Work Text:
Buck woke at seven.
He knew because the digital clock on the nightstand clicked softly from 6:59 to 7:00, its faint green glow casting thin, parallel bars of shadow across the bedroom ceiling. The light caught the dust motes dancing in the cold morning air, suspended in the subtle draft creeping through the window frame.
For a few seconds, he simply stared up at those lines of light. His limbs lay dead and heavy beneath the weight of the duvet, but behind his eyes, his mind was already tearing off into a violent sprint.
Seven.
The single digit hung over him like a hammer ready to drop. He had promised Eddie he would get up early. Not ridiculously early—not firehouse-shift early—just early enough to tackle the domestic mountain they’d been ignoring for weeks. The laundry basket was overflowing onto the chair. The kitchen counters were sticky with coffee rings. There were still taped-up cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of the spare room, and Eddie had casually mentioned wanting to scrub the bathroom tile before Christopher came over for the weekend.
Buck had agreed to all of it. Of course he had. He’d practically vibrated with eager enthusiasm the night before, his voice loud and bright in the warm kitchen as he’d leaned against the counter.
“I’ll get up early,” he’d declared, offering a confident, boyish grin. “We’ll get loads done before noon.”
Except now the morning had arrived. He was awake. And he couldn't move.
His brain was firing on every single cylinder, spinning its wheels so fast the friction was blinding. The thoughts didn't arrive in an orderly line; they smashed into him like an arterial pileup, a deafening, overlapping roar of demands that made his heart hammer violently against his ribs.
Laundry. Darks or lights first? Kitchen counters. Boxes in the spare room—where are the scissors? Scrub the tile. Make breakfast. Grind the coffee beans. Brushing teeth. Stand up. Stand up. Stand up.
What is wrong with you? his mind snarled, the voice sharp, vicious, and instantly turning on itself. It’s four tasks. It’s basic adult existence. Move your legs.
He tried. He commanded his central nervous system to fire, but the signal dissolved into hot, useless static before it even reached his hips. A surge of white-hot frustration spiked through his blood, making his jaw clench so hard his teeth creaked. It made no sense. He could haul a two-hundred-pound man out of a collapsed trench. He could run up twenty flights of stairs wearing sixty pounds of turnouts. But right now, his body was treating a simple Saturday morning like a physical impossibility, and the sheer absurdity of it made him want to scream into his pillow until his lungs tore.
With a brutal, deliberate effort, Buck forced his body to shift beneath the heavy bedding. His limbs felt submerged in thick, viscous resin, every muscle weighed down by a phantom lead suit. He managed to jerk onto his side, the cool cotton sheets rustling against his skin. Beside him, the mattress was empty, the fitted sheet smooth and cold where Eddie should have been.
Eddie was already up. That was fine—normal, even. Eddie was a light sleeper, an early riser by habit. But through the floorboards, the muted sounds of the house waking up began to drift upward, each one echoing like a sharp strike against Buck's fraying nerves.
The soft latch of a cupboard door shutting. The sudden, rising hiss of the kettle heating up. The faint, metallic scrape of a spoon against ceramic on the kitchen counter below.
Normal sounds. Safe sounds. The comforting cadence of the home they were building together.
He’s down there doing it alone, Buck’s brain hissed, twisting the knife. He’s carrying your slack again. Just like always.
Buck grabbed the edge of the duvet and yanked it up over his head, retreating into the warm, dark cocoon of the fabric, praying it might shield him from the suffocating guilt crushing flat against his lungs.
Get up. Get up, you useless idiot, just GET UP.
He stayed buried, his breathing ragged in the dark.
At 7:23, the brass hinges of the bedroom door gave a soft, familiar creak. Eddie didn't flick the wall switch; he left the hallway light behind him, keeping the bedroom bathed in a dim, forgiving twilight. He stepped inside and leaned his hip against the doorframe, crossing his arms over the front of his worn henley. He looked at the long, immobile mound under the duvet, his dark eyes soft with quiet understanding.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Eddie said, his voice low and raspy with early morning warmth, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Buck let out a low, muffled sound that hovered somewhere between a defeated groan and a greeting, burying his face deeper into the feather pillow, desperate to hide the tension locking his jaw.
Eddie’s smile widened slightly, the skin around the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You awake?"
"Unfortunately," Buck mumbled. The word came out scratchy, thick with sleep, his eyes squeezed shut as if bracing for an impact that wasn't coming.
Eddie chuckled, a low, grounding rumble that seemed to settle directly into the floorboards. "You want coffee?" he asked, tilting his head as he studied the strained line of Buck’s shoulders.
Buck gave a tiny, miserable nod against the pillowcase. "Please," he breathed, the word scraped raw against his throat.
"I'll bring it up," Eddie said softly, pushing off from the frame.
Buck listened to the quiet retreat of Eddie’s footsteps and the gentle *click* of the door latch. He pulled the duvet back down to his chin and glared up at the blurry ceiling, his heart thrashing against his ribcage like a trapped bird.
*He’s waiting on you now. He’s fetching your coffee while you lay here like an invalid.* The internal narrative was a relentless dogfight, Buck frantically trying to pull himself together while a darker, meaner instinct picked apart every second of his failure. He should use this window. Eddie was bringing him coffee. That was a kindness, but to Buck's spiraling mind, it felt like an ultimatum. It meant he *had* to be standing up when Eddie returned. Yet somehow, the panic only drove the paralysis deeper. Now he had an active reason to move, and his limbs felt even more thoroughly glued to the bed.
*Move your arm. Lift it. Just lift the damn blanket!*
His biceps twitched, but his hand stayed clamped against his chest. A wave of furious heat flushed up his neck.
At 7:41, the door swung open again. Eddie walked in with quiet, sure footsteps, carrying a steaming mug. He set it down on the nightstand with a subtle ceramic *thud* next to the glowing clock before walking around to his side of the bed. He lifted the duvet and climbed back in, the mattress dipping significantly beneath his weight.
Buck turned his head, his wide blue eyes meeting Eddie’s in the dim, grey light. "You don't have to come back," Buck said, his voice laced with an ugly, bitter prickle of self-loathing. "You were already up. You have stuff to do."
"I know," Eddie said, his tone casual and completely matter-of-fact as he pulled the covers back over his shoulders.
The second Eddie slid beneath the blanket, his heat radiated against Buck's side. Buck moved closer without conscious thought—a desperate instinct as automatic as breathing. He shifted over until his forehead pressed directly into the center of Eddie’s chest, his hand reaching out to gather a handful of Eddie’s soft cotton T-shirt, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric.
Eddie wrapped a broad, heavy arm over Buck’s back, pulling him flush against his side, solid and warm. "Better?" Eddie murmured into the quiet room, his chin coming to rest lightly against the crown of Buck’s head.
"Mhm," Buck breathed, his voice muffled against Eddie’s chest, taking in the clean scent of soap and cedar.
Eddie pressed his lips to the top of Buck’s head, lingering there for a long, quiet moment.
They lay together as the room slowly brightened. No demands were made. No questions were asked. Eddie didn't mention the laundry waiting downstairs, nor the boxes, nor the time ticking away on the nightstand. He didn't tell Buck he needed to pull himself together. He simply held him, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles against the small of Buck’s back through his shirt.
