Archive of Our Own

It’s a miracle when Eddies comes wading out the water. He appears behind them like a fawn balancing on his unsteady newborn legs. It’s a miracle that he’s alive and a miracle that he’s able to muster enough strength to reach them. He is dripping, completely soaked and heavy with it. Buck can see his knees trembling with each step. He is trembling too. He wanted to believe Eddie was alive, but it felt like everyone around him had already lost hope, that they were on a retrieval mission rather than a rescue. 

But Eddie is alive, right in front of him now, and he catches him as he finally loses his footing and collapses into the dirt. Buck grabs his arm to pull him up, and Hen slides behind him, and together they all lift him back up to his feet. He’s confounded. He can’t believe that Eddie is in front of his eyes, that he’s touching him and feeling his body against his. He laughs in relief, barely notices the sound coming from him.

Eddie is panting, trying to catch air in his lungs like they’ve been deprived of it. And they have. He was under the earth for so long, he can only imagine how little he could breathe under there. Eddie turns his head to look at him, but his eyes are disoriented, red from being open in the water. Buck can feel the involuntary smile on his face, the look of disbelief. He’s clutching one of Eddie’s hands in a death grip, and the other is holding his arm, keeping his weight up as he continues struggling. There are others crowded around Eddie, but Buck can’t see them.

He can’t help but think, as he looks at Eddie’s bloodshot eyes and wet swollen lips gaping open, how beautiful he is. His face is covered in dirt and blood, hair slick to his forehead, but that does nothing to detract from his image. He’s almost enchanting. Something in Buck is lured in by it, Eddie’s desperation for life with every heavy breath, the weakness in his knees, the dazed look in his eyes.

They get Eddie to the ambulance with a group effort. Hen and Buck drag him inside and take the wet suit off him, leaving him in his uniform underneath. Eddie’s shivering violently, which is a relief in a way, but lets them manhandle him as necessary. They lay him out on the gurney, and Buck keeps staring at him. He hears Bobby giving some kind of instructions in the background but they fly past his head. Eddie’s face is red from the pressure and the exposure and whatever else, so ruddy that it looks like a blush. His eyes are watery when he’s able to keep them open, like he’s on the verge of tears, eyelashes gone thicker and darker from the water. The fluorescent lights inside the ambulance bounce off his face in a sickly way, bringing out the angles and corners, and all the while Buck can’t stop thinking about how strangely erotic he looks. It turns his stomach. He doesn’t think Eddie has ever looked more divine.

His hand reaches out on its own to Eddie’s face, cradling it in his palm. Eddie mindlessly turns into it, seeking out the warmth. His skin is cold and moist. Buck wishes he could set himself on fire to keep him warm. He pushes his face toward him, convincing himself that it’s because he needs to keep an eye on his condition, but really he just wants to watch Eddie, track all the little movements in his eyebrows and twitches in his lips, reassure himself that Eddie is alive.

When they get to the hospital, Buck convinces Bobby to let him stay with Eddie. Hen and Chim have determined that the extent of Eddie’s injuries is hypothermia and some serious bruising, but Buck isn’t ready to just leave him at the hospital. He sees the evaluating look on Bobby’s face, the same one he had at the site after the well collapsed, as if he’s seeing something that Buck is missing, but it doesn’t matter. He sits in the waiting room in his turnouts while Eddie gets looked at, and thinks about how he’ll get Eddie home, what he’ll do with him once they’re there. 

Eddie comes out of the room in hospital-issue clothing and shoes, carrying a paper bag with his sopping uniform. He’s still unstable, waddling more than walking, but he can hold his own weight now. He still looks like he’s been put through a meat grinder. His eyes are an exhausted red, heavy bags creased under his eyes; his skin is sallow. Buck thinks if he touched him right now, he would fall over. But when he meets Eddie and places a hand on his arm, Eddie stays in one piece. He feels as Eddie puts his weight on him, letting go of himself ever so slightly.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he says to Eddie, and he watches as Eddie registers what he says slowly. He nods along dully and lets Buck guide him to the hospital doors. He’s never seen Eddie so limp. He lets Buck pull him along by the arm all the way to the car. Buck pauses, waiting to see if Eddie will get in the car by himself, but he only blinks at him sleepily. But Buck has no problem taking responsibility for Eddie now. He will make sure that he is taken care of. 

He opens the door and helps Eddie inside, then buckles him in. When he climbs into the driver’s seat, Eddie has already dozed off. He drives to the firehouse, closing the car door gently so he doesn’t wake Eddie. Bobby is waiting for him in the bay to make sure Eddie is okay. He grabs their things and rushes back to the car. Eddie hasn’t moved, completely knocked out after the day he’s had. It’s the middle of the night; the streets are so much quieter now, although not completely. It’s never really quiet in L.A.

The neighborhood is silent when Buck parks in front of Eddie’s house though. He grabs their bags and brings them into the house first, using the spare key that Eddie gave him not so long after they met. He keeps it on his keychain right next to his own apartment keys. 

He goes back to the car and slowly opens the passenger door, holding his hand out to catch Eddie from where he’s leaning on the door. He slumps into Buck’s chest and doesn’t wake. Buck shakes him softly, not wanting to jostle his body too much lest he hurt him. Eddie still isn’t waking up. Buck puts his hand on Eddie’s face, running his thumb over his cheek – still cool to the touch – and under his eye, and shakes his head around with a little more force.

Sleepy eyes blink at him, finally. Eddie barely seems to register where he is, just focusing on Buck right in front of him, taking up his entire field of vision. 

“Let’s get you inside, Eddie,” Buck whispers. He doubts anyone would have heard him on this deserted street if he spoke at full volume, but he has a feeling Eddie wouldn’t like that. He seems a little more awake now that he has a goal in front of him: get inside. He shakily gets out of the car, leaning on Buck all the while.

Buck feels like a wall in the face of Eddie’s sudden fragility, holding him up when he can’t stand on his own strength. He stands firm under Eddie’s weight, leading him to the door and bringing him inside. He leans Eddie against the entryway wall and bends down to take his shoes off. He feels hands lay on both his shoulders, feeling the breadth of them. When he rises, Eddie’s eyes are open in slits, watching Buck’s every move. 

He grabs him by the waist and starts shuffling down the hall to his bedroom. Before they reach it though, Eddie finally speaks for the first time in hours, his voice crackling and rough. 

“Wait. Can I– shower?” he asks through a dry throat. 

“You sure? You’re not too tired for that?” he questions. Eddie can barely stand on his own; he’s not sure he’ll be able to shower. 

But Eddie shakes his head stubbornly, and Buck knows he won’t let it go until he gets what he wants. 

“Still feel dirty from the water,” he says with a displeased pout. Buck relents and moves to the bathroom. He sets Eddie down on the toilet seat and starts the shower, letting it heat up before heading into the bedroom. Buck rummages through the drawers, picking out sweatpants and a T-shirt. He stops for a second before opening his underwear drawer. There’s no reason to be self-conscious in these circumstances. 

When he returns to the bathroom, Eddie is leaning his head against the sink next to him. He hasn’t dozed off again though, eyes closing and opening again periodically, as if he’s trying to keep himself awake. Buck sets aside the clothing and checks the temperature of the water. It’s nice and warm, not hot enough to shock Eddie’s system. He looks at Eddie, debating whether he should leave him here like this – let him take it from here and handle it himself – or if he should follow the logical conclusion of his actions. He should help Eddie undress, right? That’s the least he could do to help him after what his body has been through. 

The steam from the shower is building in the tiny room, occupying the air around them, obscuring their views of each other to the mildest degree. Buck makes his decision. He steps right up to Eddie and grabs him by his armpits, slowly bringing him to his feet. He starts with his shirt. It’s a flimsy hospital shirt, barely enough to keep someone warm, especially not someone who was experiencing hypothermia. He takes the edge of the shirt and lifts, and Eddie obediently lifts his arms alongside it, letting Buck slide it off, finally exposing the reds and purples of his body to him, a kaleidoscope of bruises. The force of his fall within the well, and then the collapse on top of him, battered him so tremendously that Buck feels an ache in his body from just the sight. Another part of him marvels at the sight. The arrangement of colors in tones and degrees on Eddie’s body is beautiful, even now. 

Eddie hasn’t said anything about Buck’s assistance. This sleepy, exhausted version of Eddie has allowed Buck so much, more than he suspects Eddie would usually allow. He won’t take advantage of that privilege. 

Buck reaches for Eddie’s pants, and they simply slide down, nothing holding them up apart from a stretched elastic. His underwear follows. More of his bruising is revealed, all the way down his legs. He’s a mottled fruit; a constellation of marks and aberrations. Buck wants to connect them together with his finger. He has seen Eddie naked before – in the showers at work out of the corner of his eye – but never this exposed. All the walls that are usually up around Eddie are toppled, or maybe willingly lowered down. 

Eddie rests his hands on Buck’s shoulders again to step out of the pants and underwear one foot at a time; Buck’s hands hover around his waist. Would it be childish of Buck to feel big and strong in this moment? To be proud that he can be leaned on when Eddie is at his most vulnerable? Maybe it is, but it doesn’t stop the feeling from blossoming in his chest. 

“I can shower,” Eddie mumbles to him, turning away for the first time and setting off on his own course not guided by Buck. His back is to him as he moves aside the shower curtain. Buck allows himself a full, brimming look, head to toe – the smooth line of his back, leading down to his trim waist, his ass curving to create a full figure. It’s stark, against the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. All together, the bruises across the span of his whole body look like an abstract painting, something he would see in a modern art museum, something he wouldn’t understand at first, but would have to study and contemplate and think about to fully appreciate. That’s how he feels looking at Eddie’s back now, that he needs more time to figure it out, to analyze the spots and moles and map the curves so he can really cherish this image in front of him. 

The wounds on his body stand out, not the ones from the well collapse, but the older ones, the ones from his life before Buck. They’re scattered across his body, like stars that make up a constellation; one in his thigh, one in his shoulder, one in his wrist. He wonders who took care of Eddie then, when he was shot a few times over, who was helping him undress and wash and putting him to bed? Was it Shannon, or his parents, or some other relative? Eddie doesn’t talk about that time, so all he can do is imagine. And look.

And then, it’s gone, behind the curtain. Eddie doesn’t ask for privacy, doesn’t tell him to leave or look confused as to why Buck is still in the bathroom with him. Buck doesn’t feel confident about leaving Eddie in here either, on the chance that he loses his balance or his knees give way and he falls and they’re taking a trip to the hospital all over again, so he doesn’t. He sits on the toilet seat and listens to the sounds of the shower, thinking of how similar or different the sounds are to his own showers. Eddie always finishes his showers so quickly at the station, an efficiency learned from the years before he came to the 118, the years that are unknown to Buck. Does he start his way at the bottom and work his way up, or the other way around? Does he like to wash his hair first or his body? How much time would he spend in the shower if he got to relax and take his time? Buck thinks about these things and watches the faint outline of Eddie’s shadow in the curtain. 

He loses track of time, somehow, staring at the vague motions of cleaning. Buck is surprised by the sudden shutting off of the water and the curtain being pulled open. He jumps up and grabs Eddie’s towel from where it’s hanging on the back of the door. Eddie stands in the bathtub in all his naked glory, making no effort to cover himself up, just waiting for Buck to do what’s next, to finish the ritual he’s conducting of Eddie’s care. 

Buck drapes the towel over Eddie’s head, scrunching and massaging carefully, not wanting to pull his head the wrong way and strain his neck; there are bruises there too. Once he’s done with his hair, he settles the towel over his shoulders, bundling Eddie up like he’s a disgruntled cat. He looks more himself now, eyes clearer now that he’s washed away the layer of grime and sweat that was making his skin crawl. He still looks tired though, and maybe that's why he’s letting Buck do this, letting him fuss over him even if he could probably get himself to bed by now. Eddie doesn’t protest, so Buck keeps going. He rubs the towel over his torso and arms, then his hips and legs and all the way down to his feet. Even those are beautiful on Eddie. 

While he’s down there, he grabs the underwear that he left on the sink, holding them up so Eddie can put them on. He drags them up his legs and over his hips, not letting his eyes linger at what’s in front of him, not when Eddie is looking at him now. He takes the pants next, scrunching up the legs so Eddie can put his feet through easily. Buck stands up and looks at Eddie’s face. He hasn’t said anything in a while. Eddie is already looking back at him with an undecipherable expression, but it’s soft and gooey. His eyes are half-lidded, drowsiness wearing them down, and sparkling, so deep and dark that they swallow any light that comes in. 

He grabs the shirt finally, and pulls it down over Eddie’s head so it’s hanging around his neck. Buck takes hold of one hand and guides it through one of the arm holes, then grabs the other and does the same, and finally Eddie is covered. He looks almost child-like now, his arms hanging listlessly next to him in the over-sized T-shirt, but more importantly, he looks comfortable. 

“Come on,” Buck says and leads Eddie out of the bathroom by the hand. He pushes aside the blanket in the bedroom, and lays Eddie down. As soon as Eddie’s head hits the pillow, he lets out a languid groan, pushes his head down further into the softness. It must be a relief for him, to finally relax and let go of his body, to release all his hooks and cables that have been holding him upright. He looks completely passed out already. Buck brings the blanket to his chin and tucks him in, savoring the view of Eddie completely unguarded. He allows one thing, to lay his hand on Eddie’s face, petting the side of it so he can feel the warmth that has returned to him under Buck’s care. He lets go and goes to the door, one foot already out when he hears a croak. “Buck,” Eddie says it so quietly and  hoarsely that he thinks it’s a part of his imagination for a second.

“Yeah, Eddie?” he answered at the same volume, wondering if Eddie is still cold or uncomfortable somehow. But all he says next is, “Thank you.” Then he sighs, all the remaining air and energy exiting his body with those words. Now he’s truly gone, his breathing evening out in a way it only does in sleep. Buck stands there for a moment. He doesn’t need a thank you, he’s only doing what anyone would do – should do – for Eddie. He almost died today, and when he rescued himself the first thing he mentioned was his son. This is the least Buck could do for him, to make sure he was safe and sound where he belonged. 

Buck closes the door, watching as the shadow overtakes Eddie’s peaceful, sleeping profile. He grabs the linens out of the hallway closet and makes up the couch. And just like Eddie, as soon as his head hits the pillow, he is gone. 

Eddie is reminded of the first (and second and third) time he was shot, when he was recovering in Texas. It was worse then, when he had to live with his parents, rely on them and Shannon to take care of him. A lot of what he felt during that time was shame. He was ashamed that he couldn’t push through the pain, pull himself up out of bed and do what he was supposed to do – be the father and the husband that he was meant to be, the man he was meant to be. He was ashamed at how helpless he was. 

The bullets had penetrated him in three different places, making it difficult for him to move at all. Eddie depended on his family to feed him, to bathe him, and it made him sick. All he could think about during his recovery was how he was letting everyone down. Disappointing his parents. Failing Shannon. The only bright spot was Christopher. Seeing him made his whole life worth it. He spent his childhood, his young adulthood, aimless with no purpose, no definition in his life. Christopher was a beacon, leading his path. He hated letting Chris see him laid up, weak and powerless, but at least he could see him.

Watching his parents and Shannon help him like it was a chore was humiliating – not that he could blame them. He understood why they felt burdened by him; he was a burden. He enlisted under the guise of providing for his family and all it did was land him right there, a shattered facsimile of the person he’s supposed to be.

The fourth bullet doesn’t feel like a separate wound; it feels like an added weight to the ones he already has on his body, another layer of metal piercing him. His body remembers the pain, even though his mind doesn’t want to. The sudden burst of it, the paralyzing feeling, the sledgehammer of pain. The thing he wants to forget the most, even though his brain won’t let him, is the image of Buck: his blood splattered face, the initial shock, then the fear and panic. He was afraid too, when he thought Buck was also somehow hurt in the shooting, when he imagined the bullet had run through him and hit Buck as well. But that all washed away when Buck assured him that he wasn’t hurt, and he knew that Christopher would be looked after regardless of what happened after this, even if Buck didn’t know it yet.

