous before Buck hangs up and turns around to leave the kitchen.
He hears the same noise again. It sounds like when Eddie gets hurt at calls and he’s holding the noise behind his teeth but it’s still loud, sharp, a quick groan that already has Buck on high alert. He turns back into the kitchen, opens the fridge and grabs a small bottle of apple juice, a bowl full of limes, a glass and a knife. Then, and only, he makes his way to the bedroom.
(The clipboard is left at the kitchen table. He’ll write down whatever he needs after he takes care of Eddie.)
Carefully, Buck shoulders his way into the bedroom, his face twisting in pity and sadness when he sees Eddie sitting crisscrossed in the middle of the bed, holding his head in his hands and taking very deep breaths. He’s pale, a little green, even, his hair slightly wet from sweating so much. It’s hard being pregnant. It’s even harder to be pregnant during summer. Even with the AC on, the ceiling fan, Eddie is overheated and tired. Buck hates it. Eddie hates it.
“Hey,” he says softly, smiling when Eddie hums in reply. “Feeling bad?”
Eddie lifts his head to stare daggers at Buck. “No,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “I’m peachy. Perfect clean bill of health.”
“Okay, wrong question, I know,” Buck appeases with a small nod. He doesn’t take anything Eddie says to heart; he knows he’s suffering. “I brought you limes. If you want them.”
“Oh god yes please,” Eddie whines, lifting a hand and making a grabby motion towards Buck, all his anger forgotten.
Buck enters the room and closes the door behind him, walking towards Eddie to give him the bowl. As Eddie grabs the limes, Buck uncaps the juice and serves it on the glass, leaving the glass on the night stand before taking the bowl again, knife in hand. He puts the bowl down in the small space between his legs, and begins cutting up the fruit.
“Did you manage to sleep?” Buck asks as he passes Eddie a slice.
Eddie pops the slice into his mouth, green side covering his teeth as he bites down on the soft flesh. He hums a negative and shakes his head, then moans when he suckles on the lime juice. Buck smiles, continues his job cutting up thin slices for Eddie to suckle on. Buck was baffled at first: when they’d found out Eddie was pregnant, both of them shocked at the concept that he was even a carrier, the first person they told—after Chris, who was kind of disgusted at the concept of them having sex, as teenagers do, but also tremendously excited to be a big brother—was Pepa.
Sure, they could’ve told abuela first, but, well, they had a whole thing ready to surprise both her and Bobby with the pregnancy sonograms, so Eddie swore Pepa to secrecy, who agreed to keep their secret a secret for a little longer. And Pepa, the darling that she was, threw herself into making Eddie’s pregnancy as easy as possible for them both, more so for Eddie. Eddie soaked it up, the knowledge of a mother and not a parenting book—which Eddie hates, by the way—, the way his culture treats pregnancy and what helps and whatnot, etc. A bunch of old wives’ tales that Eddie loved: he has gotten a small evil eye charm for a bracelet, is also wearing a blessed, red string around his wrist. To protect Eddie from malas vibras, Pepa had said. Buck had nodded, agreed, and saved it in a little folder in his brain to read up on later.
Buck had found out about a billion different Mexican and Latino pregnancy culture stuff. Babies are always cold, even when it’s hot, so they should always be covered. Pregnancy is considered something hot, not in the sensual way, so the carrier should avoid cold foods or surfaces. Buck had gotten a rebozo for Eddie for later in the pregnancy so he could walk with his stomach supported, and Eddie had cried a little about it. Whoever you look at the most when you’re pregnant is who your baby is gonna look alike was the funniest one according to Eddie, but Buck has caught him staring more often than not, so he’s decided that one is his favorite.
Even more: if your baby’s bellybutton is an outie you can press a gold coin on it and it’ll go back down. Feed your baby pureed plum if it’s constipated. During pregnancy, if you hold a baby boy and he’s fussy, it means you’re having a girl and viceversa. It was all so… incredible, finding out just how precious pregnancy was considered in other parts of the world. Buck is fascinated.