At eight-fifteen, Buck was still anchored there, but the war inside his head hadn't surrendered—it had only gone underground. Every rhythmic stroke of Eddie's thumb felt undeserved, a reward for a laziness that made Buck's stomach churn with silent rage. At eight-thirty, Eddie’s fingers had migrated upward, slowly combing through the soft curls at the nape of Buck’s neck, the repetitive stroke trying to smooth out the jagged edges of his mind. At eight-fifty, Buck’s eyes were closed again, his breathing forced into an even, steady cadence.
Not asleep. Just hiding. Pretending. Fighting the urge to scream at himself for wasting the entire morning.
Eddie knew the difference. He watched Buck’s face in the quiet gloom, his expression impossibly tender. He kept his hand moving, taking his time—gentle, slow strokes from Buck’s forehead to the back of his head. *Again. Again. Again.*
Gradually, the sheer physical reality of Eddie’s presence forced the screaming in Buck's head to quiet down to a tense, vibrating hum. The thoughts didn't disappear—they sat on the edges of his mind like wolves waiting for him to step outside.
Then, shortly after nine, Eddie shifted. His chest expanded with a deep breath, his body subtly preparing to move.
"We should probably get some breakfast," Eddie said, his voice soft, careful, making sure not to startle him.
The fragile peace shattered instantly. Buck’s eyes snapped open, and every muscle in his frame locked into iron. A sickening, violent drop hit the pit of his stomach, adrenaline and panic pouring into his bloodstream like ice water.
Breakfast. Standing up. The tasks. The promise. Nine o'clock. You blew it. The whole morning is gone.
The internal battlefield erupted into chaos, his brain seizing on the reminder and hammering him with vicious efficiency.
*You lied to him last night. You promised him a partner and you gave him a corpse.*
"Yeah," Buck said. The word was dead, flat, and hard. His posture went completely rigid against Eddie’s side.
Eddie looked down at him, his brow drawing together in a faint, concerned V, his fingers stilling in Buck’s hair. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Buck forced out, dragging the word up through a dry, constricted throat.
He tried to force his muscles into a smile, attempting a boyish grin, but it was a brittle, grotesque imitation that failed to reach his eyes. His teeth were gritted so hard his jaw throbbed. Eddie saw right through it, his features softening with an ache of pure, devastating understanding.
"Okay," Eddie murmured gently. He leaned down, pressing one warm, lingering kiss to Buck’s forehead before slipping out from under the covers. "I'll go start something downstairs."
Buck watched him cross the rug, the bedroom door clicking shut behind him. The moment the latch caught, the heavy, suffocating silence slammed back into the room. And with it came the inner executioner, relentless and loud.
Look at him. He has to feed you now. He has to tiptoe around you because you're broken. You promised him. You swore you'd help, and you're still lying here like a helpless, pathetic weight around his neck.
Buck stared at the nightstand. The green digits glared back at him like an accusation: 9:14.
A harsh, ragged breath tore into his throat. No. Enough. MOVE!
With a sudden, violent surge of self-loathing, he threw the duvet back, exposing himself to the cold air of the room. He slammed his legs over the edge of the mattress, his heels striking the hardwood with a dull thud
His feet were flat against the floor.
For roughly three seconds, he sat there on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his chest heaving as he stared down at his toes.
Stand up.
Nothing.
You absolute coward, push off the bed and STAND UP!
His thigh muscles quivered with isometric tension, his knees locking up, but the lever refused to trip. The disconnect between his furious, desperate willpower and his useless, immovable body broke something inside him. A hot, scalding rage surged up his throat—rage at the house, rage at the clock, but mostly a sickening, toxic rage at himself.
His hands clawed into the duvet, his fingers twisting the heavy fabric so violently the seams strained. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling from the sheer, force-of-will pressure he was exerting on his own mind, fighting an invisible war where he was both the captor and the prisoner.
STAND UP! JUST STAND UP!
He couldn't. He genuinely, physically couldn't. And that was the absolute worst part—the burning, suffocating shame that flooded his chest, tasting like copper on his tongue. He knew how absurd it was. He knew how pathetic, how utterly irrational he would look to anyone watching. He wasn't bleeding. He wasn't paralyzed. There was no physical force in the universe holding him to that mattress.
He was just completely, hopelessly trapped inside his own useless head, entirely powerless against himself.
At 9:32, the light, steady tread of Eddie’s footsteps drifted up the wooden staircase.
He found Buck sitting in precisely the same spot he’d been eighteen minutes earlier—rigid and utterly frozen on the edge of the mattress. His feet were still planted flat against the hardwood floorboards, his toes curling defensively into the weave of the bedside rug. His broad shoulders were hunched tightly up toward his ears, his body curled inward as if bracing against an impending blow. Between his knees, his hands were tangled together in a frantic, white-knuckled vise, his fingers wringing and twisting until the skin over his knuckles was flushed a painful, mottled red.
Eddie paused in the open doorway. The minute his eyes landed on the hunched, trembling line of Buck’s back, the quiet calm in his features dissolved, replaced instantly by a fierce, protective tenderness.
"Buck?" Eddie said softly, his voice dropping into a low, gentle register that carried zero judgment—only steady concern.
For a second, the word didn't even reach him.
The sound arrived muffled, like someone shouting to him through fifty feet of dark, murky water. Buck was drowning in the rushing tide inside his skull—a roaring, deafening noise that sounded like grinding gears and static. The internal voice was screaming, picking apart every second of his failure, stacking every disappointment side by side until he couldn't see past the wall of his own inadequacy. Look at you. He’s standing there looking at you. He walked up those stairs to find a grown man glued to a mattress. Say something. Move. Do something.
Then the static parted just enough for the physical world to break back through.
Buck’s head snapped up. His eyes, wide and glassed over with unshed tears, met Eddie’s. A raw, agonizing flush of shame spread up his neck, staining his cheeks.
"Sorry," Buck rasped. The word was tiny, scraped thin and raw against the back of his dry throat, entirely apologetic for his own existence in that moment.
Eddie’s expression softened even further, his dark eyes brimming with a calm, patient understanding that felt almost unbearable to look at.
"For what?" Eddie asked gently. He stepped into the room, his boots making almost no sound on the floorboards as he closed the distance between them.
"I was gonna get up," Buck said, his breath hitching, his voice breaking right down the middle on the last word. "I was... I was really gonna do it."
"I know," Eddie said, his tone absolute, unshakable in its certainty.
He didn't stay standing over him, towering above Buck's hunched form. Instead, Eddie lowered himself with slow, deliberate grace, sinking down onto his knees directly on the floor in front of him. Bringing himself down to Buck’s eye level, he looked up into the storm of panic and self-loathing raging behind Buck's eyes.
"You don't have to apologize, Buck," Eddie murmured, his voice firm with quiet conviction, yet dripping with kindness.
"I promised," Buck whispered, his voice shrinking until it was barely louder than the hum of the house. "I told you yesterday I'd get up."
"I know," Eddie said softly, his dark eyes never breaking contact, refusing to give in to the tension radiating off Buck's frame.