Eddie knew he made the right choice when he woke up. Buck had taken care of Chris, stayed with him and taken him to school and fed him while Eddie couldn’t. It made him feel full, a balm on the pain that echoed across his body as he laid in the hospital bed. It stung when Buck told him that it should’ve been him who was shot, as if that didn’t defeat the entire point. Eddie was glad he was shot, not Buck. He knew that this was the best way it could’ve gone. This was a familiar pain to Eddie, his body already carved out in the ways he needed to endure it. 

That’s why it’s better this time. He knows the recovery, he’s in L.A., he has a support system around him, he has Buck. 

Unfortunately, that doesn’t make the physical reality any different. Even with only one bullet hitting him this time, he feels the toll it’s taken on his entire body. There are ten pound weights tied to each of his limbs, slowing him down with every movement. He can barely find the energy to get off his back and do something for himself, when he isn’t hampered by the disorientation and cloudiness of pain killers. He hates taking them, would rather just suffer through the pain, feel every pulse of it like it’s penance. It wouldn’t be a punishment, it would feel holy.

But Buck doesn’t let him skip his meditations. He has wholeheartedly taken charge of Eddie’s recovery, putting all his time and effort into this task, this burden. Eddie never asked him to, the duty just naturally slotted into place on Buck’s shoulders, from the moment Buck handled his discharge forms at the hospital and took him home. 

Buck is fluffing his pillows and setting alarms for his medication intake and cooking for him. He’s keeping an eye on his wound and changing the bandages and he’s enthusiastic about all of it. Buck’s actions don’t provoke the same feelings of shame that being taken care of by his family did, though the thread of it is always there inside him. It’s been there for as long as he’s been aware of himself. He knows it doesn’t go away, but being around Buck helps him forget. 

It’s shocking how easy it is for Eddie, to let go of inhibitions and put his body in Buck’s hands – not just his body, his home, his safety, his child. He doesn’t think it should be this easy. He shouldn’t allow himself this luxury so flippantly. He should struggle for it. Maybe then he can justify it to himself.

He goes in and out of haziness, depending on the pain and how many drugs he has to take that day. Some days he’ll be lucid and clear, almost like he was never even shot at all, and other days he can barely get up from his bed, too groggy to get his legs to work, too overcome with an ache that has no source and no end. 

Today is one of those days. Eddie had gotten up for breakfast, putting all his effort into making it to the table to eat what Buck had prepared for him. It makes an indescribable feeling well up in his chest when he sees Buck in his kitchen, so familiar with every cabinet and drawer like it’s his own. The sight of him using time and energy he could be spending on himself or doing something fun to be in Eddie’s home and helping him; it made his stomach clench. 

After he ate Buck’s prepared oatmeal – it was the easiest thing for Eddie to eat at the moment but Buck always liked to spruce it up with fruits and nuts for him – he felt his energy depleting. Usually he’s more awake after breakfast, but today just isn’t that day. He can feel Buck’s eyes on him, scanning him from head to toe, analyzing his condition, trying to see where he can step in and make something easier for Eddie. He always feels watched when Buck does this, but it’s a comforting voyeurism. 

“You take Chris to school?” he asks to break the silence, even though Eddie knows he did. He feels so sure and confident in Buck’s care of Christopher, but he likes to ask anyway, just to see Buck talk about it, to see his face light up when he mentions Chris. He knows the feeling – he probably lights up just the same when he talks about his son.

“Yeah. He was a little stressed this morning cause he has a history quiz today apparently,” Buck answers, happily providing the details of their conversation to Eddie. It’s comforting to hear, in a way, that he’s stressed about his classes instead of his father. That’s how it should be.

Eddie nods, and stands to take his plate to the sink. He would normally feel guilty about leaving dirty dishes in the sink – he was always taught to clean up after himself right away, don’t leave your mess where other people will have to deal with it – but he lets himself off the hook this time on account of the gunshot wound and his climbing exhaustion. His eyelids grow heavy, and he knows he’s looking at a day of bed-rest. 

“Thanks Buck,” he murmurs as he shuffles out of the kitchen back into the cave of his bedroom, the darkness swallowing him in.  

-

Buck has never been much of a care-taker. He’s never had the need to be one; there’s never really been anyone for him to take care of. He was the younger sibling, the baby of the family – even if his parents didn’t care about him, Maddie was still there to look after him. And when he was on his own, traveling across the world looking for something to fulfill him, all he had to take care of was himself. He was sufficient at that, but he didn’t excel. Buck provided himself with the necessary ingredients for survival, but not much more than that.

When he met Eddie, he could see how much he needed. That’s why Buck stepped in and did what he did: connected him with Carla, found a way for him to care for his son without falling back on the uneasy parachute of his parents. He remembers Eddie’s face when he introduced them, and how good it felt to put that look on his face. He remembers the satisfaction and completion he felt when Eddie looked at him when he brought Chris to the firehouse, and Bobby said that Buck already cleared it with him. It made him feel good about himself, to know that he was the one looking out for Eddie. 

All of a sudden, he wasn’t a lonely child or a lone traveler. He was security, and safety, and stability. To a lot of people he knows, he will always be a kid, ever immature no matter how old he gets. He doesn’t  mind too much; he knows it comes from a place of care, and from witnessing his early years of growth, when he was still just a stem with no sprout. He can’t blame them for the image of him that is stamped in their heads. 

Eddie does not see him that way. To Eddie, he is the person he relies on, the net beneath his feet that will catch him if he ever stumbles. He’s never felt more sure of that than he does now, since Eddie told him about the will. It’s an unbelievable weight, the responsibility over the most precious thing in the world, but it’s a weight that makes him straighten up and square his shoulders rather than slump over. It’s a weight that is not a burden, but a gift. 

He never imagined he would be a guardian to a child. He loves kids, of course, imagined having them some day in the future more times than he can count, but it was also a distant fantasy, never concrete. But the way Christopher and Eddie have slipped into his life, just as he has slipped into theirs, makes it easy to step into that position. When Eddie was shot, he knew what he would have to do. He knew he would look after Chris even before he found out about the will. He knew that was his job. And Eddie has only cemented that fact. It did not feel like a burden; it felt like love. 

That’s why he approaches the bedroom door now, where Eddie disappeared hours ago. He hasn’t heard a peep from there in the duration. There wasn’t even a sound when he left to pick up Chris from school and brought him home. He reassures Chris that Eddie was only sleeping, his body working to heal the damage as he rested. He still worries. He presses his ear up against the door and listens, hoping to hear some rustling or the sound of sleepy movements, but it’s as silent as a grave.

Buck takes a breath and grips the doorknob, turns it slowly so Eddie has a warning of his entrance. The room is almost pitch black, all the furniture in the room almost indistinguishable from the darkness. The light peaks in through the cracked door and Eddie’s form is exposed, the hills and valleys of his body lying on its side. He’s knocked out, still dead to the world even with the light illuminating his face. It looks peaceful, free of pain and stress, just soft and thoughtless. His bottom lip has fallen open in a pout, and Buck can hear the gentle puffs of air coming in and out of him. He releases the breath that he’s been holding. He knew Eddie was alive and well, but seeing proof of his life soothes something within him; something that has been racing since he saw Eddie take a bullet. 

He takes careful, silent steps like he’s approaching a dozing lion, not his best friend. Buck wants to let him keep sleeping – doesn’t want to disturb the peace he’s been struggling so hard to find with his injury – but he knows Eddie needs to eat something to keep healing. This is part of his job. 

The mattress bends under his weight as he sits by Eddie’s side, in the little gap left by his curled up shape. He can see the shadows his eyelashes are casting on his face, tiny spider legs along his cheeks. It’s rare that he gets a moment like this, where he can take him in, eyes greedily consuming every detail. The slight curve of his nose. The mole sitting beneath his eye, like it was placed there purposefully to be alluring, reminiscent of a glamorous starlet of the 50s. His lips wet and glossy, the saliva inside him unrestrained when he’s unconscious. Bucks saves these images and tucks them away into another part of his brain, where he can revisit them on his own time. 

Gently he places a hand on Eddie’s face. His instinct was to go for his shoulder, but that’s the source of Eddie’s pain at this moment. His fingers linger around the shape of his bones before he grips him and gives him a nudge.

“Eddie,” he whispers, hoping that will be enough to wake him, but he doesn’t stir. He grips him a little harder, and raises his voice, “Eddie,” he says, louder this time but still softly. Buck can see, just under the surface of Eddie’s consciousness, his wakefulness coming back to him. He says his name once again, this time leaning in and directing it into his ear, “Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyelids flutter, opening and closing rapidly as he comes to the surface. They stay open, just barely, and he looks around the room, scanning the darkness for something recognizable, before he lands on Buck. He blinks and closes his eyes again, giving him a little hum to answer. 

“Come on Eddie. You need to eat something,” he tells him, and watches the words slowly being processed by Eddie, his brain still slow on the uptake. Eddie lets out another hum, more complaintive this time. “I’m tired,” he whines, sounding like a kid who doesn’t want to be moved.

“I know, Eddie, but you still gotta eat,” Buck responds gently. Eddie doesn’t say anything, just pouts his lips and whines louder. Buck can’t help but find him cute, the way he’s acting so childishly when he would otherwise never behave this way, or wouldn’t let anyone see him this way. But Buck has a special spot in the theater and only he can see this performance.

“I can feed you if you’re too tired to get up,” he suggests. He doesn’t know how Eddie would feel about that; perhaps it is a step too far in his helplessness. Maybe he’ll get defensive, insist that he’s not a child and he can feed himself. He knows it wouldn’t be personal, just a product of these circumstances, of the limitations that have been placed on him since he’s been shot.

Eddie does not get upset though. He opens his eyes again, and looks at him with a strange expression, his eyebrows drooping in an exaggerated manner. He looks like a sad puppy. “You’d do that for me?” he asks, like it’s something absurd. Like it’s the first time anyone’s done something like that for him. Buck remembers that Eddie has been shot before, three times. Who took care of him then? What were they doing for him when he was bedridden and hurt. He thought about that when Eddie was buried under the well, too. It sends an ache through his heart to think about it, to imagine Eddie in that state without Buck there. He can make up for it now though.

“Of course I would,” he insists. He wants Eddie to believe him. “I’ll be right back,” he says and sprints into the kitchen. He grabs the pot of lentil soup out of the fridge. He’s been making it a lot for Eddie during his recovery. It’s easy to make and easier to eat, especially once Buck blasts everything together with an immersion blender. Eddie and Chris have both been enjoying it, so he’s happy to keep making it as long as he can. He pours some out into a bowl and sets it in the microwave for 2 minutes. He resists the urge to run back into the bedroom while it heats up, just to make sure nothing has happened to Eddie in the 20 seconds he’s been gone. Once it’s done, he grabs the bowl, a spoon, and a paper towel and walks carefully into Eddie’s room. He leaves the soup on the nightstand so he can help Eddie sit up, letting him lean on him and he adjusts the pillows against the headboard. Eddie leans back against them and sighs. “More soup?”

“Yeah. Are you getting sick of it?” Buck asks nervously. A little smile blooms on Eddie’s face, “No. I like it,” he reassures him. He laughs in relief. Thank god. He doesn’t think he’s ready to let go of this soup yet. He scooches close to Eddie on the bed and grabs the bowl. Buck mixes the spoon around, estimating if it’s cooled enough to be fed. He brings the spoon to his mouth, full to the brim with soup, and blows. The steam pools around his face, but it seems hot enough to be comforting, not scalding. 

Buck turns to Eddie, who has been watching his motions like he’s hypnotized, eyes dreamy but hyper-focused. He brings the bowl up to Eddie’s chin and inches the spoon closer. “Open up,” he tells him. Eddie listens, mouth dropping open obediently, waiting to receive. Buck slides the spoon into Eddie’s mouth completely, watching it submerge in the darkness inside and his lips close around it. He stares as Eddie’s wet lips run along the whole of the spoon as Buck drags it out, the suction of his mouth creating resistance.  His eyes trace along his mouth, to his chin, and down his throat, where his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

“Good?” he confirms. Eddie nods, gaze still stuck on Buck. He dips the spoon into the soup for another scoop, blows on it for a few seconds and brings it up to Eddie’s mouth again. He is already waiting with his mouth wide open, his tongue looking soft and lush peeking out over the edge of his bottom lip. Buck feels a bolt of heat travel down his spine, leading straight to his crotch where it pulses hotly. He swallows thickly and wills down whatever unsavory thoughts are sneaking up on him, crawling up from the back of his brain. 

He gives Eddie his spoonful. He’s a little too hasty taking out the spoon and some of the soup spills past Eddie’s lips, dripping down his chin at a snail’s pace. Quickly, he catches the drop with the spoon, dragging it back up and collecting it all until he reaches his lips, where he puts it in his mouth again, letting Eddie suck up the last of it. Eddie lets him, not saying a word as Buck cleans up his mess. His eyes are hooded and calm, looking at him expectantly, waiting for Buck to keep feeding him. He continues, bringing spoonful by spoonful up to his face to be consumed. It’s a silent process. Buck lets Eddie take his time swallowing and savoring. When he’s ready for more, he drops his jaw and lets his mouth hang open, an invitation, and Buck gives him another spoon. There was nothing more satisfying for Buck than to see Eddie enjoying his food, relishing in every last drop like he’s been starving, like he’s never eaten in his life. The thing that Buck made, with his hands and effort and sweat, is nourishing Eddie.

Buck gathers the last spoonful, making sure he doesn’t leave a speck behind, and carries it to the waiting destination. Eddie swallows it up just as hardily. Buck allows this one to linger, letting Eddie hold the spoon in his mouth for just a few seconds more. When he pulls it away, it’s clean and spotless, spit-shined from his saliva. “That’s good, Eddie,” he says softly as Eddie licks his lips of any remaining flavor. A small bashful smile appears, and the pink in his cheeks stands out more than ever now. He places the bowl back onto the nightstand and looks at Eddie, as he looks back at him.

“Thanks Buck. It was good,” he finally says, quiet as a mouse. He sounds more aware of himself now, his voice less reedy and weak now that he’s gotten some calories in him. 

“You’re welcome Eddie,” he responds. He thinks of saying something else, about how this was hardly work for him, how ready he is to feed Eddie like this everyday, but he refrains. He’s sure Eddie knows that already. He grabs the bowl and spoon and brings it back to the kitchen, washing it right away and putting it in the drying rack. Eddie is right where he left him when he comes back, leaning against the tower of pillows against the bed, head tilted back and gazing up at the ceiling. He turns to look at him when he enters the room. 

“Hey, I wanna take a shower,” he states plainly. Buck pauses. He knows that’s going to take some effort. Every time Eddie has showered since the injury he’s needed Buck’s help getting in and out. Eddie still seemed tired, even with the food being processed in his belly. 

“Are you sure you’ll be up for it?” he questions, raising his eyebrows skeptically at how he was lying listlessly and floppy. Eddie’s pout comes back as he thinks it over. “But I wanna wash my hair,” he says, the vowels in the last word dragging out just slightly. He lifts his head and drops it back down as he says it, like he’s throwing a tantrum. He’s staring at him with pleading eyes, clearly trying to sway his decision. 

Buck sighs. He can’t say no to Eddie, especially not when he’s looking at him like that. “Fine. I can wash it for you, since you don’t look like you’re in a state to be doing much.”

“Really?” Eddie sounds hopeful, pleased with himself at swindling what he wants from Buck, as if it’s a challenge.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll run you a bath,” he reassures him. 

The water in the tub gathers quickly, so Buck doesn’t have to spend too long standing there thinking about what he’s about to do. He pours in a bubble bath while the water flows, leftover from the time when Chris used to enjoy baths, watching the foamy soap build and accumulate until the water is barely visible. He doesn’t fill it up all the way, so Eddie’s shoulder won’t get submerged when he climbs in. Eddie still hasn’t moved when he comes back, but his eyes are closed now, dozing off again in the short time Buck wasn’t there to draw his focus. 