Overall, according to himself, Buck is very knowledgeable in All Things Latino Pregnancy, but also in All Things Eddie Diaz, which is why he was so baffled when the things that usually calm Eddie’s upset stomach absolutely did not work—sometimes even made it worse—, and so they had called Pepa one day at four in the morning when Eddie couldn’t stop puking and he was sobbing quietly into the toilet bowl, holding onto Buck’s hand for dear life, stomach nothing left to give.
When I was pregnant I used to suck on limones, Pepa had said. So did mamá when she was pregnant with me and Ramón. Maybe the baby is craving some spice!
Buck had been… disgusted, a little, but decided to listen to her and brought half a lemon to the bathroom, then back to the kitchen and returned with half a lime, and gave it to Eddie who latched onto it like a beast thirsty for blood, and the moan of relief that left him had verberated in their bathroom while color came back to his complexion slowly. They’d debriefed in bed after, and thus it was decided: if Eddie vomits, Eddie gets a lime. No questions asked. No matter where.
So. Buck has started carrying limes in his duffel bag. The locker room sometimes smells like tequila shots. It’s a thing.
Which brings us back to here, to this moment: Buck cutting limes, Eddie sucking the juice out of them then leaving its corpses on the plate Buck brought him just so he can grab another one and kill it too, then sip on his little apple juice between bites.
Buck has stopped questioning everything.
“I napped for, like, thirty minutes,” Eddie says around a mouthful. Buck nods at the same time there’s a slurping noise. “Then Little Miss Buckley here decided sleeping is for fools and started doing somersaults against my stomach.”
Buck smiles at the nickname, sucking the lime juice off his thumb before grabbing another lime to cut. He looks at Eddie, his tired face but still glowing, eyes sparkly as his other hand makes its way down to the barely there bump that is their daughter.
“That means our baby’s going to be a gymnast,” Buck says fondly. “You should show more support for her hobbies, Eddie. She’s going to be an Olympic medalist.”
“Olympic medalist of making me pee myself, surely,” Eddie grumbles. In response, another wave of nausea hits, making Eddie sway visibly.
Buck hands him a lime slice without a word. Eddie shoves it in his mouth. They sit in companionable silence for a bit, then: “D’you think I have boobs?”
Buck’s grip on the lime falters, he cuts a line on his thumb and he hisses at the sharp sting of citrus on the wound, and he can barely react before Eddie’s already grabbing his hand with a hiss of “Buck!” and checking his finger, eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m okay, it’s barely even bleeding.” It’s true, there’s like two small beads on both ends of the line, but Eddie frowns like it personally offended him, anyway. His grip on Buck’s hand gets stronger. “Eddie?”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie croaks out, eyes downcast.
Buck frowns. “Baby, what for?” When Eddie doesn’t say anything, Buck tries gently. “For the cut?” And Eddie nods, biting on his bottom lip until it’s white, and Buck can’t do anything but coo and put the limes on top of the bedside table before scooting over to sit next to Eddie, wrapping his arms around him.
“Eddie,” Buck says sweetly, “it’s okay, love. I’m fine, it’s not even serious!”
Eddie sniffles. “But I distracted you, and… and you got hurt because of it.”
With a small chuckle, Buck kisses Eddie’s cheek, his temple, the corner of his eye where that mole he loves so much rests eternally, the corner of his mouth. “And I’m fine, Eds. It doesn’t hurt.”
“You have lime juice all over your hand.”
Buck waves it. “Semantics.” When Eddie hums, unconvinced, still not looking at Buck, he sighs and cups Eddie’s jaw, turning his head and Buck ducking his own a little just so he can meet his eye. “There you are,” he says, a fond smile on his face when he sees the tears glistening and clinging to Eddie’s eyelashes. “Oh, honey.”