"I said I'd help," Buck said, his throat working as he swallowed down a lump of burning shame. His eyes slid away, dropping down to the space between them.
"I know," Eddie repeated gently. Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a skittish animal, Eddie reached out, resting his warm palms lightly over the frantic, twisting knots of Buck's hands.
Buck flinched at the initial contact, his eyes darting toward the far wall, his expression crumpled with pure humiliation.
"I said I'd do the kitchen and the laundry and the—and the boxes in the spare room—" Buck started, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a frantic, escalating rush, his breath hitching raggedly between phrases.
"Buck," Eddie interrupted, his voice low, firm, but completely soft around the edges.
"I can do it," Buck insisted desperately, his thumbs digging hard into his own palms as he tried to force the words out. "I can, Eddie, I swear I can, I just—"
Eddie shifted his grip, sliding his broad fingers firmly between Buck’s white-knuckled ones, wrapping his hands completely around Buck's trembling wrists. The heat of Eddie’s touch was steady, sure, and undeniable. Buck’s desperate grip faltered, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch as his fingers slowly relaxed into Eddie's hold.
"I know you can," Eddie said, his tone carrying the simple, unvarnished weight of an undeniable fact.
"I'm just—" Buck started, but the rest of the sentence died in his throat, a jagged lump of emotion catching in his neck.
He stared down at their joined hands, watching Eddie's thumbs trace slow, grounding arcs across his calloused knuckles. But even as Eddie’s skin pressed warm against his own, Buck felt himself slipping again, drifting backward into the hollow dark behind his forehead. He stared at the weave of Eddie’s sleeve, but the visual bled away into gray blurriness. His mind detached from his senses, tumbling down a rabbit hole of worst-case scenarios—visualizing Eddie alone in the kitchen, Eddie carrying heavy boxes up the stairs, Eddie looking at him with quiet resentment six months from now, a year from now, three years from now.
He's going to leave, the dark voice whispered inside the fog, cold and absolute. You're exhausting. You're a project, not a partner.
The contrast made him ache—Eddie’s absolute stillness against his own frantic, useless internal storm.
"I'm being useless," Buck admitted, the confession slipping out as a broken, hollow whisper.
"No," Eddie said immediately, the word leaving his mouth without a second of hesitation, sharp and resolute.
"I am," Buck insisted, his voice small, pathetic to his own ears.
"No, you're not," Eddie said, his eyes steady, trying to pull Buck's drifting focus back to the present, anchoring him to the moment.
Buck shook his head violently, a wave of bitter frustration surging up his chest to shatter the numbness. "I said I'd help you!" he shouted softly, his voice cracking violently on the last word.
"And you will," Eddie said, his tone completely matter-of-fact, utterly unbothered by the dramatic weight Buck was carrying.
"When?" Buck asked, his blue eyes searching Eddie's face, wide, raw, and desperate for an answer that made sense.
Eddie paused. He didn't rush to throw out a cheap reassurance. He looked at Buck, his expression thoughtful, taking in the pale strain of his face, the dark smudges beneath his eyes, the subtle tremor in his jaw.
"When you're able to," Eddie said gently.
A sharp, humorless laugh burst from Buck’s chest—a dry, bitter sound that carried no warmth at all.
"That's the problem," Buck said, his voice dropping into a flat, bone-deep tiredness that felt heavier than the panic. "That's the whole damn problem, Eddie."
With a jerky, desperate motion, he pulled his hands free from Eddie’s grip. He shoved his palms hard into his face, dragging them up over his eyes and into his hair, his shoulders hunching right back up to his ears. "I'm always like this," Buck admitted, the words muffled against his palms, utterly defeated.
Eddie didn't scold him for pulling away. He stood up smoothly from the floor and sat down on the mattress right beside him, the heavy springs dipping beneath his weight. The physical warmth of Eddie’s thigh pressed firmly against Buck’s side, solid and unyielding.
"Buck," Eddie said, his voice a soft, low rumble close to his ear.
"I make everything harder," Buck whispered into his hands, the shame burning hot behind his eyelids. "Every single thing."
"You don't," Eddie said immediately.
"I do," Buck insisted, his shoulders shaking slightly under the strain of a quiet, silent sob. "You know I do."
"You don't," Eddie repeated, his tone so certain, so entirely steady, that it seemed to vibrate right through the mattress.
Buck dropped his hands from his face and stared blankly at the carpet beneath his feet, his eyes tracking the intricate, swirling pattern of the fibers without really seeing them.
For three agonized seconds, the bedroom completely disappeared around him. The swirling beige loops of the carpet bled together into a gray void. In his head, he was already ten steps into a future where he’d ruined everything—a terrible, quiet vision of Eddie walking out the front door with his keys in hand, tired of carrying someone who couldn't even stand up on a Saturday morning. The thoughts moved like wildfire, leaping from one insecurity to the next with terrifying speed, leaving him feeling completely detached from his own hands, his own breathing, his own skin.
For a long, suffocating moment, neither of them spoke. The silence in the bedroom hung heavy, thick with the weight of everything Buck was trying so hard to keep contained.
Then the dam broke. The words started spilling out of him, tumbling over one another before he could construct a single filter to stop them. It started quietly, a desperate, raspy confession.
"I know you say that," Buck whispered, his voice trembling. "I know you say it's fine, but... but you have to get tired of it."
Beside him, Eddie’s chest tightened, a quiet, sharp hitch in his breath as his heart physically ached for the man beside him. "Buck—"
"I know you do," Buck cut in, his words gaining speed, driven by the frantic momentum of his own spiraling mind. "I know you're sitting down there in the kitchen thinking it."
"I don't," Eddie said, his voice turning firmer, striking down the accusation instantly.
"You do," Buck insisted, his head shaking back and forth in a frantic denial of Eddie’s comfort.
His breathing was getting faster now, short, shallow gasps that barely reached his lungs, his chest heaving under the grey shirt.
"You have to," Buck said, his voice rising, shrill and desperate. He turned his head to look at Eddie, his blue eyes bright and swimming with unshed tears that threatened to overflow at any second. "Because I can't even get out of a stupid bed when I said I would! I'm thirty-two years old, Eddie, and I'm sitting here crying because I can't stand up!"
Eddie reached a hand toward him, his fingers outstretched to touch Buck's shoulder, to offer an anchor.
The moment the shadow of Eddie’s hand crossed his vision, Buck flinched violently away, his entire body jerking back, locking up into a defensive posture. "I'm sorry," Buck gasped out, the words urgent, panicked, as if he were trying to head off a blow.
"You don't need to—" Eddie started, shifting closer.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Buck stammered, his voice rising, raw and breathless.
"Buck," Eddie said, keeping his tone fiercely gentle, refusing to match the rising panic.
"I'm sorry!" Buck choked out, his voice breaking entirely, a stray tear finally escaping his lash line and tracking a hot path down his cheek.
Eddie didn't retreat. He slid closer across the mattress, his presence broad, warm, and utterly solid against Buck's side. Buck’s eyes were pinned somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder now, glaring blindly at the doorway, desperately avoiding Eddie’s face because he was terrified of what he might see there.