Buck jostles him a little by the arm on his good side, and Eddie’s head jumps up, like he only just put his head down to sleep. “You still want that bath?” he asks, not sure if Eddie is going to knock out again before he even gets inside. 

“Mh-hm. Yeah,” he mutters back before sitting up. Or at least trying to. It’s like his limbs are weighed down with bags of cement, on the verge of pulling him down into an abyss. He doesn’t get very far before Buck steps in and gets a hold of him. An arm around his waist, gripping the soft and squishy part of him firmly so he doesn’t slip away. He walks Eddie step by step into the bathroom, moving in silence through the dark hallway. Christopher has gone to bed already, allegedly. Buck’s sure he’s staying up too late on his Switch or with a book, just like Buck did when he was that age.

The bathroom is nice and steamy when Buck drags Eddie in, a nice contrast to the chilly nights that seep in through the walls of the house. He perches Eddie on the toilet lid and tests the water. It’s warm, on the edge of being too hot, which he knows he likes. Eddie would never admit it out loud, but he loves hot showers, long ones especially.  Buck sees Eddie taking them in the firehouse after those hard calls, the ones where you don’t have anything to say afterwards, the ones where you think about your own loved ones in the aftermath. Maybe Eddie doesn’t want anyone to notice, but Buck does. 

He turns to Eddie, who is drifting in between wakefulness and drowsiness, crossing the border back and forth depending on how much attention is required of him. He’s drifting again now. Buck gets him up, taking him by his armpits and lifting him to his feet. There’s a dampness in his shirt where Buck grabs him from his sweat, but Buck doesn’t mind. He’s gotten accustomed to the smell of Eddie, including his sweat, his natural scent, all the unsavory parts that no one wants to think about. Buck savors them. 

Buck starts with the buttons at the bottom of Eddie’s shirt. He’s wearing an old, ragged flannel, soft and fuzzy from washes, but perfect for when he can’t lift one of his arms. He slips the cloth sling holding his arm to his chest over Eddie’s head before maneuvering the shirt off his usable arm and then the other, careful not to make any sudden movements that could hurt him. Every inch of skin revealed is an opportunity to scour, to take his fill of the sight of him. It’s beautiful and warm, glistening with the sheen of sweat and condensation. Buck drapes the flannel over the sink and puts his hands on the waistband of Eddie’s sweatpants. He hesitates for a second, maybe, before pushing them down in one motion. There’s no room for doubt now, not when he has a job to do.

Eddie places one hand on his shoulder for balance as he steps out of his pants. The other hand stays curled up at his chest, holding the same position the sling was keeping it in, like his muscles have been locked into place. He wants Eddie to relax here, to loosen his body that has been wound so tight it’s creaking with tension. He can tell it wants relief. He puts his hands on Eddie’s hips where just his underwear sits now and pushes them down. Then he bends down, lifts Eddie’s feet one by one to strip him of his socks, removing the underwear from around his ankles while he’s down there. Buck feels Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, the hold loose but stable, his thumb swirling around the skin of his collarbone mindlessly. 

When he comes back up, Eddie is looking at him expectantly, waiting for his next move. He is completely bare in front of him, and Buck is fully dressed. Eddie barely notices the difference. Why would he? Buck has seen his body so many times by now, has stolen glances at his back, the underside of his legs, the soles of his feet, all the secret places he can’t usually see, that this should be the same. But it feels different. It feels as though he has Eddie’s body in the palms of his hands, and he must handle it responsibly.

He holds Eddie’s elbows and approaches the tub, where the water is steaming and inviting. Eddie lifts one leg and dips his foot in the water, almost elegantly, pointing his toes like a dancer and submerging it once inch at a time, until he has fully stepped in. His other foot follows through the same process. Once he’s stepped inside, Buck helps him lower himself down, taking his weight so he doesn’t fall in all at once. At last, Eddie is seated, and he leans his body back against the tub, hard and ceramic as it may be, and releases a weary sigh. His head goes back and he goes boneless, completely submitting himself to the water. Buck watches as each muscle slowly unclenches, unwinding the cord until Eddie is slumped over. His neck is stretched out before him, open and trusting, like there is nothing in this house, this room, that could lay an errant hand on him. 

Buck lets him have a minute to himself, to savor the pleasure of his hot water around him, while he reaches for the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He also grabs a plastic cup from the sink cabinet, also leftover from Christopher’s bath days. He sets it all down next to him and kneels down by the side of the tub. Most of Eddie is shielded by the bubbles and foam, but the suggestion of his body is still there, still peeking through the soapy water to catch Buck’s eye. But Buck won’t look. He won’t be tempted. 

“Okay Eddie. Sit up a little,” he directs and pushes Eddie up before he has a chance to respond. He tilts his head back – his Adam’s apple so stark in this position – and uses the cup to pour water over his hair. Buck runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, pushing it off his forehead and around his ears so it’s all wet and slicked back. His face is clear now, free of hair and shining and beautiful. Eddie’s eyes are closed, so Buck can look all he likes. He can trace the profile of Eddie’s nose and lips and chin, can imagine sculpting it out of clay, trying and failing to capture his essence. 

The shampoo Eddie likes is a citrusy brand he buys in bulk at Costco. Not what Buck would personally use for himself, but he won’t begrudge Eddie his preferences. He spits a pump out into his hand and smears it across the top of Eddie’s head, then gathers the strands through his fingers and lathers. He doesn’t rush, enjoying the process of rubbing and massaging Eddie’s scalp, letting Eddie enjoy it too. Buck runs his fingers along his forehead, and the nape of his neck, and behind his ears, making sure to get every lock of hair.

Eddie hums deeply, long and drawn out, and lets his head fall back further and further, until the only thing keeping him upright is Buck’s hands in his hair. He keeps letting out little breaths and sighs, telling Buck how much he’s enjoying the treatment.

“Feels good,” he mumbles through the tiny sliver of his mouth, barely opening it to say the words. 

“Yeah?” Buck smiles. He’s happy to provide this comfort to Eddie, to make him feel so good. Eddie doesn’t answer, but that’s alright, Buck understands. He hasn’t been of many words tonight, and Buck can extrapolate what he means to say through his body language and that sensor he had inside himself that is fine tuned to Eddie’s entire being. Buck thinks if he tries hard enough he could sense when Eddie is hungry or didn’t sleep well or has a headache off sight alone.

He fills the cup with clean water from the spout and starts washing out the shampoo. Buck watches the rivulets of soapy water pour down Eddie’s back, drip over his sturdy shoulders and along his spine, following the bumps of his vertebrae until it merges into the water of the bath. He does it again and again until the water mostly runs clear, and then soaps Eddie’s hair up again. He rubs harder this time, digging his fingers into his head and neck to build a deeper lather. Eddie gasps, mouth dropping open to exhale a little moan and he arches his neck back into his hands. It’s the sensation of having his hair washed, nothing more. Buck has the same reaction when he goes to the salon.  There’s no reason to think any more of it. 

The hard tile floors aren’t easy on his knees. He feels the ache through them now, the slight sting when he shifts his position. Getting up will be a challenge, but it’s a manageable one – one that he can endure for Eddie’s sake. His eyes wander to the dressing of Eddie’s wound, bright white against his skin, then to the opposite shoulder, where the older wound sits, long since healed and covered with new flesh. It’s discolored and puckered, so it still stands out. If he looks at the scars on his wrist and thigh, hidden under the bubbles now, they’ll look out of place as well. When the newest bullet hole heals, it will not blend into the tissue and muscle around it either; it will be fresh and pink. A reminder for Eddie.

Buck washes the soap out of Eddie’s hair a second time, pouring the clean water over him, like he’s being baptized – or what he imagines being baptized is like. He’s never experienced it himself, but Eddie must have. Does he feel as though he is getting baptized now? Buck wonders, but does not ask. He doesn’t want to interrupt the peace that Eddie is feeling here. 

Conditioner is next. Eddie’s hair is silky as he runs his fingers through it, making sure every inch is covered. It’s automatic now, scrubbing his hair and washing it out again. Buck’s fingers are pruned by this point. 

“You can lean back now, Eddie,” he says once he’s confident his hair is free of shampoo and conditioner. Eddie slumps over like a marionette whose strings have been cut. He rolls his head in Buck’s direction and peeks his eyes open. They’re deep and full, more black than brown now, his pupil completely taking over. His face is pink from the heat, a warm hue that makes him look cherubic. 

“Thank you Buck,” he whispers, voice a little rusty from the disuse. 

“We’re almost done now. Then you can go back to sleep,” he reassures Eddie, even though he hasn’t asked. Just one more step left. Buck grabs Eddie’s washrag, a deep green compared to the bright orange of Christopher’s hanging right next to it on the shower wall. He pumps the body wash into it – peach this time – and lathers it up. Eddie is watching him do so. No protest. No sound at all.

Buck starts at the top, working across his shoulders and neck, dodging around the wounded one. He lifts Eddie up again for a moment so he can reach his back, swirling the rag around the broad expanse, up and down, left and right, all the way to his hips and beyond. He sees the swells of fat through the murky water, but he only grazes by with the rag. He won’t make Eddie stand up now when he’s so relaxed and loose. He can feel the even breaths through the ebb and flow of his chest, the sound of it next to his ear as Eddie rests his head against his. Buck lets him lean back again, revealing his sweet face to him again. 

He lathers the rag some more and moves on to Eddie’s front. Along his arms and between his fingers. Over his shoulder. Around his tits, moving the rag gently over his nipples. He hears a soft exhale anyway, a jitter and arch pushing his chest into Buck’s hand. He pays no mind. The hair on Eddie’s chest is darker with wetness, swirling together with the soap and creating a mosaic of color and texture. He follows the path of hair down his stomach, down into the water, the trail leading to what Buck is expecting. He glances at Eddie and sees his throat, extended and long, eyes closed. He is a puppet now, and Buck is holding the strings, moving his body at his discretion, all for Eddie’s benefit.

No reason to stop now. Buck scrubs the rag over Eddie’s dick, reaching under it to get into the crevice between his thighs, thorough but not lingering. Eddie sighs above him, drawn out and high, his hips adjusting to give Buck more access. He moves on to the legs, running the rag along the lengths of them. He feels the puckered scar on his thigh with his thumb, giving it just a single brush, just to acknowledge it’s there. He cleans the soles of Eddie’s feet and gets between his toes. 

By the time he’s finished, his knees are stinging, but it’s the pain of hard work. An earned ache. Buck pulls the plug out to let the water drain, then stands up. He groans as the lactic acid in his legs releases, stretching them out to work out the soreness, then grabs the shower head. Once all the bath water has gone, he turns the shower on. The shower head jumps in his hand, but his grip remains strong. Buck aims it at Eddie, starting with his feet, washing away the soap covering patches of his body. More and more of him is exposed, shiny and wet. The folds of his skin and fat where his knees are bent and stomach is hunched over are enticing. The view from above Eddie is staggering. Buck feels like a giant, leering at him from such a height, capturing the entirety of his form in his sight. 

Eddie’s eyes peel open as a spray of water hits him in the face briefly.  He gazes around him, turning his head to take everything, including his whole nude body out in the open. Buck doesn’t expect him to become shy with his body now all of a sudden, but he still feels like a pervert looking down at him, pointing the shower head at him like it’s a camera and Buck is filming a porno. 

Once the soap has been cleared away, Buck turns the shower off. In the absence of the running water, all the sounds that have been disguised stand out, his own heavy breathing that he didn’t notice he was doing, the squeaks of Eddie’s slippery clean skin against the tub as he adjusts himself minutely. It’s time to get him out of there. He gets Eddie’s towel that’s hanging on the door and drapes it over his shoulder. He squats by Eddie’s side, ready to help him get on his feet again. Eddie smiles at him, eyes barely hanging open, “Thank you Buck,” he says, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Buck wells up inside, warm and honey sweet. He grins back at Eddie. “You feel better now?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. He can see it in Eddie’s face. Eddie’s smile grows, big and sleepy, “So much better,” he laughs. Buck ducks his head down and laughs along with him. At least he can do this. He couldn’t protect Eddie, couldn’t stop him from getting shot, but he can make him feel better. Make his life a little easier. Make him smile. 

“Okay buddy, let’s get you out of here,” he tells him as he lifts him up with a hold around his waist. It’s difficult to get a grip with Eddie’s wet skin, but he clasps on tightly, enough to maybe leave some bruises – he doesn’t think about that. When he’s on his feet, he surrounds Eddie with his towel, giving a light scrub over his hair before moving over the rest of his body, diligently patting him dry. Buck guides him back to his bedroom, on steadier feet this time, and dresses him quickly. Another buttoned flannel, just as soft as the one he previously wore, loose boxers, and shorts. Eddie follows along without prompting, lifting his legs when Buck needs to get them through the holes in the fabric. 

The water saturated in Eddie’s hair is still dripping, so he lets Eddie sit down. Before he forgets, he runs and grabs the sling from the bathroom, looping it around his neck and arm again. Then he begins the process of drying Eddie’s hair, covering his whole head completely and gently massaging, sucking the moisture up with every motion. It’s soothing for him, as much as it probably is for Eddie. When his hair is sufficiently dry, he takes Eddie’s comb and runs it through the locks, pushing them to the sides and opening his face up. One last step, he takes the prescribed medication on the nightstand and drops one in his palm. Once a day after dinner. Buck has been administering it, and the other pills, since Eddie got out of the hospital. He offers it up to him, giving him the opportunity to take it himself, but Eddie just opens his mouth, waiting with his tongue out like he’s accepting communion. Buck places it inside, and brings the bottle of water up to his lips while he’s at it. May as well go the whole mile. 

If only his parents could see him now. Or even Maddie, and Bobby. Anyone who knew him in his youth, even his late youth. Could they imagine he could take care of someone like this? That he would be trusted with this kind of responsibility? Eddie never doubted that. As far as Eddie knew him, Buck was always capable of this. Ready to shoulder this burden. No, not a burden. Buck doesn’t think of it that way. It is an onus. One that he is prepared for. The Eddie in front of him is proof of that. Clean and full and medicated and pleased. He doesn’t stop himself from reaching a hand out to Eddie’s face, where it sits patiently waiting for the next move – for Buck’s next move. 

“Time for bed, Eddie,” he informs him, and pushes him to lay down. Tucks the covers over his body. Eddie looks peaceful. “Buck,” he says, one last thing before sleep drags him away. Buck hums inquisitively, strokes the side of Eddie’s head. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and before Buck can respond, “Stay with me.” Eddie is out before his last word can leave his mouth. Buck knows he can leave now and Eddie won’t be able to tell the difference, but he can’t say no to him, even when he’s unconscious. He goes through his night time routine, brushing his teeth, changing, checking on Christopher one last time – actually asleep now – then returns to bed, to the space next to Eddie. He leaves some room between them, so there’s no chance of any accidental jostling that aggravates his wound. 

There won’t be much more of this now. Eddie has been healing well, and he can do most things on his own now. Today was a special day, where Eddie was particularly exhausted and succumbed to the baser instincts telling him to rest. Buck won’t need to be here for much longer. But he will take what he can get. 

The guy didn’t mean to do it. He wasn’t going out of his way to hurt anyone. It was just a slip of the wrist, really. He didn’t cause the pile-up either. It was just an absurd chain of events. Someone’s brakes went out, which caused a crash, which caused another crash. The guy bumped his head against the wheel before the air bags could deploy. Hard. By the time the 118 showed up, he had gotten out of his car and started walking around with his brain scrambled. They did their jobs, tended to the injured, corralled the spectators away from the accident. No one was fatally injured, thankfully. It was a blessing, considering how bad it looked and how many cars were involved. 