His chin wobbling, Eddie says, “I’m sorry! I can cut my own limes, you shouldn’t even be— god, this is so stupid, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m—” his voice breaks with a sob, and a hand flies up to cover his face.
Eddie tries to stifle his sobs into his palm, looking visibly disturbed at crying over nothing, and Buck has to hold in his laughter as he holds Eddie to his chest, running his fingers through his hair, rocking them side to side while he lets Eddie let it all out. Another pregnancy symptom that’s been driving them a little crazy: Eddie’s mood swings. They’re here, and they’re not leaving anytime soon—Eddie’s snapped at Chimney for using his coffee mug at the station, where every mug is the same, but Eddie knows which one is his because he and Buck always put them all away. He cries when Chris comes home from school and tells them he got an A on a quiz, no matter the subject, proud of how smart his son is. He gets mad at literally anyone who doesn’t take their shoes off as soon as they enter their house, Buck having been at the end of a few screaming bouts in the past couple of weeks, etcetera etcetera. Eddie hates it, hates how emotional he is over everything, always complaining about it to Buck, tearing up easily when they see a dog on the street that they can’t take home.
(Just a few days back there had been a thunderstorm so loud it had Buck flinching every fifteen seconds with every clap of thunder, and Eddie got irrationally upset at the fact that they’re both scared of thunderstorms now, how stupid is it that we’re in our thirties and scared of a bunch of waterlogged clouds? Then he started crying when he told Buck about how he can still see his lifeless body dangling from the ladder, sometimes, every time it rains, and Buck had drawn them a hot bath and they stayed in the bathroom until the storm had quieted down to a drizzle.)
“Eddie,” Buck whispers, chest shaking with silent laughter when Eddie sobs a little harder. “Eds, it’s okay, please, baby. You’re worrying me.”
Eddie lifts his head, eyelashes clumped together in the prettiest way, and his eyes, red-rimmed and tired, turn from sad to sharp when he sees Buck is laughing. “You don’t seem worried,” he says, voice dull.
Buck stops laughing immediately. “I am,” he hurries to say, still running his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “I am so worried. It’s just… a little funny. Like, just a little!”
“Is it,” Eddie mutters through gritted teeth. Buck gulps. Sighing, sniffling something wet and nasty, Eddie wipes his own tears and turns to grab the glass of juice from the nightstand. “Nevermind, it’s fine. We’re fine. M’sorry, I guess,” he grumbles before drinking a mouthful.
Buck just sits there, a little dumbfounded by the quick switch of emotions. He watches Eddie carefully as he sits back up, wipes a small droplet of juice that falls from the corner of Eddie’s mouth with his index finger, sucks it clean as well. Nothing Eddie indulges himself on shall ever go to waste.
“You’re not even bleeding,” Eddie says when he swallows, “I know it’s irrational, but I didn’t… I don’t know, something in me did not like that you got hurt because of me, so.” He sounds detached, distant in a way that lets Buck know he’s embarrassed.
He can’t even feel anything that isn’t pure love for Eddie right now anyway. “Well, it’s already closing, I’ll be fine. I’ve gone through way worse at work.”
Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, I know.” After a beat, “so you’re not mad?”
Buck can’t help it—he laughs, explodes with it, cackling over Eddie’s whines about how it’s not funny and his watery giggles when Buck pulls him into a tight hug, smushing Eddie’s face against his chest.
“I’ll never be mad at you for crying out of nowhere, are you kidding me,” Buck says, chuckling. “This is literally my favorite facet of you right now.”
“Who even says the word facet on their day to day,” Eddie’s muffled voice says.
“Me,” Buck replies, “and I’m proud of it. Now—” Eddie straightens himself back up, but remains cuddled close to Buck, who wipes the tear tracks from his face with careful hands. “—back to business. What is this about you and boobs?”
Eddie’s expression turns bashful, turns his face away, then his hands come up to gesture vaguely to nothing as he tries to find the words. “I was… showering, earlier, and when I was washing my body I felt… sore.”
“Sore.”
