rasberrybush
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- 9-1-1 (TV) (7)
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Summary
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Eddie has the brief thought that this is a bad idea. It flickers through his mind: the anxiety, the doubt, the shame. But it's gone just as fast. Overwhelmed by the liquor that's coursing through his veins, and the burning heat of want—of need—flaring in his gut.
Buck's hot, wet mouth, gliding down and down and down, taking Eddie to the back of his throat: that's the only thing Eddie knows, the only thing he can feel.
There are eyes watching, probably. There must be, they weren't alone, not when this started. Not when Buck licked a shot out of his belly button to a chorus of drunk, roaring cheers—and then just kept going, licking, sucking, marking a path lower and lower. When he popped a button, pulled a zipper, buried his face into the rock hard bulge of Eddie's briefs.
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prompt: buck and eddie during the bachelor party too drunk to care if people see them
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Buck is here, now, in the early morning light, right next to Eddie; warm and soft, blanket tucked up to his chin. Eddie rolls his head to the side and blinks his eyes open to watch him, peaceful as he is, face lax, mouth wide open to free rhythmic snores, which rumble through the sheets and steady something that has been teetering in Eddie’s chest. He’s perfect, exactly where he’s meant to be, beautiful and alive and within arms reach. Eddie is overcome with it, and he feels a sudden urge to cry. It’s not sadness—because what could he have to be sad about with his son down the hall from him again, safe and happy to be there, and his best friend next to him, sleeping like he doesn’t have a care in the world—no, he’s not sad. The tears that want to fall are the work of love, simple, overflowing, and trying to break free.
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Eddie comes back from Texas, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. They are in love.
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Eddie's first coherent thought is, ridiculously: Where has he been storing that thing? Under the bed? In the back of the closet? Something that big, Eddie would have been paranoid about someone finding it. They have a kid in the house! Not that Buck isn't allowed to own a sex toy. Eddie's not a prude he just—wow, that thing is big, and Buck is pumping it in and out of himself with a practiced confidence that's scrambling Eddie's brains and igniting a fire of jealousy so hot and bright in his gut that he doesn't know what to do with it.
He should stop watching, stop staring, transfixed, by the regular rhythm of it: in and out and in and out, slow, teasing, a twist in his wrist for every push and pull.
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Eddie & Buck in their roommates era and Eddie walks in on Buck ten inches deep. They fuck nasty about it.
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“Buck!” His voice echoed through the space, louder than he had anticipated, especially because he hadn’t intended to say anything at all. His brain had completely taken a backseat, and the tequila in his veins had made it too easy to hand the wheel over to instinct.
After a few minutes, of which Eddie lost track, Buck came padding down the stairs. His eyes were squinting with interrupted sleep, his hair a mess of rumpled curls, and Eddie had to take a deep breath.
Buck was wearing only a thin t-shirt that clung tightly to his stomach, ending before reaching his boxers and leaving a gap of soft belly exposed. Eddie huffed out a rush of air as he took in the sight of his best friend. He was angry at how quickly it flooded over him: that confirmation of want. The thing that just a few hours ago had him waking up a sweaty mess, rutting into his bedsheets and gasping to the fading images of Buck writhing underneath him.
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Eddie wants Buck. He finally does something about it.
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“Please, just talk to me…”
The crack in his voice would break Eddie’s heart; if there was anything left to break.
“I can’t do this Buck—” His voice is thick, straining out of him, “I can’t. I just…I just…” He has to stop, to pull in a shuddering breath. “I don’t want you here.”
He doesn’t mean it. As it’s coming out, he knows that it's not true. It hurts to form the words, and he can feel the hole in his chest growing bigger as he even considers Buck’s absence, but he can’t take it. He can’t endure the pain of Chris’ leaving with Buck’s eyes trained on his every move. That angel of mercy, radiating devotion, wouldn’t let him sink into the abyss of hurt that’s trying to swallow him whole, and he needs it, he needs it to take him. He needs to atone.
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Christopher leaves, the door shuts, Eddie cracks open, spirals, falls, hates himself. Buck is there to pick up the pieces. No matter how hard Eddie tries to stop him. (They are in love with each other)
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ret·ro·grade ˈre-trə-ˌgrād
- being in motion in a direction contrary to that of the general motion of similar bodies
- affecting memories of a period prior to a precipitating event (such as brain injury or disease)
- to go back
After an accident leaves Eddie with amnesia, Buck takes him home to recover, and in the absence of his memories, Eddie reveals parts of himself he’s kept hidden for years.
Bookmarked by rasberrybush
01 Jan 2026
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“You okay?” Buck asks gently, a curious concern clear on his face.
“Mhm,” Eddie replies around a mouthful of beer and then gulps it down loudly, unnaturally.
“You sure? You seem… tense,” Buck says, lifting a wet hand out of the water and gesturing his fingers up and down in Eddie’s direction.
“I’m fine, just tired and sore,” Eddie answers, but he knows it sounds weak to Buck, who knows him too well.
He knows what Eddie is like at his most tired after a shift, has known him through the exhaustion of recovering from a bullet wound and can easily recognize when he’s not telling him everything. The thing about Buck is that he is persistent and sometimes he does it loudly, passionately pestering until he can help. Other times he persists quietly, steps in and knows just what Eddie needs.
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Or a gay, tired eddie gets massaged in a hot tub and lets himself have what he wants
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Bookmarked by rasberrybush
25 Dec 2025
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"What, you think I'm making it up?"
"No, I'm just saying, like, I've seen you. We share a locker room."
"So?" Buck demands, hilariously outraged.
"Just saying." Eddie shrugs, grin tugging at his mouth, and goes in for the kill. "You know, nothing to be ashamed of, but I'm pretty sure I'm bigger."
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Or: Buck, and Eddie, and the (literal) dick measuring contest.
Bookmarked by rasberrybush
25 Nov 2025
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"I'm Buck."
"Buck," Eddie tests the name out. Buck. He likes that name. It sounds good, warm and safe and comfortingly familiar on his tongue. "You're my husband."
Buck's eyes widen, obviously surprised that Eddie remembered that. See, look? He's recovering remarkably quickly. He'll have his full memory back in no time.
"Your husband," Buck repeats and Chris, for some reason, starts giggling.
"My husband," Eddie agrees happily.
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Eddie suffers temporary amnesia after an injury at work and makes some assumptions about the nature of his and Buck's relationship.
Series
- Part 1 of (You Want To) Make a Memory
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Bookmarked by rasberrybush
25 Nov 2025
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“You were drunk. I know it didn’t mean anything. Everything’s alright.”
Buck visibly winces. “That’s not — Eddie.”
There’s a suspended moment where Buck looks torn, standing on the edge of something, eyes fixed on the horizon to avoid looking at the drop, the precipitous canyon below. But then Buck, who can’t lie, who would tear his own chest open to a complete stranger on the street because the truth of him spills so loudly out of every jagged edge, sighs out:
“It meant something.”
There’s a ringing sound somewhere in the distance, getting closer. “What are you…” Eddie trails off.
“I wasn’t — well, I was drunk. But that wasn’t what. Wasn’t why. Not entirely, or — god.” Buck shudders in a breath, steeling himself. “I have feelings for you.” He closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
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Buck confesses his feelings. Eddie’s straight. If he spends all his time thinking about Buck and looking at Buck and wanting to be around Buck, well, that’s just being a good friend, isn’t it? He’s being so normal about this, actually.
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Bookmarked by rasberrybush
04 Oct 2025