"You probably think I'm too much," Buck whispered, the words coming out small, fragile, and utterly terrified.
"I don't," Eddie said immediately, his voice echoing with absolute truth.
"You probably think I'm needy," Buck said, the self-loathing thick in his throat, choking him. "You think I'm broken."
"I don't," Eddie said firmly.
"You have to!" Buck insisted, a sob catching in his chest.
"Buck," Eddie murmured softly.
"You're going to get sick of it!" Buck cried out, his voice trembling so hard he could barely force the syllables past his lips, emotion thick and suffocating in his throat. "One day... one day you're going to wake up and look at me and realize... realize you could be with someone who doesn't need you to fix everything. Someone who doesn't pull you down."
"Buck—" Eddie tried again, his tone aching with sorrow.
"Someone easier," Buck whispered. The two words fell into the quiet room like lead weights, barely audible, carrying the full, devastating force of his deepest fear.
"Stop," Eddie said. The word wasn't a shout, but it carried a sudden, formidable weight that sliced straight through the static in the room. Buck froze, his mouth staying slightly open, his breath hitching in his chest.
Buck’s eyes slowly flicked back over, meeting Eddie’s. Eddie’s voice was still gentle—so gentle it made Buck’s chest hurt—but it was firmer now, grounded in an absolute, unyielding certainty.
"Don't do that to yourself," Eddie said, his eyes locking onto Buck's, refusing to let him drift away.
Buck swallowed hard, his throat working violently as he tried to keep the rest of the tears at bay. "I can't stop," Buck admitted, the confession tiny, stripped of all anger, leaving only raw vulnerability.
"I know," Eddie said, his expression softening into something so profound, so utterly brimming with love, that his own eyes glistened with a sudden sheen of tears.
"I can't make it stop, Eddie," Buck’s voice broke entirely, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his lashes. "My head... it won't stop."
And then Eddie reached for him. His movements weren't rushed or aggressive; they were slow, deliberate, and completely inescapable. He lifted his right hand and placed it gently against the side of Buck’s face, his broad palm warm against Buck’s flushed skin, his thumb brushing lightly across his cheekbone. His other hand reached down, settling gently but firmly around Buck’s trembling wrist—his grip secure, holding him anchored to the earth, but not restraining him.
"Come here," Eddie whispered, his voice an inviting, quiet pull.
Buck’s breathing hitched, his chest heaving with a ragged, silent sob. Eddie guided him slowly backward onto the mattress, his movements careful and protective. Buck didn't fight him—the panic and energy drained out of his muscles all at once, his body going completely pliant under Eddie's touch. He simply let himself be moved, sitting back against the pillows, his broad shoulders shaking, silent tears streaming freely down his face now.
Eddie moved right along with him, staying impossibly close, his presence a warm, solid wall against the cold panic of the room. Then, with agonizing gentleness, Eddie hooked two fingers beneath Buck’s chin, carefully lifting his face upward.
Instantly, Buck’s instinct took over—he tried to turn his head away, his eyes darting frantically toward the floor, terrified to let Eddie see the full extent of his weakness.
Eddie’s hand moved slowly, two broad fingers hooking gently beneath Buck’s chin. His touch was warm and deliberate, cautious not to startle him as he urged Buck's head upward.
Instantly, Buck tried to pull back. It was pure, defensive instinct—a desperate urge to turn his face away, to shield the messy, raw vulnerability flooding his eyes. He didn't want Eddie looking at him like this: broken, weeping, his face flushed and blotchy, completely grounded by a simple Saturday morning. He couldn't bear the thought of Eddie seeing the ugly, ragged edges of a spiral he couldn't control.
But Eddie didn't let him retreat. He followed Buck’s movement, his fingers patient and unyielding until he could feel the rigid, corded tension in Buck's jaw, the muscle clenching hard under his skin as Buck grit his teeth against a fresh sob.
"Hey," Eddie murmured. His voice was a low, soothing hum designed to cut straight through the static in Buck's head, his thumb brushing lightly across the scratchy stubble of Buck's jawline. "Look at me."
Buck swallowed heavily, his throat working hard against a suffocating knot of emotion. He couldn't force words past his lips. His gaze stayed stubbornly fixed anywhere but on Eddie, his eyes pinning themselves to a tiny, frayed thread on the shoulder of Eddie's hoodie. His eyelashes were heavy and wet with unshed tears, and his broad fingers twitched nervously against his legs, reaching out to tangle anxiously in the cuff of Eddie's sleeve—twisting and wringing the thick grey fabric like a lifeline, as if he were holding on to keep from floating away entirely.
Eddie waited. He didn't force Buck's head around with any sharp pressure, nor did he sound exasperated. His patience was an immovable wall, his dark eyes brimming with a quiet, unconditional warmth that felt almost blinding in the dim bedroom light.
"Evan," Eddie said softly, using the name deliberately. It was intimate, a gentle anchor thrown out into the storm.
At the sound of his given name, Buck's focus flickered. Reluctantly, his gaze dragged over, his blue eyes finally lifting to meet Eddie's dark brown ones.
Eddie held his gaze, his face impossibly soft, devoid of a single trace of judgment, fatigue, or annoyance.
"There you are," Eddie whispered, a tiny, tender smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Buck’s lower lip trembled violently. The utter lack of anger in Eddie’s face was almost harder to bear than a scolding would have been; it dismantled the entire defense system Buck had built up all morning, leaving him completely exposed.
Eddie stroked his thumb gently up over Buck's cheekbone, catching a stray tear before it could track down his nose, his touch feather-light against Buck's overheated skin.
"You think I don't know you?" Eddie asked softly, his voice low, searching Buck's wide, trembling eyes.
Buck blinked, caught completely off guard, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths.
"You think I don't notice all the little things?" Eddie continued. His tone was gentle, almost conversational, his thumb maintaining its steady, grounding rhythm against Buck’s cheek.
Buck tried to shake his head, a tiny, miserable movement, but Eddie’s hand held him steady—firm enough to keep him grounded, but gentle enough that Buck never felt trapped.
"I love you when you're like this," Eddie said quietly. The words were steady, delivered with absolute, unwavering certainty. "Even when you're convinced you're being difficult. Even when your brain won't let you do something as simple as getting out of bed, and you spend hours sitting here in the dark hating yourself for it."
Fresh tears welled up over Buck's eyelashes, spilling over to wet Eddie's thumb as the words sank straight into his chest.
Eddie’s expression softened even further, his voice dropping into a tender, specific warmth that made the quiet bedroom feel smaller, safer.
"I love the way you hum when you're cooking," Eddie murmured. "You don't even realize you're doing it. Sometimes it's a song on the radio, sometimes it's just something you made up on the spot, but you always hum when you're making breakfast."
Buck’s lips parted slightly on a soft, hitched breath, his expression flickering with quiet surprise.
"I love the way you always check the weather forecast before we go anywhere," Eddie went on, a fond spark lighting up his eyes. "You look at it three times. You make me bring a jacket even when it's bright and sunny outside. And the worst part is, you're usually right."
A microscopic, involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of Buck's mouth—the faintest ghost of a smile trying to form through the wet tracks on his cheeks.