“Did you not hear what I said.”
“Yeah but what kind of sore? Like—”
“Like in the my chest is very tender to the touch, that’s so odd, and when I looked at myself in the mirror it seemed a little bigger and I think I have boobs of sorts kind of sore, Buck,” Eddie deadpans. Buck raises his hands, signaling innocence.
He takes a moment to look at Eddie, the way the sun shines down on him from behind and contours his face in shadows, a halo of sunshine around his figure. He looks at his eyes, the newly arrived puffiness of his face, the softness of his glowing skin. He lets his eyes trail down slowly, interested in Eddie’s theory, makes a show of it, staying a little longer on Eddie’s mouth, down the long, pretty line of his neck and lands at his chest.
Buck sucks in a small breath through his teeth.
Eddie does, indeed, have boobs. Or something. His chest isn’t as flat as it used to be earlier this week, a small but prominent mound forming below the threadbare, skin tight sleep shirt Eddie loves to wear so much. His nipples are perked, a hint of them through the fabric, and Buck has to force himself to think disgusting stuff to avoid jumping on Eddie like an uncontrollable sex fiend.
“Well,” Buck starts and then stops. His mouth opens again. Closes.
All the while Eddie stares, his bashfulness turning into curiosity turning into disbelief, his face flat and his eyebrows raised at Buck. “Really?”
“What?!”
Eddie, gesturing at his chest: “This is turning you on.”
Buck, fighting for his life and his dignity: “No it’s not! What are you– how-how-how do you even– you don’t– so don’t!”
“You literally said nothing at all,” Eddie laughs, laughing harder when Buck whines and covers his burning face. “This is doing it for you!”
Fine. Fine! So what if it is! So what if Buck is perpetually horny, and the reason he’s so obsessed with Eddie’s pregnancy and everything about it is because it’s so incredibly hot to him that Eddie is growing their child, and that Eddie’s body is changing because of it! So what if Buck knows that Eddie suddenly having “boobs” means that his body is preparing to feed their child in the future should Eddie go through with breastfeeding. So what if Buck likes to sit there and space out and daydream about a heavily pregnant Eddie letting Buck into his space, nuzzle his face across his chest and help him out with his sore breasts, likes to imagine how it’d feel like to lick Eddie’s milk, find out what he tastes like, he knows every possible taste of Eddie from his blood to his congested kisses heavy with a tang of mucus when Eddie gets sick, so what, so what, so what. God forbid Buck has eyes. God forbid Buck is into his boyfriend in every possible way.
He doesn’t say that. He doesn’t talk at all. He lets Eddie laugh, smiling all the while, then once Eddie stops to catch his breath, he says, “Sure, laugh at me all you want. I’m not gonna make abuela’s chili con carne for dinner, just for that.”
Eddie gasps exaggeratedly. “You wouldn’t.”
Buck wouldn’t. “Watch me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re not a pervert at all, can you please make the chili I’m so hungry,” Eddie hurries to say, moving to kneel over Buck, straddling him without any intent. He cradles Buck’s face in the cup of his hands, fingertips barely touching his skin, palms pressed up against his cheeks and tilting his face up so he’s looking straight up at Eddie. Eddie, who pouts with pretty pink lips and pretty big, doe eyes full of mirth. The sun hits the side of his face just right, reflecting light off his corneas and casting this golden ring around his irises in a way that makes Buck breathless, body sagging in Eddie’s hold.
“You’re so pretty,” Buck murmurs, enthralled. Eddie smiles, his thumb sweeping over the apple of Buck’s cheek.
“And you’re so pretty,” Eddie says back. His finger traces the line of Buck’s nose. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Buck licks his lips, digs his teeth into the bottom one, chews on a leftover scab from picking his lips so much. His eyes roam again without his permission, down to Eddie’s chest right in front of him, and he sighs out all the air in his body as he lifts a tentative hand, placing it on top of Eddie’s sternum. Feels the stutter of his breath on the rise and fall, the steady ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump of his heart. Buck splays his fingers, touching Eddie’s pectoral muscles, his entire body tensing like a fishing line when he barely presses down on the edges and a whine comes out of Eddie’s mouth. He feels how his mouth waters, tries really hard to keep his blood from rushing south, moving his hand to cup one of Eddie’s swollen pecs.
