Pluie13
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“I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” Eddie says through the door, his voice worn thin at the edges. There’s a soft thud against the wood, and Buck doesn’t need to see it to know – Eddie’s forehead resting there. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say,” Buck replies. The words come out flat.
“How about when you said you don’t need me?”
Buck exhales, slow and heavy.
Because that’s it. The lie he wants to believe because believing it would make everything hurt less. The one that keeps failing him – failed him today, almost got him killed, almost pulled him down into the pit because for one terrifying moment he was sure Eddie was gone.
One bad call, one broken dam, and suddenly Buck and Eddie aren't pretending anymore.
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“Eddie. Dude.”
That, finally, does the trick. Eddie pulls off with his eyebrows in his hairline.
“Dude?” he rasps.
“Sorry,” Buck gasps. “I– I’m gonna come, just. Just, it’s not– you don’t want that in your mouth.”
Eddie looks… amused, of all things. Relaxed. Wetting his lips, he says, “Why not?”
“Uh.” Buck blinks. “It’s– do you?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, unimpressed. “Dude.”
“I–” Buck seizes when Eddie falls right back down on his cock, the wet heat of his mouth engulfing him again. “S-sorry,” he grits out. “Baby, I’m– I’m so close, you’re gonna make me come, you’re–”
Eddie groans around him, eyes squeezing shut as he presses himself down, down, down, taking Buck deep.
“Oh, fuck–”
Or: Buck and Eddie go camping. Things spiral from there.
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He doesn’t want to go. There’s so much here for him—so much to fight for, but he’s been fighting for so long, and there’s only so much he can do when he’s pinned and bleeding steadily. There’s not much to fight anymore except God, and God’s seemingly made a choice.
And, just as Buck was finally starting to understand, too.
Sniffing, he asks, voice cracking, “Eddie?”
He’s scared. There’ve been so many close calls, but not quite as close as this, and he’s terrified, but there’s too much to say. Too much on the line. He can’t let the fear keep him quiet anymore. He’s wasted so much time on being afraid, and now he’s run out, and he just—
He needs Eddie to know.
--
or, Buck's dying.
Bookmarked by Pluie13
19 Nov 2025
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"You don't see the problem," Buck says finally, in as measured a tone as he can, "with getting married to me. For tax purposes."
"Not just tax purposes," Eddie says indignantly, like that's Buck's main sticking point. Buck finally turns his head and looks at him. Still stupid. Still beautiful, in a light-colored Henley that makes his skin glow, his long fingers curled around the neck of the beer bottle resting on his knee. His big brown eyes and the encouraging little smile on his lips, like he's offering Buck a special treat, instead of a lifelong fucking commitment of platonic marriage. Buck wants to kiss him, or maybe strangle him. Either one would serve Eddie right.
Or: Eddie proposes marriage (platonically). Buck spirals.
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“A week,” Eddie sighed. “We can do this, right?”
Eddie’s gaze was pleading, needing assurance and comfort. His eyebrows were pinched in the middle of his forehead and Buck wanted to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb. Instead, he said, “’Course we can. We’ve faced tsunamis, beenados, earthquakes, broken dams… hey, where do we think the Diaz Parents Staying For A Week ranks?”
“Most likely to end in death,” Eddie muttered.
Buck clicked his tongue as he pulled the bowls from the cabinet for the salad, “That’s the lightning strike, actually.”
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The Diaz parents showing up unexpectedly to the shared Buckley-Diaz household leads to some unexpected confrontations, late night conversations, and over due confessions.