"I love the way you get excited about plans," Eddie said, his voice brimming with affection. "Days in advance. You start talking about them, you make lists, you get this ridiculous, bright look in your eyes like you're already there. And then when we finally go, you're even more excited than you said you'd be."
Buck’s gaze dropped briefly to Eddie’s chest, a thick lump of emotion swelling in his throat.
"I love the way you sing in the shower," Eddie continued softly. "Off-key. Loud. Like nobody in the house can hear you. Except I can. And I love it."
A flush of red crept up Buck's neck, spreading to his cheeks—a fleeting mix of embarrassment and sudden warmth breaking through the thick fog of panic.
"I love the way you always know when I'm tired before I even realize it myself," Eddie said. His thumb brushed just beneath Buck’s eyelashes, wiping away another quiet tear. "You notice it in my voice. In my shoulders. In the way I'm walking when I come through the front door. And you make me sit down. You make me eat. You make me rest."
Eddie paused, his smile widening into something teasing and fond. "And I love the way you always claim you're not hungry, and then immediately steal half the food off my plate."
"I don't—" Buck started, his voice small, raspy, and reflexively defensive.
"You do," Eddie interrupted, laughing softly under his breath. "Constantly."
Buck’s mouth opened to argue, then closed. He had no defense, and they both knew it.
Eddie’s smile was radiant in the grey morning light filtering through the blinds. "Constantly, Buck."
That earned him the tiniest, wet huff of a laugh from Buck—a small, breathless sound, but genuine enough to shatter the heavy wall of panic in the room.
"I love the way you get this little crease right between your eyebrows when you're concentrating," Eddie murmured, his voice smoothing out again into something steady and sure. "I love the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you're trying not to say something out loud."
Buck stared at him, his blue eyes wide, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of details Eddie had collected over time, hoarding them like precious stones.
"I love the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking," Eddie said. "The little rhythms you make on the kitchen counter without even realizing it. Sometimes you don't even notice you're doing it until I put my hand over yours."
Buck's eyes flickered down to Eddie’s free hand, a sudden, vivid memory surfacing of Eddie quietly covering his restless fingers during long, tense shifts at the station house.
"I love that you always need something for your hands to do," Eddie whispered, his tone turning deeply intimate. "I love when you play with my rings when you're anxious."
Buck blinked, his chest hitching. "What?"
"You always start with the same one," Eddie revealed softly, a quiet, knowing look in his eyes. He glanced down at his own left hand resting against Buck's knee. "The silver one on my index finger. You rub your thumb over it three times before you start turning it around. And if you're really anxious... you switch to my wedding finger."
Buck stared down at Eddie’s hand, his lower lip trembling as his eyes flooded anew. "I... I never noticed that," he whispered, amazed and exposed all at once.
"I know," Eddie said gently, squeezing Buck's wrist. "I did."
He smiled, his expression brimming with a quiet, fierce devotion. "I love the way you reach for me without thinking," Eddie added.
Buck looked up, his face entirely open, raw and vulnerable.
"You do it all the time," Eddie said. "In your sleep. When you're half-awake in the morning. When we're sitting on the couch watching TV. When we're walking through a crowded market. You don't even look up—your hand just finds mine." Eddie’s voice dropped, quiet and absolute. "And every single time, Evan, I give it to you."
Buck swallowed hard, a quiet sob catching in the back of his throat.
"I love the way you grab the back of my shirt when we're somewhere crowded," Eddie continued, a tender warmth in his eyes. "Just two fingers. That's it. Like you don't want anyone else to notice you're holding on, but you need to know I'm standing right there."
Buck’s cheeks burned again, a quiet duck of his head betraying his self-consciousness.
"I love it," Eddie emphasized firmly, refusing to let Buck hide his head. He brushed his thumb over Buck's cheek once more, grounding him. "And I love the way you look for me first."
Buck’s eyes locked back onto Eddie’s, fresh tears tracking down his skin.
"Whenever something happens," Eddie said softly. "Whenever you're excited about a weird fact you read online. Whenever you're scared. Whenever Christopher says something funny. Whenever you think you've figured something out. You instantly look around the room for me."
A heavy tear slipped over Buck's lashes, trailing silently down to his chin.
"I love that," Eddie whispered, reaching up to wipe it away with his thumb. "I love the way you talk to Christopher."
At the mention of Christopher, the harsh, panicked lines around Buck’s eyes softened instantly, the defensive tension in his broad frame beginning to thaw.
"You don't even realize how gentle you are with him," Eddie said, his voice rich with deep affection. "You act like you're just being Buck, but you're so careful with him. You remember every tiny thing he tells you. You remember what he likes, what he hates, what he's worried about at school. You remember things even he forgets he told you."
Buck sniffed loudly, pressing his lips tightly together as he fought to keep from sobbing outright.
"I love how proud you are of him," Eddie said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And I love how proud he is of you."
Buck dropped his gaze again, the weight of the love being poured over him feeling almost too massive for his chest to hold.
Eddie gently hooked his fingers under Buck’s chin once more, tilting his face back up until their eyes met. "Eyes on me," Eddie commanded softly, though there was no harshness in it—only a firm demand for Buck to accept what he was hearing.
Buck obeyed, his shimmering blue eyes fixing entirely on Eddie.
"I love how you make people feel like they matter," Eddie said, his voice steady, unwavering, and loud in the quiet room. "You walk into a room, and somehow you're the only one who notices when someone isn't okay. You make stupid jokes when people need cheering up. You make people laugh when they didn't think they had it in them. You give too much of yourself sometimes."
Buck’s expression faltered, a wave of familiar shame threatening to pull his eyes back down toward the floor.
"But that's not something I want less of," Eddie said firmly, stopping Buck's spiral in its tracks. He paused, letting the statement hang in the quiet air between them. "That's you, Buck. I love that you care too much."
Buck’s breathing hitched as tears spilled over his lashes again, but this time, he didn't pull away from Eddie's touch.
"I love that you get excited over stupid things," Eddie added, his tone brimming with fond humor. "I love the way you show me something on your phone and then immediately start rambling to explain it, even though I have no idea what you're talking about."
A tiny, breathless laugh escaped Buck, wet and shaky.
"I love the way you send me pictures of random things throughout the day because you think I'd like them."
"I do not," Buck rasped out, his voice small, trying for defensive.
"You sent me a picture of a golden retriever sitting in a shopping cart yesterday," Eddie pointed out, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
"It looked like Christopher," Buck insisted, his voice regaining a fraction of its normal strength and cadence.
"It did not," Eddie countered, a smirk playing on his lips.
"It did!" Buck insisted, a genuine, fragile smile finally breaking through his tears.
Eddie smiled back, his expression radiating pure warmth. "And I love that you still think it did."
Buck’s smile lasted only a second before the sheer depth of the moment caught up to him, his eyes going glassy as another wave of emotion washed over him.
Eddie’s tone softened, returning to that quiet, intimate register. "I love the way you steal my clothes."
Buck instinctively glanced down at the oversized grey hoodie he was currently wearing, his fingers tightening in the plush fleece.
"Especially this one," Eddie teased gently. "You've basically claimed ownership of it."