Instead of replying with a proper answer, he replies with another question. “Are you still… sore?”
Above him, Eddie’s as still as possible, his breathing is shallow and calm and he’s looking down at Buck with blown pupils and golden rings in his scleras and an accelerated heartbeat below Buck’s wandering hand and a child growing in his belly, and yeah. Yeah, that’s all he could do to keep himself in check. He grimaces slightly when he feels his sweatpants tighten ever so slightly, a contrast to Eddie’s grin.
Teeth dragging on his bottom lip, Eddie nods a couple of times, “yeah,” he says, pushing his chest into Buck’s hand. “I’m so sore, you have no idea…” His hand traces an invisible line from Buck’s jaw down his neck, shoulder, arm, landing on his forearm right below his wrist. “I’ve tried massaging them, y’know, to see if it’d pass. The ache. But I don’t do it correctly, I always let go because it hurts.”
Buck swallows down a whimper, his other hand sneaking around Eddie’s waist to hold him close. The hand on his chest moves, fingers brushing a pebbled nipple; Buck grins like the cat that got the cream at how fast Eddie’s face turns pink, his body shifting above Buck where he holds himself up on his knees. Buck brings him in closer, delighting in the small moan that escapes Eddie when he seats him down on the bulge in his pants. Good. Let him feel it— the way Eddie’s body is changing is hot, so sue him. He can allow himself a little fondling every now and then.
“If you wanted me to touch your tits, Eddie, you could’ve just said so,” Buck says, his body electric when Eddie whines, holding his own weight with his hands on Buck’s thighs behind him. “My god, Eds, you’re desperate.”
“I’m going to kill you in your sleep and make it look like an accident,” Eddie mumbles, twitching a little when Buck uses both hands to hold his chest, thumbs rubbing at his nipples. “I’m going— I can get away with it— ah, fuck, Buck, th’feels good.”
Buck hums, acknowledging Eddie’s relief while he allows himself to touch, to explore, to tease; he fondles Eddie unabashedly, pinching his nipples in a way that has Eddie’s moans turning high pitched, massages the inflamed tissue and Eddie groans, his head thrown back, a whisper of yeah, yeah, yeah trailing out of his mouth in one single breath. It’s terrible for Buck’s self control, but he’s operating with single-minded focus, Eddie needs to feel better, Eddie needs to be comfortable, and if Buck can help with that then he’s going to put his needs and his wants behind just so Eddie can be at peace.
He’s ignoring the way Eddie rocks a little on his lap, ignoring the drag of fabric over his cock, tuning out the breathy whimpers and the murmurs of his name as he tries to ever so slowly work out the tension of Eddie’s chest, biting down on his tongue to avoid jumping on him, dedicating all his focus to the task. It’s hard. It’s even harder when Buck pinches and tugs on both nipples at the same time and Eddie moans and his hand tugs at Buck’s hair, his hips rolling dirty into Buck’s, he has the self control of a dehydrated man in the desert. Small sips, Buck thinks, his eyes rolling back into his head for a second when Eddie grinds into him so good, self control, self control.
And then all control flies away when Eddie gasps in both relief and pleasure and something wet appears below Buck’s hand, stopping them short, heads turning and eyes peeling open to look at Eddie’s chest, which is—
“Oh,” Eddie breathes out. The click of his throat when he swallows is loud. “I’m…”
“Lactating,” Buck croaks out, almost in a trance. The wet patch in Eddie’s shirt sticks to his pec, translucent fabric against the steady drip, drip that expands the area, trails down his stomach, his bump. “You’re lactating.”