Bobby sent Buck and Eddie to collect the man, who was wandering aimlessly around the cars. They weren’t expecting him to be violent. And he wasn’t. He was lost and confused, blood leaking from his forehead from an evident head injury. It wasn’t until he saw them approaching that he started freaking out. He got scared, seeing something that wasn’t there, seeing Buck and Eddie as something they weren’t. They crowded closer to him, arms up in surrender, a show of harmlessness. They tried to coax him closer, to convince him that they were here to help and that he was injured and needed to be treated, but the man could not process reason anymore. He was a hurt animal with a brain that got unplugged, jacked up on adrenaline. When he tried to make a break for it, an attempt at a run through the gap between the two of them, Eddie side stepped into his path, intending to catch him in his tracks and herd him away. No problem. No one saw the pocket knife he drew from his pants. It was concealed in the palm of his hands, an instinctual draw when he felt he was in danger. It wasn’t unusual for a man to carry a small foldable knife on him. Eddie did too. It was a reasonable thing to have. But no one was expecting to see it. Maybe Eddie should have. This is the sort of thing he was meant to expect, the sort of thing that he was trained to be prepared for. So in a way, it was his fault.

When Eddie stepped in to catch him, the man drew the knife. It clicked out of its sheath in less than a second. In another second the guy had plunged the knife into Eddie’s stomach, to defend himself against this perceived threat. He hadn’t wanted to hurt someone. He was just scared. In another second, he drew the knife across the valley of Eddie’s abdomen, gutting him like a fish. Gutting him like a catch that was being prepared for consumption. It was as if the rabbit, in its fearful flee, had come back around to the hunters and ripped them open for feasting. Eddie had been opened up.

That’s when some of Eddie’s instincts kicked in, laying dormant in shock but had activated as soon as the rip of pain had registered. One hand clutching the man’s hand in a near death grip, still holding the knife to his gut, using all his force to keep them all there – holding the man hostage against him. The other hand slapped against the gash, the opening chasm that was pouring blood over his fingers and palm, threatening to eject his intestines onto an L.A. highway at 3 p.m. in the afternoon if he moved it an inch. 

Eddie was in a state of stasis. Every part of him was rigid, feet cemented to the ground, his hands iron against the things in his grasp. He could hear the man, who he didn’t even know the name of, whimpering and yelling and crying, but nothing registered in his ears. There was only a ringing, sharp and encompassing, taking up all the room in his head. He had to focus on this, on holding everything together until…until what? He could not foresee the next step.  He just had to stand there and wait until the next step came to him. He had to make sure no one else was hurt.

“Eddie, oh my god.”

A snap. A bubble popped, and the first words he could understand came through. From beyond the shoulders of the man, coming up behind him, was Buck. That’s what Eddie was waiting for. Buck would know what to do now. 

“Oh fuck,” he heard in Buck’s voice. He could not see him clearly yet, couldn’t focus his eyes on anything apart from the scene right in front of him. But Eddie wasn’t worried. He slowed his breathing down, calmer and calmer until it was barely noticeable, until his chest was barely moving. His clasp remained firm, knuckles white from what he could see of them under the red hot blood.

“Guys!! Guys, I need help over here! Right now!” Buck’s voice again, but it sounded frantic and panicked. There was rustling and footsteps and voices around him, but everything was muffled apart from Buck. All of a sudden, descending from the top of his focused point of view, was a hand, landing on top of his on the knife. Buck’s hand. All three of them now, joined together on the appendage sticking out of Eddie. Buck carefully and slowly pried away Eddie’s fingers. They were creaky and stiff from the strain he was putting on them. They’ll probably be sore after this.

Next were the man’s fingers. Just like with his, Buck opened them up, making sure to keep the knife in place. As soon as the hand was free, the man was dragged away. Eddie did not see where, or how. He didn’t even know who took him away. All he could see now was his slippery wet hand, hovering over the knife, and Buck’s, just as wet now. Just as bloody. Buck placed the palm of his hand against the wound, the blade wedged in between his fingers. The handle of it looked familiar. Eddie thought the model might be the same one that he owned. What a funny coincidence.

Buck’s face finally came into focus. It was right in front of him, exactly in the center of his tunneled field of view. His eyes were wide open, as if he had just seen a ghost, the blue of them so shocking at the moment. They were watery too, like he’d been keeping them open for far too long. He was sweating, the perspiration coating his face and sticking the curls at his forehead to his skin. He was staring at Eddie so fiercely it scared him for just a second, but only a second. He felt calm with Buck here, pressed up against him. Eddie looked down at their hands where they were fitted in a puzzle around his abdomen. Eddie’s arm was a bar against the slice, running parallel alongside it. If he looked past it, looked deeper into the gash, he could see the long tendrils peaking out, the stringy, slippery organs that should never see the light of day, soaked in blood so red it was licorice black. One slip and everything would come tumbling out.

“You’re gonna be okay, Eddie,” Buck’s voice brought his attention back. His words were shaky, but they felt resolute. He was looking at where Eddie was looking, into the abyss of his gooey center. Eddie almost felt shy, like he had been indecent and exposed himself. Like he should cover himself up like a respectable man. No one should see the inside of him like that. But he didn’t mind that Buck was seeing it. 

Buck’s other hand pressed against Eddie’s arm, helping him carry the weight and hold him together. It was right against the tear, fingers dipping in slightly as he tried to clamp down on the pulp underneath him. Buck has practically inside of him. Eddie doesn’t think he had ever felt something so intimately. Nerve endings and muscle and fat and flesh all being touched by Buck. No one had ever been close enough to get this deep into the core of him.

It was a fountain – no, not a fountain exactly. There was no grotesque spray of blood, but a steady river. Slow and calm but never-ending, always moving toward a final destination. There was no destination for Eddie’s blood though. It was aimless, only trying to escape with no thought to where it should go from there, once it achieved freedom. Instead, it flowed, and dripped, collecting in a puddle at their feet. Both of their boots stood at the edges of it like it was an oasis. 

Eddie hardly noticed as his vision became narrower and dimmer. His knees, which had been locked into place, as solid as steel when the knife first gained entry, were coming undone. They were loosening and soon they would abandon him. His grip was faltering. With every slow blink, Buck was losing focus.

“Eddie! Look at me! You’re going to be okay, just hang on for me, okay?” Buck sounded on the verge of begging. “Hen! Chim! Hurry up, he’s losing too much blood, come on!” he yelled over his shoulder. Even his voice was becoming muffled. Eddie didn’t notice when his body was moved for him, taken from his standing position into a horizontal one. He didn’t register the surface of the gurney beneath him, or the world moving around him. He couldn’t recognize the blurry faces of his friends above him. But he still felt Buck’s hands on him, plugging him up, and his face clear as day. There was a smear blood on his chin, a shock of red that jumped out at him. Something that didn’t belong there. 

“You okay?” he squeezed out the remaining drops of consciousness to ask him. If he wasn’t bleeding out he would know the question didn’t make sense. He didn’t see Buck get stabbed. But that part of his brain had already left him. The only part left was the one connected to his heart, which processed the blood on Buck’s face as an existential threat. 

Buck laughed wetly, his eyes shining and awake. “I’m okay, Eddie. You’re going to be okay too. I promise. You have to be okay, got it? Chris is waiting for you, do you understand?” he gasped out, each word more desperate than the last. Eddie smiled, because that was all he could do, and the whole world went black.

– 

It is an unsaid thing when Buck takes Eddie home from the hospital. He listens to the doctors attentively, taking notes in his phone about what medications he needs to take at what time, the procedure for changing his bandages. It’s nothing new to Buck, after last time, but he doesn’t say that to the doctors. It’s unsaid that Buck will stay with Eddie while he recovers, and it’s unsaid that he will look after him and manage his pain and make sure he and his son are fed. 

Buck brings him home in a wheelchair, because the tear that opened up his stomach is still precarious. Too much strenuous activity and it could burst wide open again. He was, after all, almost eviscerated. That is the medical term for it. Had he not kept so tight a clutch on his organ, they would have popped out and the evisceration would have been complete. They stitched him back together before that could happen though. Left staples along his gut, frankensteining him together, two foreign parts coming together to make one misassembled fracture of a person. 

He is wheeled into his home. Thankfully it is, for the most part, accessible, considering he uses a wheelchair for Christopher every once in a while. Once inside, Eddie tries to stand up, gripping the armrests in a tight clutch and rising to his feet shakily. Buck does not let him get very far.

“What the hell are you doing Eddie? Don’t get up,” he scolds him. Eddie stays standing though, on bent knees and a crooked spine. He can’t straighten himself out all the way, the stitches pulling on his skin and he thinks if he stands up straight right now, they would snap. Buck doesn’t bother arguing any further. Instead, he crouches next to Eddie, slides one arm under his knees and another to his back, and lifts him up off his feet. His stomach swoops dangerously. He wants to protest, to kick his feet and demand that he be let down, but the pain is getting to him. It’s a raw, burning pain, all the way inside him. He can’t even loop his arm around Buck’s neck to hold on, knowing he’ll pull a stitch if he makes an attempt. He just has to let himself be cradled in Buck’s arms, swaddled like a baby.

“Buuuck,” he still whines performatively, unable to let go of the pretenses, the illusion that he can pull himself up and be capable of the same things he used to be right now. 

“Hush, just let me do this,” Buck quiets him. And so Eddie does. He is warm, and the shirt he’s wearing is so soft. Eddie lets his head fall into the crevice where Buck’s neck and shoulder meet. Here, he can smell his body wash, and the sweat building on his skin, and the last remains of the hospital air. It smells like Buck. 

Buck carries him into the bedroom and lays him out. The bed has already been prepared, pillows properly fluffed and sheets washed. Eddie sighs as soon as his head hits the pillow. The ride had taken more out of him than he thought. Buck looks pleased when he stands up. 

“Okay, I’ll get you something to eat, and then I can give you your meds,” he says, more to himself than to Eddie. He laughs and shakes his head, “Relax, Buck. You’re going to run yourself into the ground if you don’t give yourself a break,” he tells him. He knows it hasn’t been a breeze for him since Eddie got hurt.

“I will take a break once you are properly medicated. I can tell the pain is bothering you,” he says pointedly. Eddie rolls his eyes. He can never disguise himself well enough for Buck; he always sees right through him. He doesn’t know why he even bothers at this point, but the facades are too innate in him to just give them up at this point. 

Buck spoon feeds him again, something familiar to them now, then gives him his medication. They’re strong, stronger than what he took after the shooting. The damage is worse this time, lacerations on his intestines in addition to the large gash. It took him 2 weeks just to get released from the hospital. It doesn’t take long for the effects to kick in, and he slowly drifts underwater. The world is covered in a haze, misty and thick. Buck is moving in slow motion above him, flitting about the room, putting things into their place, but he can’t make out the details of his actions. 

When Buck’s face appears in front of him again, he is laying a hand on Eddie’s head, and urging him to sleep. The words don’t sound clear, but he knows what they say. Eddie leaves himself in Buck’s hands, and drifts off into sleep.

–

Looking after Eddie is a series of rituals that they are getting more and more used to. Buck gets the week that Eddie is brought home from the hospital off, and he uses it to keep a watchful eye on him. Eddie oscillates between the delirium of pain and the high of the pain reliever. The sliver in the middle of those moments is when he is the most lucid. Buck feeds him in bed most of the time, broths and oatmeal and more of the lentil soup that he loves, anything that is easy on his stomach. 

It feels natural now, to offer Eddie up his meal. Sometimes, he imagines chewing up Eddie’s food and feeding it into his mouth like a baby bird. Would Eddie accept it? Would he open his lips like he does when Buck gives him soup and let Buck spit into his mouth? It gets Buck hot just to think about it. 

He tries not to let the thoughts consume him, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at Eddie in his state. He is prone on his back, subject to the decisions Buck makes on his behalf. Eddie trusts him to make those decisions, to look out for his best interests. That kind of trust can get to a person’s head. And Buck feels it whenever he gives Eddie his medication, or feeds Eddie, or takes Christopher to and from school. But he especially feels it when he bathes Eddie. 

Eddie still isn’t able to shower on his own yet, struggling to stand on his own for so long, so he has taken to giving him sponge baths. Like now, after he just fed him dinner. Buck made a quiche, one that even Chris enjoyed. It’s a new recipe he tried, so he was pleased when Eddie took each bite with pleasure. Next are the meds, like clockwork. Depending on how Eddie is feeling, he’ll grab the little tablets himself, or he’ll just open his mouth and let Buck feed that to him too. Tonight is the latter. Once Eddie gulps his water down, Buck asks, “Think you’re up for a wash tonight”? He can smell the ripeness coming off Eddie, though it’s a comforting scent. But he knows Eddie feels it too and it may not be so comfortable for him. He nods. 

Buck goes into the bathroom to get what he needs ready. A bucket filled with water mixed with a little body wash. Two rags, one for washing and one for drying. The jumbo sized bottle of lotion Eddie likes to apply after his showers. When he brings everything back to the bedroom, he can see the effects of the medicine already hitting Eddie. He is blinking slowly, doped up and so much happier. Buck sets the bucket up on a stool next to the bed for this purpose. Next is the tricky part.  He carefully lifts the bottom of Eddie’s shirt, up and up until it’s pooled around his armpits. Eddie’s bandages are stark against his skin, so white and clinical. He maneuvers it around his shoulders and over his head, slipping it free without much help from Eddie. The pants follow, tugged over his hips along with his underwear all at once, until Eddie is as bare as a newborn on the sheets. The only thing he’s wearing now is the dressing, bisecting him like it’s the only thing keeping his top and bottom half together. 

The process is the same as it always is, another procedure Buck has developed since he’s taken on this duty. He soaks one rag in the soapy water and begins, one section at a time, cleaning off the sweat and grime and build-up of musk clinging to Eddie’s skin. He starts at the top, wiping around his neck and face. He’s gentle over Eddie’s eyelids, and under his chin, and diligent on his forehead and behind his ears. He rubs over each of his shoulders, down his arms and over each finger. Eddie is a doll before him, beautiful and fragile, but with no will of its own. Buck manipulates his arms, lifting them over his head so he can get the underside and his armpits, into even the deepest crevice of his body. Buck can feel the dead weight of his arm, held in the air with no effort apart than his own. If he let go right now, it would flop down, gravity doing all the work. 

After the arms, he cleans his chest, gently across his pecs and nipples. Eddie still feels it, letting out whimpers in bits and pieces as the rag brushes those sensitive parts. There’s not much for Buck to work with here, the bandage covering most of his abdomen, hiding away the jagged scar that put Eddie in this spot. No matter how hard Eddie tries to hide away the pain and discomfort, the hurt renders him helpless regardless. When the pain reliever fades, he can hear Eddie, moaning like a dying animal, like he’s been hit by a car and left to waste away on the road, and Buck is the one who drove up to the scene after the crime, and has to decide whether to put the poor thing out of its misery. He is Buck’s broken little bird, shot down by a hunter and waiting to die. 

But Buck would never let Eddie die. He scooped him into the back of his truck and nursed him back to health; he wrapped his wings up and will make sure he flies again. Buck is sure of that.

The difficult part is when Buck gets to Eddie’s bottom half, on the other side of the bandages, over the gorge of his injury. He wipes across his hips, over the dips along his bones. He imagines they’re beautiful inside too, pristine and white and strong, able to hold Eddie steady all his life. He wishes he could kiss them, exposed and in the open, thank them for getting Eddie this far. He goes over his thigh, thick and meaty even when he’s been bedridden for weeks. Over his knee, along his calf, around his ankle, down to the sole of his foot and in between his toes. He does not leave a single corner unturned. Once that is through, he lifts his leg, same as his arm, and cleans the other side. The dark inside of his knee, and the tender skin of his inner thigh, all the way until he hits the groin. He wipes it all down, into that vulnerable little crevice where all his limbs meet. Eddie gasps, and his hips jump the smallest bit in the hair.

“Hey, relax Eddie,” he smooths, placing a hand on his hip covered by the bandage. He doesn’t let that stop him. Buck reaches under Eddie, between his cheeks, into the most sensitive place, the most unguarded. He rubs over it, thorough and deep, and lets the whimper Eddie releases wash over him. Buck dunks the rag back into the tub of water and washes it, gathering another layer of soap simultaneously. He repeats on the other leg, over and under, until he finally reaches Eddie’s dick, which he has been pointedly ignored up until this point. It is no longer soft, like it had been when he started cleaning Eddie. It’s not all the way hard either, just thick and full of blood, laying on the crevice of Eddie’s hip, the tip just reaching his dressing. 