"I have not," Buck murmured softly.
"You're wearing it right now, Buck."
"That's purely circumstantial," Buck countered, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth despite his wet cheeks.
Eddie let out a low, warm laugh that seemed to settle deep into the room. "I love that you sleep better when you're wearing one of my shirts. I love that you pretend you don't need me to stay in bed until you fall asleep... and then you reach out for me the exact second I start to move."
Buck swallowed hard, his throat tight, his heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythm that was slowly calming.
"I love that you ask me what we're doing tomorrow whenever you're feeling anxious," Eddie said softly, his thumb tracing the smooth line of Buck's cheekbone. "You need to know the plan. You need to know when you're going to see me. You need to know what happens next."
Buck’s eyes darted down, an instinctual surge of shame rising up.
"I love that about you," Eddie stated, leaving no room for argument.
Buck looked back up, his blue eyes searching Eddie's face, wide, raw, and completely exposed. "Why?" Buck whispered, the word carrying all the desperate confusion of his entire morning.
"Because it's you," Eddie answered simply, as if that explained the entire universe.
He smiled, a deep, loving expression that made Buck’s chest ache in the best possible way. "I love the way your face changes when you're trying not to smile. I love that you think nobody can tell when you're lying."
"I'm a very good liar," Buck protested weakly, trying to salvage a shred of his pride.
"You're terrible at it," Eddie said, teasing.
Buck gave him a mock-offended look, his brow furrowing in a way that made Eddie’s smile widen. "I love that too," Eddie whispered. He leaned in closer, his presence warm, solid, and entirely encompassing. "I love your stupid little noises."
Buck blinked, genuine confusion replacing the lingering panic. "My... my what?"
"The noises you make when you're concentrating," Eddie explained, his eyes crinkling. "Or when you're annoyed with something. Or when you're trying to remember a fact. You make these little hums and huffs."
"I don't make noises," Buck muttered defensively, sniffing.
"You do," Eddie insisted smoothly. "And I love every single one of them."
Buck looked away again, burying his gaze toward the floor, but this time Eddie let him, giving him space to process, his patience boundless.
"I love when you talk too much," Eddie said quietly into the room.
Buck’s eyes flickered back to him.
"I love when you don't talk at all," Eddie continued, his voice dropping into a tender, solemn rhythm. "I love when you're confident. I love when you're insecure. I love when you're stubborn. I love when you're soft."
Eddie reached down, taking Buck's large hand into his own, threading their fingers firmly together, palm to palm.
"I love when you're ridiculous," Eddie murmured, a soft smile on his lips. "And I love when you're scared."
Buck’s breath hitched, fresh tears brimming in his eyes.
"Because even then," Eddie said, his grip tightening around Buck's fingers, "you're still you. I love you when you're productive. I love you when you're exhausted. I love you when you've got everything together..." Eddie’s thumb moved slowly over Buck’s knuckles, a soothing, repetitive stroke, "...and I love you when you can't get out of bed."
Buck let out a shuddering, ragged breath, completely undone by the quiet power of the declaration.
"I love you when your brain works with you," Eddie said softly. He paused, letting the quiet of the bedroom hold the weight of his next words. "And I love you when it doesn't."
Buck stared at him properly now, all the fight, all the frantic static in his head dying down into complete, serene silence.
"I love you when you're useful," Eddie said, his tone completely matter-of-fact. Then his eyes locked onto Buck's with fierce, unyielding intensity. "And I love you when you can't do a single thing."
Buck’s lips parted, a choked sob catching in his throat as a single tear escaped, tracing a slow line down his face.
"I love you when you need me," Eddie whispered, leaning in until their chests were almost touching. "And I love you when you don't."
Buck’s fingers tightened around Eddie’s hand, squeezing back with desperate, seeking force.
"I love you when you have something to give me," Eddie murmured. "And I love you when you have absolutely nothing left."
Buck’s face crumpled slightly, the last remnants of his internal wall collapsing entirely under the weight of Eddie's words.
Eddie reached up, gently wiping away the tear on Buck's cheek. "So don't you dare sit there and tell yourself that I love you because of what you do for me," Eddie said, his voice firm, leaving zero room for doubt. "You don't have to earn it."
Buck shook his head weakly, his eyes wide and shining.
"You don't have to earn my love by getting out of bed," Eddie repeated softly, every syllable ringing with absolute truth. "You don't have to earn it by cleaning the house. You don't have to earn it by helping me. You don't have to earn it by being happy. And you sure as hell don't have to earn it by being easy."
Eddie lifted Buck’s hand to his mouth, pressing a warm, lingering kiss directly to his knuckles.
"You don't have to earn it by being anything other than Buck," Eddie murmured against his skin. He leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against Buck’s, their breaths mingling in the tiny space between them. "I already love you."
They sat in the quiet for a long moment, the silence comfortable and safe.
"I loved you yesterday," Eddie whispered softly against Buck’s forehead. "I'll love you tomorrow." He shifted slightly, his lips brushing Buck's skin as he spoke. "And I'm going to love you on every single day where your brain makes everything feel impossible."
Buck closed his eyes, letting out a long, trembling breath as tears slid freely down his cheeks.
Eddie pressed a slow, firm kiss to Buck's forehead, his lips lingering there, anchoring him to the bed, to the room, to reality. "So you can stop trying to prove you're worth keeping," Eddie murmured gently.
Buck opened his eyes, meeting Eddie’s warm gaze from inches away.
"You're not a burden," Eddie said, his tone unwavering. "You're not too much. You're not too needy. And you are never something I just have to put up with."
A tiny, soft smile touched Eddie’s lips. "You're my person," he whispered. "And I'm yours. You don't have to do anything to deserve that."
Eddie kissed his forehead one more time, tender and slow. "Just stay."
Buck's breath caught.
For a moment, he could only look at Eddie, his eyes still wet, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Then, almost without thinking, Buck reached for him, fingers curling into the front of Eddie's shirt as he pulled him closer. Eddie didn't move away or ask him to explain; he simply let Buck close the distance, his hand settling gently against Buck's cheek.
Buck leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first, almost hesitant, but there was no panic behind it this time. No desperate need to prove anything. Just Buck choosing to be close to the man who had spent the last two hours reminding him that he was loved exactly as he was. Eddie kissed him back, slow and gentle, and when Buck's hand tightened in his shirt, Eddie shifted closer, letting the kiss deepen naturally.
Then Eddie moved slowly, his weight shifting over the mattress with quiet intention as he slid further up the bed, straddling Buck’s thighs. Taking his weight on his knees, he pressed his broad palms against Buck’s jaw, his thumbs tracing the flushed line of his cheekbones. Gently, deliberately, he urged Buck’s face upward, refusing to let him hide the tear-stained raw vulnerability lingering in his blue eyes.
"Hey," Eddie murmured, his hands sliding down to frame his flushed cheeks. "Come here."
Buck lifted his head reluctantly, his eyelids heavy, lashes still wet and spiky from tears. The frantic edge in his blue eyes was gone, replaced by a soft, bruised daze. He let Eddie guide him to his lips, then backward until Buck’s back met the pillows, his head sinking into the softness.
