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Buck knows that Eddie knows that Buck is embarrassed—Eddie hates needing help just as much as Buck does. They get each other like that. And, like a good friend, Eddie keeps telling him that he has no reason to be embarrassed. But god, if he only knew the thoughts Buck’s been having...
Well.
Let’s just say that needing help for a stupid injury isn’t the only thing Buck’s been feeling embarrassed about.
It starts like this:
Buck falls off a ladder.
It's not even on a call or doing anything particularly heroic. He was just bored on a slow shift, out of imminent tasks, and decided to go through the list of maintenance stuff that can usually wait. In this case: cleaning out the bugs and debris that had accumulated in the cover of the outdoor light fixtures at the front of the firehouse.
And Buck falls off the ladder.
It’s not the worst he’s ever been injured, not by a longshot. But he’s got bruised ribs, six stitches up the back of his thigh, and some light whiplash to top it all off.
He's also got a week off of work, an inability to hunch or twist his torso in any meaningful way, and a pitiful attitude about the whole thing. At least he’s got a medic for a roommate, Eddie had said. Buck isn’t so sure there are any bright sides at the moment.
Which is how he’s found himself, every night for the past few days, with Eddie kneeling on the bathroom floor, crouched between Buck’s open thighs—while Buck perches on the sink feeling mortifyingly exposed in only a hoodie and his boxers—in order to let Eddie clean and re-dress the inconveniently located stitches.
Buck has been perfectly normal about this.
Outwardly.
Because the thing is, any time Buck reflexively jumps at a cold touch or flinches at the sting or just readjusts himself on the counter, Eddie simply lays a broad meant-to-be-soothing hand on the meat of Buck’s bare thigh, scorching even through the nitrile glove. And Buck is so normal. He has to be. But that sensation, that gentle touch on such sensitive skin, Eddie’s hot breath, his face, beautiful and concentrating, so close to Buck’s dick… it’s been a lot. It takes pretty much all of his mental fortitude to not pop a semi in his best friend’s face.
Tonight is no different. He’s breathing deeply and trying to center himself as Eddie ducks in close to slowly roll the edges of the waterproof bandage, until he can start to gently peel it off of Buck’s skin. And as often happens: the adhesive snags on his sparse hair, Buck flinches with an embarrassing sound, Eddie grasps him by the thigh to keep him still, Buck mutters an apology, and Eddie brushes him off. Clockwork.
And then.
It happens again, but worse. This time, it’s not like sensitive leg hair pulled by adhesive. It’s like tender healing skin snagged wrong. Buck yelps, thighs snapping closed on instinct, as best they can with Eddie in the way.
“Sorry, sorry, hold on,” Eddie hisses in sympathy, not even making a move to push Buck back into place, just rubbing his free hand along the outside of Buck’s opposite thigh where he’s trapped it against his own shoulder.
With his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the series of the stings of a misplaced bandage to fade, it takes Buck a second to notice the way Eddie is breathing. Kind of heavy and shuddering, swallowing harshly where Buck can feel it against his skin.
All at once, Buck realizes that he’s still got his legs clamped around Eddie, and he goes bright red, fumbling to slide back and away, as he stutters out,
“Sor-sorry—,“
At the exact same time as Eddie gasps,
“Don’t—,”
They stare at each other. Both heaving slightly, bright red, eyes wide, Buck sprawled back and Eddie grasping Buck’s thighs to keep them where they were. Nearly locked around his head.
Eddie blinks rapidly, as if rousing from a stupor, he can only manage a halfhearted, “I— uh,” as he loosens his hold on Buck.
And then Buck sees Eddie, really. His pupils are blown, eyes flicking everywhere but Buck as best he can from where he’s seated, flushed and panting.
And Buck. Well. He does something stupid.
Instead of continuing his retreat, he closes his thighs around Eddie again, this time with intent.
Eddie lets out a choked sounding gasp, eyes instantly meeting Buck’s. They stare at one another for a long, terrifying moment. And then Buck squeezes. Just once. Just a little bit. Just to see.
Eddie’s eyes bulge, not from lack of oxygen—Buck didn’t squeeze that tightly—but somehow widening even further in shock, and maybe, Buck thinks, desperation. Need. Hunger.
Slowly, maintaining eye contact, Eddie shifts infinitesimally. Just enough to slowly, hesitantly, wrap a gloved hand around each of Buck’s thighs. Just enough to get his shoulders underneath the muscle of him, and his chin above. Just enough to have Buck’s thighs tucked directly on either side of his neck.
And then Eddie nudges him. Just a small amount of pressure on the outsides of both of Buck’s legs. Enough to get the picture.
Panting, already getting hard, Buck locks his ankles at Eddie’s back.
He squeezes.
Eddie gasps again, his eyes flutter and roll, his gentle touch turns bruising. But he’s not pushing Buck away. He's pressing, pressing, pressing him closer, tighter, trapping, pinning. The groan Eddie lets loose rips through Buck’s skin and makes him whimper in response, shuddering and hunching further, eclipsing the mirror light behind him and casting Eddie in shadow, creating a pocket between them. A moment, hot and bizarre and unending, intimate, terrifying. Together.
He releases.
They stare at each other, Eddie’s face still pressed to Buck’s bare skin, breathing hotly against it. He has no idea what they’re doing.
Eddie swallows. Buck shudders at the feeling.
They breathe there for a few drawn out moments. Silent and nearly hypnotized. Then Eddie is wetting his lips—not breaking eye contact even for a second—as he readjusts his hold on Buck, and whispers, hoarsely, “again,”