Eddie’s eyes are closed, but his mouth is open. The sounds spool out as Buck lightly runs the rag over him, doing the bare minimum to cleanse the skin while avoiding any significant contact. Not that it matters. Eddie feels it just the same, in the sigh freed from his throat, in the twitch of his hips. How tempted Buck is, to just give in and provide Eddie with that pleasure, to take him all the way. But that would not be for Eddie’s benefit. It would be to indulge Buck, and let the power get to his head. He will not be irresponsible. 

Buck moves on to the other rag, to dry Eddie off. When he runs it over his face, Eddie’s eyes slip open, distress scrunching his brows. Buck pauses.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he starts with a slur in his voice, and trails off significantly, glancing down his body to finish his sentence. Buck knows he’s talking about his half hard dick, still lying there in view of both of them. 

“It’s okay, Eddie. I promise, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about that,” Buck reassures him softly as he continues his ministration. Through the rag, he rubs his hand over his cheek, running his thumb along his under eye. He pets him, his sad injured creature, to comfort him and soothe his aches and anxieties. He pets him so that Eddie knows that he could do anything and Buck would still be here washing his body clean. 

Eddie’s face slackens. All his worries run free, like water, like blood slipping from a cut. His meager defenses are brought down again, allowing Buck to finish what he started. He runs the rag over Eddie’s whole body again, retreading the ground he had just touched. It’s much quicker this time, the motions familiar now. When he’s dry, Buck pumps a dollop of the lotion into his hand. Eddie prefers an unscented lotion, but this one had a tiny hint of vanilla to it. It is barely noticeable to anyone else, but Eddie secretly enjoys the scent, and Buck does too, when he can get close enough to catch it on his skin.

Buck starts at the top again, massaging his fingers around Eddie’s neck. His head tilts back at Buck’s touch, giving him more access than he even needs. He takes it though, digging his hands around the thick of it, getting the back of his neck too. It’s so delicate, in a way, that Buck is scared to grip too tightly, at the risk of breaking it in half. Eddie has been split open enough times.

He runs his slippery hands over torso and limbs, making the skin soft and supple, shining with the new layer of moisture. It makes his flesh look delicious and bitable, like he could take a chunk out of his leg and Eddie would be fine. 

His dick hasn’t gotten any softer, but it’s a comfortable hardness. Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by it anymore, his face serene, a bliss that exists because Buck put it there. 

“How do you feel? Any pain?” Buck wants to know. A part of him is fishing here, hunting for the satisfaction in Eddie’s satisfaction. 

Eddie gives him a dopey smile, rare to see on his face. “Feel amazing, Buck,” he mumbles, tongue twisting and folding in on itself in his mouth. The pain reliever he’s on is serious stuff. It’s a treat to see Eddie so uninhibited, even though he wishes he got here a different way. He would love to smoke with Eddie, see him get so high and wasted that he couldn’t tell up from down unless Buck pointed it out.

The high can only last so long, however. It will always inevitably end with a crash back down to Earth. 

Buck bathes Eddie once or twice a week. It’s too much of a strain on Eddie to do everyday, but every few days Buck can sense Eddie becoming uncomfortable in his skin, and he knows that it’s time again. Every time, Eddie gets hard. Not distractingly so, but it’s noticeable. It’s begging for the attention of his eyes, and it gets it every time. Buck continues to ignore it, treating it as just another body part in need of washing. But he can see Eddie becoming more and more sensitive with every bath. It must be so long since he’s gotten off, and more and more time passes, letting the tension and frustration build up inside him.

He thinks of helping Eddie, relieving him of this small thing, but he can’t. Not unless Eddie asks him to. If Buck is being honest, it’s becoming harder to look away. Every time he goes near those intimate places with his washrag, he sees Eddie straining, and hears him release barely-there moans, just under his breath.  It kills him to sit by his side, just out of reach.

One request, one pleading question is all it would take. Buck is holding his breath, waiting for the moment when he can act. When it’s late, on a weekday, with Christopher out of the house for the first time in a while (he hasn’t wanted to stay far from his father since the injury), Eddie seems to reach his breaking point. Even though he’s taken his medication already, and his body is loose and deflated, he keeps twitching and moving. His dick is hard, so much harder than he’s ever seen it before. Eddie’s head is pressed hard against his pillow, like he’s trying his hardest to restrain himself. 

“Buck,” he drawls out, his voice still sluggish and delayed. His hips twitch up, calling attention to himself. Buck ignores it, dutifully wiping Eddie down everywhere but where he’s asking for it. Except he’s not actually asking for it, not yet. 

“Buck, can you–,” he starts, but cuts himself off. A long, whiny sound crawls out of his throat between clenched teeth. Buck stops washing, and places a hand firmly down on his stomach, near his bandage, pressing it down so Eddie doesn’t jerk himself around too hard. He doesn’t actually want him to tear his wound open because he’s too horny.

“Don’t strain yourself Eddie,” he tells him. And then, “If you want something, you have to ask me, okay? I can’t just take it. You have to ask me.” He looks Eddie in the eyes when he says it, so he fully grasps the gravity of his words. His eyes are blurry, and his face is flushed, and he’s letting out short little exhales, but he sees Eddie comprehend the words. 

His mouth opens and closes in starts as he struggles to put his words together, stuck in the pit of his throat. But they crawl up through the waves of placidness the medicine is invoking in him. Past his esophagus, to the base of his tongue, until they reach the back of his teeth.

“Please Buck. Touch me?” he whispers. The words are a single drop that breaks the fragile surface of this tension between them, one that has been building and building since Buck has started staying here, since he took it upon himself to bathe Eddie, to touch him in every place.

That’s all Buck needs. He tosses aside the rag, and it’s lost in the oblivion around him. The only thing he sees, the only thing in his narrow vision is Eddie, laying open and presenting himself like a gift, whether intentional or not. He crowds close, half laying on the bed next to Eddie, and gently sets his hand on his stomach. Buck doesn’t want to be too eager, too rushed. He’ll treat Eddie how he deserves to be treated; he’ll give him what he needs. 

Every touch is so distinct. Buck feels Eddie’s skin on every ridge of his fingerprints. The flesh beneath him quivers, and there are shaky exhales alongside them. He moves his hand over the injury, sensing the heat of it through his palm. He wishes he had some power, an ability to heal by touch, to transform parts of a person that would let him take this pain away from Eddie. 

His hand circles Eddie’s dick. It’s like it is anticipating the touch, twitching in small bursts as it gets closer. Buck looks away from it to find Eddie’s face. He looks like a dream, a wet, erotic one that Buck could never admit to having. His eyes look completely black, the pupils blown out and consuming. It’s as though he is in a trance, under a mesmerizing spell that Buck has put him under.

Buck makes sure his eyes don’t leave Eddie as he finally takes the final plunge and grabs his cock. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. Just watches as the touch moves through the sensors and nerves of Eddie’s body, straight from his dick until it reaches his brain, and his brain sends down the signal to make Eddie gasp and roll his eyes to the back of his head. He watches it happen in slow motion. His body arches like he’s coming, but he only just touched him. He isn’t even moving, just holding it in his hand, sapping the warmth into his palm.

He starts to stroke, slowly and carefully, up and down in a deliberate motion, letting Eddie feel every tug and pull. More sounds erupt from him, and his face is scrunched up like it hurts. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Buck asks into the space between them. He gets closer to Eddie, until his face is hovered above his, tracking all the quivers in his eyebrows and whimpers coming from his mouth. “Eddie, answer me,” he reminds him, but Eddie is in another world, no words or sounds getting through. Only the sensation of his hand is registering. Buck sneaks his other arm under Eddie’s neck and around it, until he’s cradling his head in his elbow. His hand cups his neck and chin, a gentle collar. Eddie’s pulse is thundering. Buck grasps his chin and brings it up, demanding his attention. The bubble around him pops, and Eddie’s eyes come back from where they were pointed at the inside of skull.  He nods, quick and minute, just to get it over with, to make Buck finish what he started as fast as possible.

Buck speeds up, raising the tempo up and up until Eddie is letting out a constant keening sound. He sounds wounded, like Buck is hurting him by stroking his dick. The pain and pleasure can be so close, so tightly wound together that they can be indistinguishable. His hands lay limp at his sides. Buck sees out of the corner of his eyes as he tries to lift them, to brace himself or hold on to something or maybe even push Buck away, but they are useless. They flop around pathetically, like a fish out of water, struggling to breath to no avail. 

It’s a head rush. The blood rushing to his own dick is leaving him light-headed. That, or the power he holds in his hands is so intoxicating it’s making him woozy. Eddie is helpless beneath him, flat on his back, and Buck realizes he wants him helpless, with no one to aid but him. It’s a heady feeling, that realization, one that fills him with sickness and with wrath. This is exactly where he wants him. Buck wishes that man never stabbed Eddie, that he wasn’t hurt, but he can’t help but be grateful at this chance, this beautiful opportunity that Eddie is handing to him. 

He may be a little sick for that. But all of that falls by the wayside in the face of the man at his fingertips. Eddie is at his mercy. Buck has the ability to do whatever he wants. Eddie put that trust in him. He is powerless now. 

Buck comes closer, and goes faster, and grips harder. He presses his lips to the top of Eddie’s head, against his temple, and cradles his head. He feels the vibrations of his moans through his skull, and they rattle into Buck’s head too. They are vibrating at the same frequency, communicating through only motion and feeling.

“You’re doing so good, Eddie, letting me do this for you,” Buck mutters, lips tight against his head, “You’re doing such a good job taking it.” Eddie whines through his open mouth, and his hips buck up sharply. Buck uses the hand wrapped around him to press his hips down, holding them there with just the strength of his one arm. Eddie doesn’t offer much resistance. He has no strength in his hips, or his arms, or even in his neck to hold his head up independently.

“Don’t move, baby. We don’t want you to open your stitches, do we? Just lay there and let me take care of you, okay?” he calms him gently. Eddie gives him that jittery nod again, but Buck can’t see his eyes. They have gone so far up into his head. Buck’s surprised he even registered the words enough to nod for him. Buck is so proud of him, responding to him even when he is reaching the limits of his mind and body. And he’s doing it for him, for Buck. 

He can feel them both approaching a precipice. For Eddie, it is his release. For Buck, he doesn’t know what it is. His entire world right now is to make Eddie cross that bridge, to help him reach that absolution. His climax is Eddie’s climax. His body is merging into Eddie’s, like they’re sharing feelings now too. When his panting picks up its pace, so does Buck’s. They are connected through something other than touch and body heat. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie begins releasing plaintive little sounds with each pant, getting louder with each exhale. There is no where to go, no way out but through. Buck encourages him, stroking him harder and harder until his palm and fingers start getting hot from the friction. There is no lube, only the wetness from Eddie’s dick and the lotion he just smeared all over him, but it’s been eroding away with every pass. Buck might even get a rash on his hand from the rigorousness of his movement, he thinks delusionally. But if Buck is feeling it then Eddie is feeling it too. Their pain is symbiotic. 

“Come on, Eddie. Give it to me. You’re doing such a good job,” he whispers into Eddie’s skin. Once he starts he can’t stop. He lets the momentum drag him along like a turbulent river, taking him away into some unknown destination, into a wild abyss. His hand gets faster and his words don’t stop. Eddie’s face is rapturous. Sweat-slick and hot, as though he’s been in a sauna for hours. It’s such a delicious sight. Buck thinks if he licked the sweat off his skin right now it would be candy-sweet, rot-your-teeth sweet. He wants to draw him into his mouth and suck on him like a lolly.

It comes too fast, and so slow at the same time. When they reach that edge that they’ve been dangled off of, time starts to move slowly, so Buck can carve the details of Eddie’s face when he comes into his memory. He’d like to stamp that image into his hippocampus, so that when he remembers anything, close or far, when even his body remembers how to move, he will see it. His lips are pink and shiny, mouth ajar for the taking. What he would do to take it, to lay his mouth over it and swallow his tongue. Buck stops himself; it would be too intimate. He is here for one purpose.

The noises coming from Eddie are familiar, what he sounds like when he’s in pain. The dying animal. The orgasm invades Eddie, hits him like a car. It’s a beautiful sound when it’s on this side of it. 

For a minute Buck thinks Eddie has passed out. He’s still panting, taking breaths so deep they rattle in his chest, like there’s a bird in that cavity. But his face has drifted, smoothed out as it does when he’s sleeping. Buck doesn’t rush him. An orgasm after restraining yourself for so long can be intense, other-worldly. Instead, he basks in it too. His dick is a stone in his pants, grazing against Eddie’s side, but it’s irrelevant now. He can take care of that later. Right now, he has to be here to coax Eddie back into his body, guide him down from wherever he is floating to his rightful place. In the recess of his head, he thinks that if he tried to get Eddie to return the favor, to have him wrap his big hand around his dick, it wouldn’t hold. It would just slip out, unable to maintain a grip with his weak grasp. That thought makes his dick throb harder.

Eddie’s eyes flutter, opening and closing in quick succession. It’s cute, to see him trying so hard. He slides his lips over the skin of his temple, encouraging him silently. “Come back Eddie,” he whispers, “I’m right here.”

And Eddie does, finally landing back on Earth. His eyes stay open, but Buck isn’t sure what he’s seeing. They’re watery and clouded still, looking out into the distance, into some vast horizon that has captivated him. There is not a single rigid bone in his body right now, not from what Buck can feel. He’s been boiled in the serotonin until he’s liquid soft.

Buck smiles at him, even though he’s not looking. He’s proud of what he’s achieved. He put Eddie in that state of bliss. Who else could say that? He doubts any of his past girlfriends, or even his wife, ever did what he did. Eddie would never let them. 

Eddie makes a sound, less mindless than all the sounds he’s made until this point. It has consciousness and intention. He is turning to face him, and their eyes meet. Something registers in Eddie’s face. Perhaps he is remembering where he is, and who is with him. Buck doesn’t falter. 

“Do you feel better now?” he asks, because he has to know. He wants Eddie to say it out loud even when it’s obvious on his face and body. Eddie gives it to him, nodding along, much slower now. “Feel so much better,” he responds, his voice low and gravely and languid, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, blissful like he never got stabbed, like he’s never been hurt before. That makes his dick throb too. 

“Good, good. I’ll just clean you up again,” he chuckles. He probably should have done this before he gave Eddie a sponge bath, but he didn’t know Eddie needed this so bad. Buck gives him a cursory wipe down, quickly cleaning off the sweat and cum from his body. He’s shivering now, whether from the exposure or from this pleasure, Buck doesn’t know. He dresses him promptly, manipulating Eddie’s defunct limbs through the right holes until he’s fully clothed again. His gaze is clearer now.

Eddie falls asleep pretty soon, after Buck bundles him up under his sheet, tugging the blanket up to his chin and swaddling him up. His face is thoughtless, clear from the tethers of pain and stress and tension that were driving circles around his head. And he has Buck to thank for that. He doesn’t want to be too smug, doesn’t want to brag too much, but he does feel accomplished. He wants to put this on his resume (as if he uses it). He lays one last gentle kiss on Eddie’s forehead before leaving him to his slumber.

-

For the last few weeks, Eddie has been living in some kind of fugue state. Disorientation. Confusion. Pain. Pain. Pain. Exhaustion. It’s a wonder Eddie can even remember his own name. But even if his mind forgets something, his body doesn’t. His body feels the toll. The stitches on his insides and outsides. They resonate past his center to reach all his extremities, making his head heavy, and lifting his arms or legs impossible. He doesn’t know where he would be now without Buck.

He waits on him hand and foot. It’s a feeling that’s simultaneously familiar and foreign. Buck was there when he climbed out of that well, when he was shot, and now when he’s been ripped apart. But Eddie has never felt this incapacitated before, never this helpless. Buck does everything for him, feeding him, bathing him, and now…taking care of him. When he asked Buck for that, when he begged him, he didn’t think he would actually do it. Maybe he wasn’t thinking rationally, about what it would mean, but he knows he wanted it. He was pent up, and that orgasm was like a lock around his chest being released. He can breathe much more freely now. 