“So that’s why it hurt so bad,” Eddie says, a smile on his voice. Buck can’t lift his head. “Thank god, I don’t even know how I forgot this was a possibility, I’m sorry for sca—”
“Can I taste it?”
Eddie cuts himself off with an audible clack of his teeth, and Buck dares to look up. He doesn’t know what Eddie sees in his face, if Buck looks as insanely desperate as he thinks he does, bloodshot eyes and wet mouth, but he knows that whatever it is it makes Eddie blush bright red, pupils dilating under the sunlight, and Eddie croons, a finger curling below Buck’s chin to lift it up; Buck cannot help but melt into the kiss when it comes, a long exhale leaving his body as his tongue meets Eddie’s, the familiar suck, bite, pull, kiss cycle that undoes them both in seconds, Eddie’s other hand fisted in his hair and Buck still has two handfuls of tits, a small rivulet of milk sliding down his wrist. He hums against Eddie’s mouth, pulling away when the drop reaches the inside of Buck’s bicep, and he looks straight into his eyes as he lifts his arm to his mouth and licks it up, whining when his tastebuds register the small tang of sweet. Of course Eddie’s breastmilk is sweet—how can it not be?
“Oh my god,” Eddie mumbles, dumbfounded stare directed at Buck’s mouth.
Buck hums, follows the trail up to the center of his palm where it’s the wettest, eyes fluttering as he licks his hand clean. There’s a dizzy hazy feeling encompassing his brain, everything reduced to Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Eddie, who lets out a punched out gasp then crosses his arms before him and takes his shirt off in a single move, exposing his torso, his chest taut with milk and his baby bump, glistening with the milk running down from his puffy nipples, hard and dark. Buck is just a man: he cannot be blamed for getting to full hardness so fast he minutely sways in his post.
There’s a moment where they both simply stare at each other, and then Eddie’s grabbing Buck by the hair and Buck is wrapping a hand around his waist, the other coming up between Eddie’s shoulder blades to pull him into Buck’s waiting mouth, both of them moaning out. He sweeps his tongue over Eddie’s nipple before pulling it into his mouth, teeth scraping against the sensitive part. Eddie moans, his hold on Buck’s hair growing tighter, almost pulling, and Buck makes an incomprehensible almost animalistic noise back when milk rushes into his mouth, sweet and dense and so Eddie, his entire body reduced to a single pulsing point, the most pleasure he’s ever felt currently making him feel like he’s drunk. He can’t help but thrust up against Eddie’s clothed ass, and Eddie moans and grinds back, Buck’s mouth detaching from his nipple for a second to kiss the swell of his breast before going back to its task.
The flow of milk grows heavier, flooding against his tongue. He can feel a bit escape through the corners of his mouth and above him Eddie says, “oh my god, Buck,” in the shape of a small cry, punctuated by another dirty grind against his cock. Buck’s eyes roll back into his head and fall closed, too deep in his task, but he forces them open right after, just to look at Eddie from below his lashes.
Eddie, whose head is thrown back, his skin flushed and throat working as he lets out little mewling sounds that makes the hairs on Buck’s nape rise, whose hard cock is grinding against Buck’s stomach every time he swivels his hips, who’s mumbling something up into the air but Buck cannot hear it from the rush of blood in his ears.
From his peripheral he can see Eddie’s other breast, neglected, milk beading before sliding down his torso slowly. It’s a hypnotizing sight. It would be such a shame to waste it, so with a final lascivious lap of his tongue against Eddie’s right side he moves to the other, leaving messy, wet open mouthed kisses in the space between, biting down gently right in the middle of Eddie’s sternum, feeling a small layer of fat and the ridge of his ribcage below his teeth, and he wonders just for a second if he could tear a hole big enough with his teeth to live inside Eddie forever before his mouth connects with the other nipple in a nasty kiss. Then, he pulls away.