When Buck’s head met the soft stack of pillows, Eddie hovered over him, a dark, heavy presence that felt completely grounding. His hand swept back through Buck’s messy curls, smoothing them away from his damp forehead before his lips pressed a long, slow kiss directly over Buck's birthmark. Eddie’s mouth dragged downward, trailing heat across the bridge of Buck’s nose, over the high arch of his cheek, down to the sensitive dip beneath his jawline.
"Look at you," Eddie whispered against his skin, a fond, teasing spark glinting in his dark eyes. "All worked up over nothing, hm? Such a sensitive heart."
Buck flushed, the faint pink blooming over his cheeks distinct from the blotchy red of his tears. He ducked his head slightly, but Eddie’s hand stayed on his jaw, keeping him anchored.
There, Eddie gathered a soft patch of skin between his lips, pulling firm until a sharp, sudden pulse of heat flared under Buck's collarbone. Buck’s breath caught in his throat, a low, helpless sound escaping him as the sharp friction dissolved into a dark, blooming mark. Eddie lingeringly licked over the spot, branding him, before moving down to drag his teeth softly over the taut slope of Buck's shoulder, drawing out an involuntary, needy tilt of Buck’s hips against the mattress.
"Poor baby," Eddie added with a quiet, tsking sound of mock sympathy, his tone sweet and slow as he stroked a thumb over Buck's cheekbone. "Had such a tough morning, didn't you? Spending all that energy worrying for no reason."
"Eddie..." Buck rasped, his voice rough and threadbare, a mix of mild embarrassment and lingering exhaustion threading through it.
"I know," Eddie hummed, kissing his jawline, then the corner of his mouth. "I'm right here. You're okay."
Eddie reached down, his fingers finding the hem of the grey hoodie Buck was wearing. He raised an eyebrow in a quiet question. Buck nodded, lifting his arms compliantly, letting Eddie pull the heavy sweater over his head and toss it to the floor.
Without the thick fleece between them, the skin-on-skin contact made Buck gasp quietly. Eddie’s shirt followed soon after, and when Eddie lowered his chest back down onto Buck’s, the warmth of their bare skin meeting drew a long, shuddering sigh from deep in Buck’s throat.
Eddie’s large, warm hands mapped every inch of Buck’s broad torso with painstaking slowness. He traced the broad swell of his ribs, feeling the rapid, steadying thud of Buck's heart against his palm, before sliding down to grip the firm flare of his hips. Lowering his mouth, Eddie pressed open-mouthed kisses across Buck’s chest, biting gently into the flesh of his pecs—just hard enough to leave a flushed indent—before soothing the sting with a slow lap of his tongue.
"Mine," Eddie whispered against the bruised skin, his voice a low, heavy rumble. "Just so you remember."
He moved down to the pale skin of Buck's stomach, sinking his teeth into the notch of his hipbone, marking him over and over until Buck’s thighs trembled, his fingers tangling tightly into the dark hair at the nape of Eddie's neck. Every touch was an assertion: you are here, you are real, you are loved.
When Eddie rucked Buck’s sweatpants down over his thighs, he didn't rush the physical shift. He paused, leaning down to press a line of slow, hot kisses down Buck’s throat, over his collarbone, and across the center of his chest, lingering right over his heart until Buck’s hips gave an involuntary, needy tilt upward.
"Slow," Eddie reminded him softly, trailing his mouth down Buck’s stomach. He looked up, his dark eyes fixed on Buck’s face, watching every fleeting shadow of emotion. "We have all day."
Eddie reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube without breaking the gaze. He slicked his fingers, keeping his body pressed close so Buck never felt the cold expanse of the bed.
When Eddie touched him beneath his waist, it was with painstaking gentleness. His fingers were slick and warm, finding Buck’s entrance and pressing in with a slow, steady pulse that had Buck arching off the mattress, his head rolling back into the pillow.
"Look at me, Buck," Eddie coaxed, his free hand threading through Buck’s fingers, locking their palms together above Buck’s head.
Buck opened his eyes, his breath coming in short, sweet hitches. He looked up into Eddie’s dark, fierce gaze as Eddie added a second finger, stretching him carefully, lingering over the deep, ache-inducing spots until Buck was whimpering, his legs opening wider, instinctively inviting Eddie closer.
"Look at you, so eager," Eddie murmured, a soft, fond chuckle escaping him as he watched Buck's reaction. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"
"Eddie, please," Buck whispered, the plea entirely stripped of panic, filled only with a deep, liquid warmth. "Need you."
Eddie worked the waistband of his shorts down, freeing himself, and lined up against Buck’s slick entrance. He didn't push in immediately; he just rested there, letting Buck feel the broad, hot ridge of him, letting their breathing sync up until they were in the exact same rhythm. "I'm right here, baby. But you need to hear me first. You need to say it."
Buck swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he tried to tilt his hips again, but Eddie held his ground, unwavering.
"Say... say what?" Buck whimpered, trying to close the gap again.
"Tell me you're enough," Eddie murmured softly, his thumb tracing Buck’s lower lip. "Say, 'I am enough, and I don't need to be useful to be loved.'"
The words seemed to hang in the air between them, heavy and terrifying. Buck’s chest heaved, his jaw tightening as an old, stubborn instinct flared inside him—the lifelong knot of doubt telling him that love was something he had to work for, something he had to earn.
"I..." Buck started, but the words caught hard in his throat. He shook his head weakly, looking away, his lashes wet. "Eddie, I—I can't... please, just kiss me..."
"Look at me, Buck," Eddie coaxed gently, refusing to let him hide. He pressed a soft, warm kiss to Buck’s birthmark, then to the corner of his eye, catching a stray tear. "Look at me. I know it's hard. But you have to let yourself have this."
Buck choked back a wet sound, his throat working violently as he tried again. "I... I'm..." He bit his lip, his forehead resting against Eddie's shoulder as a soft, helpless whine escaped him. "It feels... wrong to say it..."
"I know," Eddie hummed softly, his tone full of deep, patient tenderness. "It feels wrong because you've been carrying that lie for thirty years. But it's true, Buck. Say it for me. Try."
Buck took a long, shuddering breath, clinging desperately to Eddie’s shoulders, his hands trembling against Eddie's back.
"I... I am enough," Buck rasped out, his voice cracking down the middle. He pressed his eyes tight shut, a couple of hot tears slipping past his lashes as he fought through the knot in his chest. "I don't... I don't need to be useful to be loved."
The moment the last word left his mouth, Buck let out a broken, shuddering exhale, as if a physical weight had finally cracked open inside his ribs.
Eddie’s expression melted into pure, unconditional devotion. "Good boy," he whispered, a soft, affectionate smile brushing against Buck's lips.
Eddie slid in on a long, slow exhale.
Buck’s breath hitched violently, his back bowing slightly off the bed as the full, thick length of Eddie filled him. It was a sensation so complete, so grounding, that a fresh wave of tears pricked the corners of Buck’s eyes—not from sorrow, but from the sheer, overwhelming fullness of being held and taken so completely.
"You okay?" Eddie breathed, his forearms propping him up on either side of Buck’s head, his forehead resting against Buck’s.