Buck has taken to giving him walks around the house now, to prevent him from atrophying in his bed. He’ll get him up on his feet, and walk right alongside him as Eddie shuffles on two unstable legs, arm holding tight right at the curve of his waist. The touch burns in a way it didn’t before, his fingertips pressing hard into the skin through his shirt, enough to probably leave bruises. Eddie even checks, lifting his shirt in the bathroom later to see if he left any marks behind, searching for them in the fleshy tones of his waist, but there is nothing there.

Perhaps he should feel ashamed that he has been reduced to this, but the emotion never surfaces where Buck is concerned. Buck makes it difficult to hate himself. He feels the devotion of every action, with every dish that Buck cooks for him, and every swipe of the rag over his body, with every individual pill placed into his hand. How could he feel shame to be the subject of that devotion? He feels gratitude instead, and disbelief that he has a person that would do what Buck is doing for him. It’s a privilege to be woken up by Buck and to be put to sleep by him.

Especially now, now that Eddie has escalated what was previously a well-natured display of care-taking, now that he has corrupted it. He asked for more than what is allowed, he reached beyond the threshold and crossed an unspoken boundary. He does feel a bit of shame for that. For taking advantage of Buck’s good will. How could he refuse, when Eddie was whining and begging like an ungrateful, spoiled brat? Hasn’t Buck done enough? How could Eddie even think to ask for more from him? In that moment though, when his inhibitions were lowered, when his filters were gone, all he could feel was Buck’s hands all over him, caressing every deep, dark place within him, every chasm that he tries to keep off-limits. All he could feel was his dick straining and asking for something. He needed it. He needed it.

So Eddie caved, and as a result Buck caved, and now here they are. Once you cross a line, you cannot go back. Every time Buck washes him, reverential and holy in every sweep, Eddie becomes aroused, at attention for the entirety of the bath. Unlike him, his cock has no shame, no consideration for the liability Eddie has to take. Just reckless and greedy. He has to feel Buck’s hands dance around it, and his stare combing over him. It only makes him harder, especially when he’s so out of his mind on his pain meds. He can barely gather the strength and sense of mind to lift a finger. Buck can do what he wants with him, and Eddie just has to take it. Eddie just has to accept the roving gaze all over him; it feels more intimate than his hands.

Then, when the bath is all but over, Buck takes the matter into his hands, literally. He grips Eddie so tight and firm, so strong he can practically feel his muscles straining through his dick, and he jerks him off. Eddie can never control what comes out of his mouth, what embarrassing moves his body makes. 

Buck always has to press down on his hips to prevent him from ripping himself open again, and his hips have no choice but to obey. He is long past that. His brain can’t get a grasp of what signal to send where, what things he needs to say to preserve his dignity. It’s just as flabby and fluid as he is. If he cracked his head wide open, his brain would spill out like liquid, staining the bed sheets and getting his sticky, slimy juices all over Buck’s hands. 

The pleasure gets so overwhelming, always as intense as the first time. He’s not pent up anymore, but it feels as though he’s been waiting for ages for this moment every time. It washes over, erasing his every thought, all his memories up until that moment, his aching pain that bursts through when his meds wear off. Everything is gone. It’s like he’s being brainwashed. Except he doesn’t need any insane device or hallucinogenics or hypnosis. All he needs is Buck’s hand. And afterward, Buck could tell him to do anything and he would. He’d jump off a cliff if Buck asked him to in the aftermath. 

Buck doesn’t do that, of course. He brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead, instead. He wipes him down again, even though he’s just bathed him. He dresses him like a doll, a Barbie in need of a makeover. He tucks him in and kisses his head like Eddie is something of value. It makes Eddie’s heart clench and his head hurt every time. He spends all his free time thinking about how he can repay Buck, how he can ever make up to him the kindness he bestows on him. It’s hard to imagine there is anything that would be equal.

Now that some time has passed, Buck has transitioned him onto the weaker pain killers, ones that don’t take away as much of his ability to think or move. Buck had discussed everything in detail with his doctor once he was ready to be released. Eddie didn’t bother paying attention to the explanation. He knew Buck would handle it. That’s why when Buck tells him it’s time to change his medication, he opens his mouth and accepts like he always does. 

The new meds aren’t as strong, they don’t sap the pain away from his wound like the others did, but he is more present in his body after he takes them. The fog in his head isn’t as heavy. It’s the first time he’s felt the drastic improvement he’s made in his healing. He can get up on his own and walk around without the help of Buck holding his weight by his side. He still shadows him, walking behind him barely a foot away in case Eddie suddenly loses his strength. 

Maybe he should be irritated at the constant hovering, but it feels good to have Buck at his back, standing firm when everything around him feels like jelly right now. He walks around the house, then goes into the backyard and walks around there too. He starts walking through his neighborhood, with Buck’s supervision, to start regaining his confidence in his legs. Eddie still hobbles a little, nervous about pulling a stitch out even now. He feels the tightness of the skin around the wound as it heals, and it pulls when he stretches too far or moves too briskly. He’s getting the stitches out soon, thankfully. He’s become restless in his bedrest, and he’s itching to get back to work. 

Until then, Buck continues his rituals and schedule. He sponge bathes him even now. Tonight, when he strips Eddie of his clothes, he takes a scissor to the bandages wrapped around his hips. A clean cut and they slip away, like a leaf drifting in the wind, exposing his weakened center. The skin is red and raw around the stitches, but it looks healthy. Buck examines the jagged cut closely, laying feather-like fingertips on the outer edges. Eddie feels them still, even through the gloves Buck is wearing, sending bites of static up his body with every brush. Eddie lays as still as possible, looking down on himself as Buck gets prepared. The seam is just below his stomach, in the soft in-between space that doesn’t really have a name. It almost looks like a c-section scar, as if he was the one who birthed Chris, like he was cut out of him. It would’ve been a better reason to have that scar than being stabbed by a man he didn’t know.

Buck is always careful with him. He cleans the wound meticulously, surgically, like he’s performing a brain transplant and not simple wound maintenance. The touches of the soaked cotton ball are so light, he probably wouldn’t notice them at all if he wasn’t watching. Next is the antibiotic ointment. Buck is a bit firmer here, rubbing the cream deeper in the edges of the cut, making sure to hit every surface of it. When Buck gets a little close to the inside of the wound, the  fleshy red meat inside of him, he feels a slight sting, just enough to shoot up his spine and make him light-headed. Eddie wishes Buck wasn’t wearing gloves. He wants the touch to be bare, to feel Buck’s skin against his insides, sanitation be damned. Whatever indecencies or impurities Buck could transfer into him, Eddie would gladly accept them.

Once Buck is done, he wraps the fresh gauze around him, sliding his arm under his back to get it around him. It feels like a hug, and Eddie savors it. It makes him shiver, the closeness of it, and he can feel how it’s affecting certain parts of his brain, the ones most concerned with pleasure and gratification. He’s almost used to it now, the way his dick fills and rises when Buck is touching him. It’s Pavlov’s bell. When Buck is running his hands over him, his body knows what’s coming. 

The dressing is wrapped up tight, professional now with how many times Buck has done it. When he’s done, he pats his stomach and smiles down at him, feeling satisfied with his work. Eddie smiles back instinctively. 

“All done,” Buck tells him, stating the obvious, “You ready to get your stitches out next week?” he reminds him. Eddie hasn’t forgotten, of course. He’s been counting down until the moment he gains back a little more freedom. 

“Hell yeah. I can’t wait to get back to work,” he sighs, thinking about how much he misses his job, especially when he has to hear all the war stories second-hand through Buck. 

“That’s what you wanna do? Get back to work?” Buck asks incredulously. Eddie scoffs. That’s rich coming from him.

“Please, you would be begging to go back to work if it was you,” he says. Buck shrugs at him but doesn’t deny it. They’re talking like they usually do while Buck puts away all the medical supplies, stashing it in the bathroom cabinet where they belong, completely forgetting that Eddie is stark naked right now. They’ve both desensitized themselves to his nudity. He has become a part of the scenery in his room, an accessory to dress it up. Buck is the interior designer who strips him naked so that he fits right in.

Buck returns to the room and makes himself comfortable alongside Eddie. And here is the next part of the ritual, the natural step that has become a part of their routine. His hand finds those places on his body that have grown grooves to make space for him. They’ve shifted and assimilated to accept his touch as an inherent piece of him. His stomach. His hips. His chest. The very core of him. He runs his hand over his legs, drifting his fingers closer to the inside of his thighs. Buck’s head is leaning on his other hand, and he watches lazily from above, akin to a god, playing with the subject of his creation.

Eddie is more conscious of all the touches now, but he finds himself falling into the same, familiar haziness that always traps him. He can’t focus, not on anything other than Buck touching him. He clings to Buck’s shirt, stretching the fabric carelessly as his hands grip and release with each tug on his dick. Buck whispers in his ear reassurances and praise, telling him what a good job he’s doing when he’s just laying there and accepting the pleasure. He’s looking down at Eddie with such care; Eddie can’t look away. His gaze is stuck to Buck’s blue eyes, getting lost in the incomprehensible shades in the tiny sliver of iris. The moans are pulled out of him with more resistance; he tries to hold himself back just a bit more. Nevertheless, he ends up the same way: squeezed out of every last drop, floating on bliss and seeing only bright lights in his vision, sucking in breaths to make up for the ones he lost in the process. He’s still just as weakened and peeled back in the end. Buck drags everything out of him.

He thinks about what’ll happen as he gets better and better, and no longer needs Buck’s help with his every action. Eddie doesn’t want it to stop, he has to admit. He wants to continue to let Buck take over his life, and let him control what he eats and when he bathes. He’s not ready to lose that relief. He wants to keep this going even after he’s healed and fully capable of doing everything himself. Eddie can’t admit this to Buck. He’s already sacrificing so much time and effort to take care of Eddie. He can’t expect him to do beyond what is necessary. 

What about next week, when his stitches come out? Will Buck still hand feed him then? Will he still wash him with tenderness? Eddie doesn’t want to imagine being without it now that he’s had it. He’s become too used to this way of life. He knows he’s selfish.

Next week, Buck takes him to the hospital to have his stitches removed. It’s a quick process, all things considered, but he doesn’t feel all that much better by the end of it. He’s able to walk out of the hospital on his own two feet, but the distance from the doors to the car still exhausts him. He lets Buck help him inside and put on his seatbelt. 

“Thanks Buck,” he turns his head toward Buck getting into the driver’s seat. Buck grins at him cheekily. 

“What are friends for?” he responds, and Eddie doesn’t know how to tell him that he does not want to be just friends with him. He wants so much more. 

Buck has gone back to work now. Eddie can do most things on his own again. Buck always meal preps before he goes in, filling the fridge with ready-made food that Eddie can heat up easily. He’s so bored now that he doesn’t have Buck to take all his attention; he ends up spending most days rotting on the couch watching re-runs and missing Buck. It’s pathetic. Buck has consumed so much of his life the past few weeks that he’s forgotten how to function as a person without him.

When he gets up off the couch to take his regular walks around the yard, he thinks of how he can make it up to Buck when he fully heals. Should he cook him a meal? Maybe he can set up a spa night for him, bath bombs and all? Would that be enough? Eddie isn’t sure anything would be enough. 

The one thing Eddie still needs help with is showering. There’s no more need for sponge baths now that Eddie can hold his own weight, but standing under the torrential spray and washing himself has proven to be more challenging than he thought it would be. The first time he tried to shower by himself while Buck was at work, it had taken him over an hour. He’s learned his lesson since then. 

He doesn’t know how to ask Buck, the next time it’s time for him to clean himself. Can you please keep bathing me even though I’m capable of doing it myself? Can you please help me wash my hair? Can you never leave my home and take care of me even when I’m not hurt? Just because I ask for it? Just because you want to?

That isn’t an option. Eddie has to be a little more creative than that. So when Buck is home, recovering from his hard day at work, he starts up the shower, letting it steam up the room until the mirror is fogged and a dew develops on his skin. He steps inside and the water coats him, encompassing him in a warm, wet bubble. And then, he lets himself fall backwards, onto his ass. He makes sure to keep his head clear of impact, so he doesn’t give himself a concussion in the process. The impact makes a loud, moist thud, exactly what he wanted. It sends a sting up his ass too, but that’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. As expected, he hears Buck’s footsteps rush through the house, getting louder and louder until they’re right on top of him and he bursts through the door. He’s been keeping it unlocked since he started getting around on his own, at Buck’s insistence, in case something ever happens. Like now.

Buck’s eyes look panicked, wide and alert, with his eyebrows drawn. He immediately spots Eddie laying in the bathtub, wincing at the very real pain in his behind. He comes to his side and runs his hands over him, examining all his parts to check that nothing is out of place.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he demands once his examination is finished and he is reassured that Eddie will not die in the next second. He’s still touching Eddie, not letting go of his hold on him. 

“My legs just got a little weak and I slipped. I’m okay Buck, don’t worry,” he assures him. Buck relaxes a little, but the lines in his brow do not go away. “Why didn’t you ask me to help you?” he questions.

“Come on, Buck. I can handle showering myself. It’s just a little fall,” he says, looking down. To Buck it will look like shame. Eddie does feel some shame right now, but not for the reasons Buck thinks. He doesn’t want Buck to see the truth in his eyes. He can look right through him, into his lying, manipulative soul.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie sees Buck thinking, then he stands up swiftly and starts stripping his clothes. Eddie isn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, for Buck to give him another sponge bath? Apparently that isn’t enough for Buck.

Now he’s standing there completely naked, as naked as Eddie is right now. He is still laying in the tub, eye level with Buck’s dick. He can’t help but look; it draws the eye, calling for attention even when it’s doing nothing but laying there. It’s so…Buck. It looks strong and capable, like it would do the job it’s meant to do with all its effort. It’s a dick he can rely on, one that he will be fulfilled by, he knows. 

Eddie is snapped out of his increasingly delusional thoughts by Buck calling his name. He looks up, hoping that he wasn’t too obvious with his staring. Buck’s face tells him that’s not the case. He looks amused, maybe even a little smug. He probably knows exactly what Eddie was thinking, and it makes his face heat up from the inside. 

Buck steps into the bath with him. He stands so tall above him, casting a shadow that covers all of him, taking the spray of the shower onto his wide back. It feels safe down here, being under his shadow, like a guardian angel. Buck reaches down and grabs him by his armpits and begins to lift. “Come on Eddie. Up you go,” he says while his arms flex with the strength and tremendous force necessary to pick a grown man up. Eddie cooperates, pushing his feet down and letting them take his weight. Buck does most of the work. When he’s standing up again, Buck directs his hand to the bar on the side of the shower. It’s been there for a long time, Christopher using it for his showers. Buck could have told him to just use the bar, or brought in the shower stool that they keep in the bathroom for Chris. Instead, he came in here with Eddie. He took matters into his own hands, like Eddie knew he would.

He pools shampoo in his hand and massages it into Eddie’s hair. He holds his head still and grips the bar with both hands, so the feeling of Buck’s hands running through his hair doesn’t knock him over. He’s as thorough as always, digging deep into his scalp and shooting hot bolts of pleasure through his body. A hand on his neck tilts his head into the spray of water, guiding him like he’s a puppet with a  hand stuck up inside him, controlling his every move.

When his hair is washed out, Buck lathers Eddie’s washcloth. It feels different when he isn’t laying in the tub or in bed with barely any control of his limbs. He can’t lose himself in the sensation the same way – he has to focus on standing upright, on keeping his knees steel so they don’t buckle beneath him and send him to the floor, unintentionally this time. He senses Buck, scrubbing away at him like it’s his job, sinks to his knees behind him. Eddie feels the air shift with the motion. He can feel a puff of air on the small of his back and his whole body shivers, sending a shudder through his spine and almost toppling him. Buck works each leg, and even lifts his feet to get his soles, leaving them pink and raw when he sets them down again. 