Eddie gasps, his head falling down to look at him, a retort already in his tongue. Buck shakes his head. “Watch,” he murmurs, then breaks eye contact to look right in front of him, breathing against Eddie’s flushed chest. He makes a show of it, opening his mouth, tongue lolling out to flick over Eddie’s nipple, catching a drop on his tongue.
“Fuck,” Eddie whines, fingers tangled in curls being used to push Buck closer, closer, his body jerking on Buck’s lap.
Buck hums, closing his mouth around the neglected bud and suckling, moans muffled by the skin of Eddie’s chest when there’s another rush of liquid flooding his mouth and running smoothly down his throat when he swallows. The hold on Buck’s hair turns into a soft cradle, Eddie’s fingers splaying behind his head, holding him close against his chest and Buck responds by sneaking a hand between them and sliding it inside Eddie’s basketball shorts, below the waistband of his underwear, wrapping a loose fist around his neglected cock for Eddie to thrust into. Eddie’s breath hitches and Buck makes a small encouraging noise, his grip on Eddie’s hip tightening as he drinks more, more, and Buck finally understands how addictions are formed, how the craving for substance makes its way below your skin and becomes an insatiable itch, he thinks that if it was possible to live his normal life attached to Eddie’s tits this way he would do it without even thinking twice about it.
In his arms, Eddie’s labored breathing is accompanied by quick, sharp thrusts of his hips into the hole of Buck’s curled fingers, expletives punched out of him, the only noises in the room being the muted, wet slide of his cock and the loud smacking noises of Buck sucking him dry.
“Buck, Buck, gonna come gonna come gonna—” Eddie cries, hissing sharply when Buck bites down on his sensitive nipple and pulls, both of them moaning in tandem when another rush of milk slides into Buck’s awaiting tongue. “God, you’re so— Buck, Buck—” Eddie sounds desperate, unable to keep quiet, and Buck can only hum around a mouthful and tighten his fist around his cock, a swipe of his thumb against his slit, and Eddie’s gone, coming into Buck’s hand and soiling his clothes as he rides it out, incoherent noises leaving him.
Buck only stops when Eddie’s hold on his hair tightens into a fist again, hissing in pain as he pulls Buck away from his sensitive chest, hips unconsciously chasing Buck’s fist before he removes that from his shorts, too.
They’re both panting, staring at each other, Buck hard as a rock below Eddie’s ass, probably leaking against his sweatpants and so close to coming even a breeze could get him going.
Eddie is… a sight. He’s red all over, bruises forming on the mounds of his chest and in between, nipples puffy and swollen and glistening under the light. Buck’s mouth is suddenly dry, thirst wrapping itself around his throat and his stomach and he leans in again for more, but he’s stopped by a single finger to the forehead, Eddie holding him back.
“Nuh uh,” Eddie says, catching his breath, a hint of a smile on his sweaty, pretty, flushed face. “No more. Don’t be greedy, now, you already had your fill.”
Buck makes a garbled noise, a deep groan mixed with a whine, and he registers a little too late that he’s coming, cock pulsing under Eddie, who’s been minutely rocking his hips the whole time. His orgasm leaves him twitching, blunt fingernails digging into the exposed skin of Eddie’s thighs, forehead still resting against the tip of Eddie’s finger and his weight supported by Eddie’s hand.
He manages to sit upright after a few long seconds, the world coming back to him, one sensation at the time. The cum drying uncomfortably in his pants, the stickiness in his hand from Eddie’s, the dry milk tracks down the side of his face and his throat that make the skin feel itchy and tight, and the taste in his mouth, god, it has Buck salivating for it like a dog.
“So that was fun,” Buck says, voice rough and sated.
Eddie cackles, a loud ha! that makes him throw his head back, tiny giggles shaking his body.
Buck laughs, too, a little bit of disbelief at what just went down hitting him, and he lies back against the headboard, pulling Eddie down with him carefully so as not to squish his bump.
“Well, I can definitely tell you my boobs don’t hurt that much anymore,” Eddie says amusedly.