"More than okay," Buck choked out, his arms coming up to wrap tight around Eddie’s shoulders, his nails digging lightly into the broad muscle of Eddie’s back. "Don't stop. Please."
"Never," Eddie promised softly. "Look at how good you're doing. Taking every inch of me."
Eddie began to move.
It wasn't a fast, punishing pace; it was a deep, rolling tide. Every thrust was long and deliberate, burying Eddie fully inside him, bottoming out with a heavy, sweet pressure that set off sparks behind Buck’s closed eyelids. Eddie’s hips rocked against him with a slow, languid friction, taking his time to feel every ripple of tension melt out of Buck’s body.
"Fuck, Buck," Eddie groaned softly into the space between their necks, his movements steady and rhythmic. "You feel so good."
Buck whined, the sound high and sweet, his hips lifting to meet Eddie’s rhythm. The friction was incredible, a slow-building heat that started deep in his belly and radiated outward to his fingertips. Every time Eddie pressed deep, he brushed against that sweet, swollen center inside Buck, sending shockwaves of pure pleasure straight up his spine.
"Aw, hear those sweet little noises?" Eddie teased gently into Buck's ear, his tone dripping with soft mock sympathy even as his thrusts stayed deep and firm. "You really are completely helpless for me, aren't you? Doing so amazingly for me."
Eddie’s thumb found the wet tip of Buck’s length, stroking over it in time with his thrusts. Buck gasped, his knees pulling higher, his thighs hugging Eddie’s waist tight as the pleasure crested over him like a wave.
"That's it," Eddie whispered, his lips tracing Buck’s jawline, catching the breathless noises spilling from his mouth. "Let go, Buck. Give it to me."
"Eddie—Eddie, I'm—" Buck stammered, his fingers tightening in Eddie’s hair, pulling him down into a messy, desperate kiss.
Eddie met the kiss fully, his hips driving in deep and staying there, holding the pressure exact while his hand worked Buck with a fast, gentle stroke. "Go on, baby. You deserve to feel this."
The coil in Buck’s gut snapped. He cried out into Eddie’s mouth, his whole body shuddering violently as he came, spilling hot and slick across their stomachs. The intense, pulsing contractions of Buck’s body around him was all it took to push Eddie over the edge—Eddie let out a low, guttural groan, driving deep one last time as he came inside Buck, his pulse throbbing in long, hot surges that echoed Buck’s own rhythm.
For a long time, neither of them moved.
Eddie stayed buried deep, his heavy chest rising and falling against Buck’s, their heartbeats hammering a frantic, shared tempo into the quiet room. Slowly, Eddie softened, lifting his weight off Buck just enough to slip out, drawing a soft, breathy whine from Buck at the sudden loss of warmth.
"I know, I know," Eddie murmured softly, pressing a lingering kiss to Buck’s temples as he reached over the side of the bed. He grabbed a clean towel from the nightstand—always prepared, always thinking ahead for them both.
Eddie sat back on his heels between Buck's legs, his dark eyes brimming with pure affection. Gently, meticulously, he began to wipe the slick warmth from Buck’s stomach and thighs, his touch light and thorough. He didn't rush it; every stroke of the cloth was deliberate, an extension of the same patient care he’d been giving Buck all morning.
Buck lay back against the pillows, watching him through heavy, spiky lashes. A soft flush warmed his cheeks, but the old, sharp edge of shame was nowhere to be found. He just felt cherished.
When Eddie reached between Buck's thighs to clean him up completely, he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Buck's knee, then his thigh, before tossing the towel aside.
"All clean, baby," Eddie whispered, sliding back up the mattress.
He pulled the heavy duvet up over both of them, burying them in a warm, dark cocoon, and gathered Buck close until Buck’s head rested right under Eddie’s chin. Eddie pressed a long, quiet kiss into the crown of Buck’s curls, his hand resting over Buck’s heart, feeling the steady, safe beat beneath his palm.
"I've got you," Eddie whispered into the quiet, his fingers gently tracing small circles into Buck's lower back. "I've got you."
The entire world felt like it had shrunk down to the four corners of the bed, wrapped tight beneath the heavy weight of the duvet. The morning light filtering through the blinds was no longer cold or grey; it had turned into a soft, honeyed glow, bathing the room in a quiet warmth that felt almost sacred.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Buck’s mind was completely, wonderfully blank. There was no internal checklist running on a loop. No quiet, persistent voice whispering that he needed to move, to clean, to make breakfast, to justify his presence, to earn the space he occupied in Eddie’s life.
There was only the heavy, solid weight of Eddie’s arm thrown over his waist. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Eddie’s chest against his back. The steady, warm puff of Eddie’s breath against the sensitive skin at the base of his neck.
Buck stirred slightly, a long, languid stretch rolling through his muscles. His body felt heavy, wonderfully spent, and warm from the inside out. He let out a low, contentment-laced sigh, sinking deeper into the mattress.
Behind him, Eddie shifted instantly, as if attuned to Buck’s every breath. His arm tightened around Buck’s middle, pulling him back against his front until there was no daylight left between them.
"Don't even think about getting up," Eddie’s voice was a low, scratchy morning rumble right against Buck’s ear, laced with heavy affection.
Buck smiled—a real, unforced smile that spread slowly across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He reached down, his broad hand finding Eddie’s forearms where they were locked around his stomach, his fingers easily slotting into the spaces between Eddie’s.
"I wasn't," Buck murmured, his voice soft and raspy. He turned his head into the pillow, looking back over his shoulder.
Eddie’s dark eyes were half-lidded, his dark hair delightfully messy and sticking up in every direction. He looked relaxed, soft, and entirely at peace. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of Buck’s eye, right over the faint tracks of his old tears, before trailing down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Good," Eddie hummed, his thumb absently stroking the flat expanse of Buck’s stomach. "Because we’re staying right here."
He shifted, pulling his arm back just enough to roll Buck onto his back. Eddie propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Buck with an expression so open, so fiercely tender, that it made Buck’s breath catch all over again.
There was no judgment in Eddie's eyes. No lingering worry or exasperation from the storm they had just navigated. Just pure, unadulterated devotion.
Eddie reached out, his long fingers trailing gently down the side of Buck’s face, tracing the strong line of his jaw before resting over his pulse point. "How's the noise in your head?" Eddie asked quietly.
Buck looked up at him, swallowing past the small, sweet lump in his throat. He took a slow, deep breath, testing the waters of his own mind. The frantic static was gone. The heavy, suffocating anxiety that usually gripped his chest like an iron vice had completely dissolved.
"It's... quiet," Buck whispered, almost in disbelief. "It's completely quiet, Eds."
Eddie’s smile softened, radiant and warm in the dim light. "Good," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Buck’s lips—sweet and unhurried, tasting of comfort and home. "That's where it needs to stay."
Buck reached up, his hands finding the sides of Eddie’s neck, pulling him down a little closer. He let his eyes close, letting the feeling of Eddie's skin, his scent, and his weight anchor him completely.
He didn't have to fix anything. He didn't have to prove anything. He didn't have to earn a single second of this.
He was just Buck. And for the first time in his life, that was more than enough.