Eddie doesn’t know if the build-up of steam in the room is what’s making it hard to breathe. Buck stands up again and hovers behind him, leaving an inch apart between them. An inch that Eddie can feel all of, every miniscule millimeter. It’s a courtesy inch, because they both know Buck is going to touch all of Eddie, in every place, and has done so already. He’s already explored the crevices and bends of his body and tugged on his dick, what difference does an inch make? There’s really only one place that hasn’t been touched by Buck, and if Eddie thinks about him going there, his knees would get even weaker and he’ll brain himself on the porcelain. Then Buck would have to start over in his care. 

The wash cloth wanders over his chest, leaving a trail of suds behind. The movement is less single-minded compared to other times Buck has bathed him, like the cloth has a mind of its own and is drifting away from its purpose to serve its own needs. It drags across Eddie’s nipple deliberately, and he gasps. His head falls back and lands on Buck’s shoulder. It’s closer now. The inch has turned into a centimeter. Eddie lets his head rest there, not bothering to hold it up any longer. He looks into the ceiling of the bathroom, at the condensation building on the paint, mildew no doubt growing where he doesn’t see it. It’s white and blank, and doesn’t give anything for Eddie to focus on. He can imagine shapes and swirls moving in the empty nothingness, but all he can feel is the lazy stroll Buck’s hand is taking over his body. He’s going over the same parts over and over, running the coarse fabric over his nipples again and again until Eddie feels himself begin to pant. It’s hard to do so when the air is so heavy and hot. 

Buck abruptly takes one of his hands off the rail, unclenching the claw that it’s cemented in and lifting his arm into the air, exposing his underarm. It feels more vulnerable now, somehow, when he’s standing, to be showing these parts of himself. Buck holds his arm there by his wrist, not letting go even as he starts to scrub under his arm and along his ribs. It feels more sensitive now; Eddie doesn’t know why. Each tingling sensation sends a storm of signals firing into his brain, making him open his mouth and let out involuntary noises. He can only hope they’re being drowned out by the rushing water.

He moves on to his other arm quickly, lifting it up just the same, wiping down every bone of his ribs. That should be it. His whole body is clean, scoured into oblivious until red. Buck should be washing him off and getting him dry, but he is still behind him, breathing out so deeply he feels it on the back of his neck. It’s less than a centimeter now, the shrinking distance between them. They’re both just standing there, waiting for one of them to make the next move. 

Buck’s hands find his waist. The washcloth is still in one of his hands. Eddie holds his breath; a bubble balloons in his chest, taking up all the space inside him and pushing aside his lungs and stomach and intestines, just waiting to be popped and eviscerate him from the inside. His arms circle around him, touching just to touch. Eddie thinks he knows what’s next, and the anticipation makes his stomach quiver and his knees shake. 

Slowly, as if time is standing still and they have nowhere else in the world to be, Buck’s hand goes down, inching across the plains of his skin like a worm. And then, the washcloth surrounds him, swallowing his dick and covering it with its abrasive surface. Eddie’s whole body jerks, his head hitting Buck’s shoulder behind him again with more force, a moan rushing out. He’s never felt anything like this on his dick. Buck’s grip is tight, like it always is, and he is relentless, stroking him in a steady rhythm, no skips or beats. He pays special attention to the head, rubbing at it hard until Eddie feels whimpers being punched out of him, over and over again. 

“I got you, Eddie,” Buck speaks, breaking the long silence that they’ve been sitting in. Silence if he doesn’t count the slick sounds of his cock and Buck’s hand and the noises coming out of him. His other hand rises and latches on to Eddie’s throat, keeping his head back. His neck is safe and warm in Buck’s grip.

Eddie is held together by Buck. If he let go of him right now, Eddie would crumple to the floor, no strength in his body to stand. He hears Buck’s voice in his ear, a stream of words that he can barely register. 

“You’re doing so good, Eddie. I’m gonna take care of you, I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Buck says in a never-ending stream. It’s the only thing chaining him to reality. He stands on his tiptoes as the stroking gets rougher, straining for something, aching and yearning for more, for a break in the pleasure, a crescendo of some kind. 

But Buck doesn’t give in, doesn’t let him have what he’s aching for so easily. He just keeps going, a locomotive moving at one continuous speed. Eddie isn’t sure how much more he can take. He’s likely shouting by now, if he could hear anything outside the rushing in his ears. He feels the vibrations running through his throat, but everything else is lost on him. 

“That’s it, Eddie. Just take it. You’re being such a good boy,” Buck slips into his ear unconsciously. He probably didn’t even notice he said it, but it reverberates in Eddie’s head. Something cracks inside him, and he feels like his guts are spilling out, like he almost felt not too long ago. Is this what it would have been like, if he hadn’t held so tightly onto his stomach and just let it all spill out? 

The come down is staggering. He feels dizzy, the deep heavy breathes he’s taking not helping with the airiness in his head. The stream of the shower still beating down on them is suffocating now. He gains the feeling back in his toes and fingers, and now he senses the hard, thick object behind him, glancing up against his ass. Buck is careful not to press it up against him fully, but Eddie wants him to. He wants him to press it hard and fast, all the way inside him. He could beg for it now, get on his knees and plead Buck for it, but he doesn’t. 

While Eddie catches his breath, Buck washes him off, grabbing the shower head and guiding it over Eddie. He washes the rag too, the one that was just around Eddie’ dick, cleaning it of all the come that Buck just coaxed out of him. He makes no move to take care of his own hardness that Eddie can spot out of the corner of his eye, like always. He wonders if Buck takes care of it later, or does he just let it wilt? Is there some satisfaction to holding himself off like this, restraining himself to a comical degree? At least Eddie can be content with the fact that he is the one making Buck hard – something about these circumstances is turning Buck on, whether it be Eddie’s helplessness or his body or even the act of washing someone, Eddie can live with that.

Two weeks later, Eddie returns to work with light duty. He isn’t able to do much physical activity yet, but being back at the firehouse, wearing his uniform again, it brings back some of the joy that he didn’t know he was missing. On the other hand, Buck has stopped bathing him. There’s no longer any need. He essentially cheated the last few times, by feigning frailty, pretending he was weaker than he was so their ritual could go on a little longer. There is no pretending now.

Eddie no longer needs the constant supervision, the care-giver to dole out sustenance and medicine, the nurse to change his bandages. He is almost whole again, nothing left of the past several weeks that he was immobile except the jagged scar across his pelvis. It will fade, with time of course, but it will never really go away. 

He still hasn’t thanked Buck for everything he’s done for him. He’s said thank you obviously, but that doesn’t feel like enough. He wants to make it up to Buck, not just out of obligation, but out of appreciation and love. He wants Buck to understand how much it meant to have him stepping in the way he did. He wants Buck to know he loves him. What could he give Buck that would make that clear to him? It’s something he thinks about day and night, while watching Buck in his home – familiar and comfortable – at work, every moment he’s around him. Eddie’s given him his son, though he’s not a prize or object to be gifted; he’s given him his house, letting him make a home here with all three of them; he’s given him his trust and his confidence. What is there left for Eddie to give other than himself, all of him?

— 

It’s such a relief to have Eddie back at work with him. Every time Buck went into the field without him he left like he was working with a limb missing. He felt like his back was left unguarded. Now, it’s as if equilibrium has been restored; the scales are balanced again. Even when Eddie was on light duty, just his presence in the firehouse soothed an animal inside Buck, one that paced and circled when Eddie was out of his sight. It’s calm now, seeing Eddie back in his rightful place.

There is still that part of him, that sickening, quiet part inside him, that misses that time, when Eddie was hurt and in pain. Eddie needed him then. And is there anything Buck wants more than to be needed? 

He knows it makes him a bad person. Eddie has been hurt so much already, savoring in the suffering of his best friend isn’t what a good friend would do. But all those feelings wash away when he remembers Eddie laying in his ailing bed, looking up at him like he is the only person in the world, like he is his savior. It’s an intoxicating feeling, and a selfish one, perhaps. Maybe it’s his ego that made him relish in his position as Eddie’s carer. Regardless of what Buck feels, he is grateful that Eddie is fully healed. 

On occasion, he senses Eddie’s eyes on him, evaluating him in some way. He doesn’t question it, yet, because every time he glances at him, Eddie returns the look with a smile, soft and sweet. It’s difficult to find something wrong when Eddie looks at him like that. 

It’s only until he’s at Eddie’s house that the intention behind those looks reveals itself. Buck made dinner for all of them. Now Chris is alone in his room and they’re wasting the night away in front of the TV. They haven’t spoken in a few minutes, letting the canned laughter and stimulated lines of the sit-com playing fill up the silence. During the commercials, when there’s a lull of silence, Eddie speaks.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, and lets the sentence linger in the air. Buck turns to him and waits, knows he’s working himself up to say what he wants to say. He looks on as Eddie bites his lip, and continues, “I want to thank you, properly, for helping me when I was laid up.” Buck’s heckles immediately rise, because he’s not expecting a payment for everything he did, and he thought Eddie knew that.

“Eddie-,” he’s about to go off on a speech, an explanation of his of selfishly selfless deeds, when Eddie interrupts him. “I know, I know, Buck. I know I don’t owe you anything, but it’s not about that,” he says. 

“I want to show you that I’m thankful, and that I appreciate you. Not because I have to, because I want to,” he justifies, and doesn’t explain himself any further. 

Buck takes it in. The expression on Eddie’s face is resolute, and he knows he can’t convince him to change his mind. “Okay, fine. What did you have in mind, then?” he gives in. He may as well accept whatever it is that Eddie wants to give him.

Eddie pauses again, not giving anything away. “Well, I have some ideas. I haven’t decided yet,” he says, sly and nervous at the same time. Buck smiles sneakily, intrigued by the secretive nature of Eddie’s gift. Maybe he’s going to cook him a meal, since Buck did a lot of cooking for him, or take him out on the town, somewhere they haven’t been before. There are so many possibilities that Buck can think of, and they all make him quiver in anticipation. 

He thinks about it in the coming days, waiting for Eddie to pop out somehow and surprise him with a comically large present, or with a big surprise party. He knows that’s not exactly what Eddie has in mind, but the lead-up to this moment has left his imagination spiraling. He knows it’s finally happening when he gets a text from Eddie inviting him over when he knows Christopher is staying at a friend’s tonight. Buck doesn’t know why he believes this is the one; Eddie has invited him over countless times since he brought up the idea of thanking him, so he’s not sure what it is about this one that is ringing alarms in his head.

Buck goes to Eddie’s house just the same. He parks in the driveway, right behind Eddie’s car, and lets himself in with his key. The house is silent and dark inside, empty in a way that feels tangible, like something that should be here is missing. That isn’t the case now. He knows Eddie is waiting for him in this place, and he expects Buck to find him.

He drifts further inside, taking steps one-by-one, like he’s anticipating Eddie to pop out of some corner. But he’s not hiding like some horror movie monster, he’s just in the kitchen, patiently sitting in the dimly lit room, watching as Buck walks in. There’s no present or party, just Eddie by himself. He seems fresh, pink and tender around the edges with a dewy shine on his skin. There’s a nervous air surrounding him, his fingers fidgeting around with each other, twisting and clenching in nonsensical patterns.

“Hey Eddie,” he creaks. The nervousness is infecting him too. The whole room is filled with it. 

“Buck,” Eddie answers, and doesn’t say much more. He’s building up to something, and the longer Buck waits to hear about it, the more restless he becomes. He wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans and moves across the kitchen to take a seat next to Eddie at the table, just to do something, to displace the atmosphere in here in some way. Just now, he notices what is sitting on the table in front of Eddie. It’s a bottle of medication. A familiar one. If he looks closer he can identify it as the strong pain-killers he was taking right after surgery. The ones that almost knock him out cold. There were a few left over before they moved on to the milder stuff.

Now he is just confused. He looks to Eddie, staring at him expectantly. Eddie is looking back at him, his mouth open like he is about to speak, but Buck still sees some hesitation in his eyes, in the furrow of his brow and the straining of his neck. He places his hand atop Eddie’s where is laying on the table. It’s warm, and he feels his own hands sucking in the heat, traveling from one body to another. 

“When you were here, looking after me, sometimes my body would get…excited,” he starts, taking heavy pauses between each phrase, letting every word land at Buck’s feet before he continues with the next. “And when that happened, you always took care of me,” Eddie continues, the heat in his body more tangible now, coming to the surface and revealing itself on his face as he recalls what they did in the dark of his bedroom and in the bath, what Buck did. “But you never took care of yourself, the whole time. And I want you to. I wanna help take care of you too,” he finishes, staring into his eyes with certainty. 

Buck is too stunned to speak, still processing the words coming out of Eddie’s mouth, trying to piece them together so they actually make sense. Because what he’s saying now does not. Buck does not believe that Eddie is volunteering to have sex with him, to thank him for looking after his injured friend. He shakes his head, “Eddie, I don’t need you to get me back like that, I wasn’t doing that because-,” but Eddie cuts him off before he can finish.

“I know, Buck. I’m not offering because I think I owe you or I feel obligated or anything like that. I’m offering because I want to. Because I want you to feel good too and I want to be the one helping you feel good. It’s a gift, okay?” Eddie sounds frustrated that he has to convince Buck of this, like it’s not a crazy thing to put up on the table. “I’m not trying to sound full of myself by calling me a gift, but you know what I mean,” he sighs. He’s fidgeting with Buck’s fingers now, rubbing the skin along his pointer, tracing his cuticles before moving on to the next finger.

Are- are you serious, Eddie?” he asks. Eddie sounds serious. Buck knows he is, but he just needs to check.

“Yes, Buck. I want to give this to you. I want you to have it, if you want?” he insists, and for the first time, he sounds doubtful, as if there is anything in the world Buck wants more than this, as if he hasn’t spent countless minutes and hours and days thinking about having Eddie for himself, of taking a hold of him and never letting him go. 

“I do want it. I want you more than anything,” it rushes out of him. He doesn’t want Eddie to ever doubt that. “But what is that for?” he asks, glancing at the pill bottle still sitting between them. Eddie stands up abruptly, taking a glass out of the cabinet and filling it up with water. He stands over the table and pops open the bottle, spilling one pill into his hand and swallowing it immediately. He chases it down with the water, gulping it all in quick succession. Buck stares dumbfounded. 

Eddie sets the glass down calmly. “You can do whatever you want,” he says with intention. 

“What?” is all Buck can say. Eddie looks at him significantly. “I’m gonna go lay down in bed, and if you want to do this, you can come and do whatever you want with me. It’s all for you.”

Buck stands up to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Eddie, are you really-,” he stops when Eddie rests a hand on his cheek, cupping his face with reverence. His thumb moves over the apple of his cheekbone softly. “I want it. So if you want it, I’ll be there for you,” he says it definitively. There is no argument to be had here. There is just a yes or no. Eddie steps back, turns and goes off into his house, into his bedroom, where presumably he will undress, and lay himself down for Buck’s taking, under the influence of his mind-altering medication now.

Did Eddie know? Could he sense how much Buck was lusting after him when he was in that state? Of course he did; Buck wasn’t exactly being subtle about it, letting his dick harden obnoxiously and take up space whenever he bathed Eddie. It would’ve been harder for him to ignore it. Even with his head muddled by opioids, he could see right through Buck and understand exactly what he wanted. Did he feel it in Buck’s touch, the way he would wander his hands over his body and savor every stroke of a fingertip?

He flops back down in the chair and thinks. Eddie has placed himself on a silver platter for Buck. He is just a room away, ripe and ready for him. Can he just take it? Is it that easy? He puts his head in his hands and breaths, lets himself process everything that Eddie just threw at him before he does what is inevitable. He knows he will go into that bedroom and take what is handed to him with his arms wide open.

Buck gets up and fills up the glass that Eddie just used with water, downing it thick gulps and making sure his lips touch the spot where Eddie’s just were. He’s made up his mind. The walk to the bedroom feels like hours, even though he’s standing in front of the door in an instant. The doorknob feels clammy under his hand. Buck takes a deep breath, and then steps inside.