Buck whimpers, bringing up his—clean—hand to cover Eddie’s mouth with a finger. “Don’t call them boobs, I can’t get hard again this fast,” he whines. Not for lack of trying, though: his cock valiantly twitches in its confinement, always willing to stand for Eddie.
“Sorry, sorry,” Eddie says, another small chuckle escaping him before he sobers up, kissing the pad of Buck’s finger and looking at him in the eye. “That was… okay? Right? You— didn’t mind it?”
“Mind it?” Buck repeats, brows furrowed in confusion. Mind it? Mind it. Buck is already planning on burning down every breast pump in every store in Los Angeles just so he can become the only available breast pump for Eddie. Buck is already planning on doing this again, later today, tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon, tomorrow night. He keeps licking his lips, his teeth, finding traces of milk in every part of his mouth and it’s such a sharp, minute explosion of flavor that leaves him reeling, wanting for more.
He doesn’t say that to Eddie. Instead, he says, “how could I mind it? I started it. Are you okay with it? If… if it happened again…?”
“Yes,” Eddie rushes to say, a blush spreading on his face, one that Eddie’s not aware of. “Yes, that was okay, and— and if it happened again, I wouldn’t—”
Buck nods. “Right.”
Eddie nods back. “Yep.”
They stare at each other for a moment, trying to navigate this new reality they’ve thrown themselves into, this newfound way to pleasure each other, the realization of how to exploit this manifesting in the twinkle of Eddie’s eye, the smirk growing on Buck’s face, and he’s about to lean in for a kiss when a sudden growling noise makes him jump.
Eddie’s mouth falls open. He gapes like a fish for a second. “Sorry.”
“Was that your stomach?” Eddie groans and covers his face, rolling away from Buck and leaving him feeling cold. Buck starts laughing when Eddie’s stomach growls again. “Holy shit, that’s loud.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know that our daughter being hungry was an inconvenience to you!” Eddie snarls, but there’s no heat in his voice, no venom, just calm.
Buck laughs harder, fond of the way Eddie whines and rolls away and lifts himself off the bed, a hand immediately coming up to his lower back to hold himself steady. His bump is not that big yet—it shows, it’s there, below all the muscle and the abs and the weight he’s put on lies their daughter, their baby, a small but prominent bump that all but shines as Eddie stands in direct sunlight, his other hand coming up to rub his stomach with two soothing circles before he’s walking to the closet and grabbing another shirt from Buck’s clothes, pulling it over his head and making a face at the way it kind of sticks to his humid body, a combination of sweat, saliva and milk that probably feels uncomfortable. Buck stares from his vantage point at the bed, he’s sure his face looks stupidly in love, and he cannot help but smile when Eddie turns to look at him.
“Are you gonna feed your kid or not?” Eddie asks, a hand on his hip as he cocks an eyebrow towards Buck, and Buck stands and crosses the room in three big strides before gathering Eddie in his arms and kissing him, deep and sweet and full of love.
Eddie hums, arms coming up to wrap around Buck’s neck, a hand resting on Buck’s pulsepoint, thumb rubbing at the hinge of his jaw. Their lips part.
“C’mon, there’s brownies in the kitchen,” Buck says, bumping his nose against the bridge of Eddie’s. He indulges himself in one last, quick peck. “They’ll probably be cold right now, but they’re still edible.”
“Did you get dulce de leche?” Eddie asks, voice full of expectation and excitement as he grabs Buck’s hand and walks him out of the bedroom.
“Of course I got dulce de leche, what am I, some kind of white guy with bad taste?” Eddie laughs loudly at this, guiding Buck through the hallway to the kitchen, fingers intertwined.
Buck makes a mental reminder to add lactating to the Clipboard later, listed under side effects, where a never-ending list of symptoms will continue to grow. For now, he washes his hands, he cuts a brownie square, spoons a dollop of dulce de leche on the top, and handfeeds it to Eddie, who continues to glow.