Eddie is lying in bed on his back, staring at the ceiling, just as Buck expected, stripped down to a T-shirt and underwear, which Buck didn’t expect. Frankly, he was ready to come in on Eddie completely bare, laid out like a buffet, but it’s better this way. It shouldn’t be so simple. Buck should put some effort in, undress Eddie himself. Maybe it would’ve been better if he was fully dressed, so Buck could peel him apart piece by piece. But he’ll take what he can get. 

As Buck approaches the bed, Eddie turns his head to look at him. He can already see the effects of the drugs kicking in, making his reactions just slightly slower, all his movements lagging behind his brain by a few seconds. His eyes blink slowly at him, like a cat showing its love. It’s a familiar image. A comfortable one. He knows what to do with this Eddie. He takes off his jacket and pants, so he matches Eddie, and climbs onto the bed, hovering over him so he can take him in from above. Eddie looks back, languid and relaxed, his arms spread out next to him, no tension in him at all.

Here Eddie is, at his mercy, but not out of necessity or circumstance, but voluntarily. Eddie put himself in this position, laid down at Buck’s feet for him to feast on. His eyes are so dark and full; they are pools so deep that Buck could drown in them if he dipped one toe in.

He doesn’t know where to start; there’s so much before him, so many options. Eddie sees his stalling and smiles at him, reassuring him even now. Buck has no option but to dive in, to let himself drown in this abyss so that he can have just a taste, just a simple touch of Eddie.

Buck presses his lips to Eddie’s neck, laying a kiss there softly. He’s gentle as he trails them up and down, directionless, no destination in mind. The rest of his body follows, lowering down until they are pressed nice and tight, stacking together like bricks on a line. They fit just right. Buck’s hardness slots against Eddie’s hardness, wet and dry at the same time. Eddie’s legs open up, spread the way butterfly wings do, and Buck makes himself at home between them. He could just have this; that would be enough for him. The closeness of Eddie’s body, his breathing in his ear and skin under his teeth are enough to last him a lifetime, enough to keep him intoxicated for life. But Buck is greedy, as much as he hates to admit it. He always wants more, demands more and more until everyone around him reaches a breaking point. Not here though, not with Eddie. Now he can indulge. 

Eddie makes dreamy sounds with every press of his mouth along his neck. It stretches out before him like a wide open plain, and Buck explores it. He opens his mouth and places big wet kisses, leaving behind glistening smudges in a path. Eddie smells like himself, an amalgamation of scents from shampoos and detergents that combine with his natural essence to create that familiar smell. He can practically taste it with every touch of his mouth. Buck goes further, taking the skin between his teeth and biting down, sucking at the flesh until he’s sure there’s going to be a mark. Eddie is whining in his ear, and that only emboldens him. 

When he releases Eddie’s skin and comes up for him, Eddie is panting, mouth open and wet. That’s exactly how Buck wants him. He runs his hands over the body before him, over the flimsy cotton shirt and then under. The skin beneath his fingers is silky and warm; goosebumps rise and he continues his examination. Buck has seen all this before, felt it before too, but it is so much different now. There is no purpose in his mind, no goal to accomplish, no excuses he has to give to himself as to why his touch lingers so much. He may linger as much as he likes.

The shirt is pushed up until it hits Eddie’s armpits, where it stays. Something about the sight is tantalizing, his chest exposed to the air while his shirt is ruched up at his neck. Buck runs his hands over him, slow and steady, feeling every wrinkle of skin. He cups his tits, gripping them tight so Eddie really feels it. His fingers brush past his nipples, again and again while Eddie’s noises gain volume until he finally pinches them between his fingers, twisting them hard and rough. Eddie reacts with his whole body, arching his back and pushing his head back into the pillow, punching a long drawn-out moan out of him.

“Buck,” is all he says. All he’s capable of saying right now. Buck lets himself have this a little longer, watching Eddie as he writhes around on his fingers until he can’t take it anymore. He lets go just to dive his head down and wrap his mouth around one of them, flicking his tongue over him and sucking hard. Eddie sounds like he might be crying, sad little moans escaping him one after another. He comes up for air and looks at Eddie’s face. His eyes are watery and out-of-focus and he’s red all over, mouth open to take in heavy pants of air. He wants to go even further, until Eddie can’t speak or think or move. 

He moves on, stroking over his waist and hips. If he really tries, he can almost wrap both his hands around Eddie’s waist. Buck lays a kiss on his chest, right over his heart, which he can feel beating hard and fast through his skin and muscles and veins. He wanders, planting more kisses down his stomach until he reaches the waistband of his underwear. 

The pill is certainly hitting Eddie now, his face dreamy and lost, his limbs disjointed and confused. He still lifts his hips up for Buck when he hooks his hands around the underwear and drags them down. Buck maneuvers his dead-weight legs like a doll, pushing them up and together to make it easier to slide it right off, both legs at once. There’s a doped up smile on Eddie’s face, like he has a secret he’s waiting for Buck to find. 

And find it he does. He spreads Eddie’s legs open again and sneaks his hand down between them, just to graze him. He strokes over his hole and it gives, soft and supple and tender. There is barely any resistance, the muscles not capable of it due to his body’s medically-induced looseness. But it’s more than that; Eddie is not just relaxed, he is worked over. He is opening up in a familiar way, and Buck realizes he must have prepared himself, got himself nice and ready for him, even before he thought Buck would accept this gift. He imagines Eddie in here, on this spot, thinking about Buck and opening himself up, fucking himself and thinking about Buck discovering his little secret.

Buck is hard as stone, hard as steel. His dick is so hard that he thinks if he touched him with it right now, Eddie would bleed. He can’t help the groan as he feels around, rubbing his fingers against his hole harder and deeper, until the edges slip right in. They moan in unison, and Buck ducks down to look at Eddie closer, stare right into his face as he penetrates. His mouth is hovering over Eddie’s, exchanging air. One of Eddie’s hands shows signs of life, lifting from its limp rest on the sheets to grab onto Buck’s arm, to his face, so he can drag his lips down into Eddie’s. Buck follows the pull, but slowly, approaching him like a boat docking at shore. When they kiss, it’s with a sigh. A release.

They are consumed by it, the force of their tongues against each other, the taste of them. Buck opens his mouth wider, trying to swallow Eddie whole. It’s wet and slippery, and the sound of their smacking lips is almost disgusting, if he wasn’t so turned on. The tips of his fingers are still inside Eddie, pulsing and undulating deeper until they’re fully sheathed. Eddie cries out into his mouth, but not separating for a second. The hand on Buck’s face holds on tighter, as tight as he can with his hand still mostly limp.

It’s hard to pull apart, to muster the will to come up for air and let the spit connecting them together still snap. It’s difficult to do anything right now, except let the lust consume him, take over his mind until he can let it steer his body for him. He’s moving purely on instinct now. His fingers grow firmer inside Eddie, pumping in and out like a racehorse. He can’t stop. It’s feeling drier and drier with every thrust, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, Buck leans down and spits right on his hole, letting his fingers carry the moisture away and into him. He spits again, just for the thrill of it, and Eddie whines above him. The sound sends a shock of hot blistering pleasure through him and he grins. He comes back to eye-level with Eddie’s face and watches his features curve and twist with every punch of his fingers. What a gift this is; Eddie was right about that.

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re letting me have this Eddie,” he whispers into his mouth, sneaking his tongue in there again and licking him out. His free hand goes to the side of his face, rubbing at the corner of his eye where a tear has squirmed out and trails down his temple. He catches it and pops it in his mouth, savoring the taste. Even his tears taste good. 

Buck can see in Eddie’s eyes that he is on the precipice of something. Not just an orgasm. He’s just about ready to break apart, and Buck wants to get him there. His gasping mouth is so sweet and inviting, and his fingers find themselves drawing closer, being pulled along by his siren lips. They’re glistening and pink, and when he touches them they’re so soft, a pillow for him to lie his head on. Eddie ducks his head down just a little, and fingers slip in. Buck doesn’t hesitate, inserting them all the way in, along his tongue into the sweet juicy cavern of his throat. God, he can just imagine his cock in there, gripped tight in the blistering heat, being burned alive. Eddie’s lips close around the digits and he sucks, like he’s thirsty for water and is desperate for a drink. 

Now Buck has him speared at both ends. The power goes right to his head, a dizzying punch of arousal that makes him feel crazy. The world is dream-like around him, but Eddie feels real. The soft, squishy, burning flesh surrounding both his fingers is the realest thing he’s ever felt. 

“That feel good?” he asks, knowing that Eddie can’t answer him right now with his mouth full. He tries his best though, whining through the fingers and sucking on them harder. It’s cute, seeing Eddie try so hard.

Eddie’s hands flop around as they attempt to reach for Buck, grabbing at his torso and pulling at his shirt. He moves down to Buck’s underwear, hooking the waistband and trying to drag them down, with little success. He moans in complaint, sounding so whiny and begrudging, and keeps clawing at his lower half. 

Buck laughs at his effort, “What is it Eddie? You want some of this?” Under any other circumstance, he would be cringing at himself right now, sounding like a cheesy porn star, but he is too far gone to care. Eddie slides off his fingers for a moment and starts to speak, piercing words together to assemble something of a sentence. “You- I want you- get you off- please, please,” he stutters through the haze of pleasure and relief, and Buck understands what he wants.

Buck groans loudly; he just wants to bite down on him, chew him up and spit him out with affection. “Don’t worry, Eddie. I haven’t forgotten about myself, okay? I’m just getting started. You’re gonna make me feel so good,” he eases Eddie’s worries. He pulls his fingers out of Eddie’s ass too, and the squelch it produces makes his dick throb. He finally pays it some attention, stroking it tightly with his hand from Eddie’s saliva. He puckers his lips and lets some spit drool out onto his dick, slicking it up and mixing it with the precome oozing out of his tip. Eddie watches him, half-lidding eyes eating him up and staring down his dick. Buck lifts his hand to Eddie’s mouth, cupping it under his chin so he’ll get the message. He spits in the same hand, joining the sticky mess covering it. 

He spreads Eddie’s legs wide, pushing them open into his chest. He pauses to stare for a moment, just to enjoy the banquet he has before him. He’s all pink all over, a sweet fruit dripping with juice. Eddie’s getting impatient, wiggling around and pushing his hips up toward Buck, offering himself up desperately. Buck gives him what he’s asking for, what he himself has been craving for so long. His tip kisses Eddie’s hole, smearing around the wetness messily. He’s so close, just a little bit more and he’ll be inside Eddie. Buck pushes further, using nothing but his hips, his hands busy holding Eddie apart. Finally, he pops inside, and it feels as though a balloon has burst inside him. His head drops and he groans into the ceiling, letting go of all the tension he was holding back. Eddie is so tight and warm, a vice locking him in place. 

Eddie is lost in it, eyes rolling back and fluttering. His whole body is loose and limb and pliable, but his hole is still taut, twitching around him as it braces against Buck’s invading cock. He inches forward, further and further without a pause until he’s right up against Eddie, skin to skin, no gaps to be seen.

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re doing so good. You’re making me feel so good,” he tells him, knowing that Eddie can’t even speak right now. All he hears back is more senseless moaning, but he doesn’t care. He keeps talking anyway. “Thank you for giving this to me, Eddie. Being inside you is the best thing I’ve ever felt, baby.” He feels Eddie clench around him in response, reacting even with his rolling eyes and his body out of breath. 

He fucks in, going harder and faster with every thrust, feeling so out of control it’s becoming scary. Eddie is so out of it, head lolled back and eyes mostly closed. Buck would’ve thought he passed out if not for the steady stream of noises coming out of him, achy moans pushed out of him every time he screws his hips in deeper. Eddie is completely at his mercy, more than ever before. He can do whatever he wants with him, and Eddie would let him. He gave him permission to do as he likes. He trusts Buck to treat him how he should be treated. He trusts Buck with his body when his mind is away. That’s what gets Buck so hot, so happy he might break, the knowledge that Eddie gave him this power, this control. 

His hands move Eddie’s legs to his shoulders, so he’s bent in half, and circles his face instead. He clutches at it and doesn’t look away. Buck doesn’t want to look at anything else, just his beautiful sweaty face. He feels like an animal, releasing beastly grunts with every thrust. The sweat gathering on his face and hair is dripping down, sliding off his curls into Eddie’s face, splashing all over the both of them. 

Buck is so overwhelmed with bliss and love, feels it surging inside him and moving through his body, up and down and out, until he feels tears prickling at his eyes. He kisses Eddie, to release that love and push it into him, so he can experience it too. He wants Eddie to feel it. 

“Eddie, fuck, I love you,” he groans in his mouth, biting at his lips and tongue. Buck thought that Eddie was completely gone, mind escaping completely and leaving it to Buck, but he’s wrong. Eddie cries out, so pathetic and sweet, and responds, “Buck, Buck- love you. Loveyouloveyouloveyou-,” He keeps going, only interrupted by his own gasps. His eyes are still closed, no energy left to hold them open, but Buck knows he’s there, just enough to feel and hear him. 

He wants this to last forever. He wants Eddie to stay here in this bed forever, for Buck to take care of. That’s how they’re meant to be. And Buck will accept his duty happily; he’ll give Eddie everything he needs, and Eddie will take it happily too. 

That’s what he’s thinking of when he comes inside Eddie, taking frantic thrusts, slamming against him without thought. He moans long and loud, involuntary against the whimpers coming from Eddie’s own mouth. He feels the wetness spreading inside him, slicking him up even further and he keeps fucking in. His dick feels raw and sensitive but he doesn’t stop. His thrusts have a wet reverb now, sending sloppy sounds through the air that make Buck dizzy. He forgot to ask Eddie if he could come inside him, but he doesn’t think that would have changed a thing. He’s lifting his head just barely, using all his power to watch Buck’s body move through his, to witness the power and force he’s sending through him. Eddie’s eyes are clouded and big and brown and wet. He looks hypnotized by the non-stop motion of Buck.

That won’t do for Buck. He wants Eddie to feel everything when Buck makes him come. He grasps Eddie’s neglected dick in his hand and pumps it, slippery from the precome leaking from it since Buck first got his fingers inside him. Eddie seemingly wakes up from his daze and starts, groaning at the sensation on his dick for the first time. Buck ceases his thrusting and plants himself all the way inside, as deep as he can go, pressing on Eddie’s prostate incessantly; no where for Eddie to go from here, no where to escape. He swivels and circles his hips and works Eddie’s cock, determined to make him come now that he’s got his fill.

“Eddie, I came inside you,” he whispers to him, not looking for absolution or forgiveness, but just to remind him, to see how Eddie will react to the information. Eddie gives him a dopey smile and nods, just to fling his head back again when Buck gives him a particularly rough stroke. He kisses him, shoving his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, gagging him so that every noise he makes is around Buck’s tongue. He wishes he could shove it down all the way inside him, explore him from within, but the most he can do is lick around his palette and teeth. He collects all of Eddie’s whimpers and moans and plaintive little cries in his mouth, until he feels Eddie tense around him where his cock is still locking tight in his ass, and his arms flounder around the bedsheets, and he comes. 

Buck doesn’t pull out. He sits with it, the sticky, disgusting mess they left all around and in each other. He strokes back Eddie’s sweaty hair and locks eyes with him, tries to bring them back into focus from where they’ve drifted off into oblivion. Buck pecks him on the lips, the cheek, his eyebrows and corners of his eyes until Eddie comes back into himself. His panting chest is moving the both of them up and down, but eventually he slows and sighs. 

“Was it good?” Eddie croaks out, his voice wrecked and ruined. Buck can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. As if anything he does with Eddie could be bad.

“It was amazing,” he answers, and asks his own question, “Did I take care of you?” 

Eddie shakes his head, not a no, but in disbelief. A shiny sheen is returning to his eyes. “You always take care of me,” he tells him hoarsely, the emotions coming through and mixing with his worn-out vocal chords. “No one has ever taken care of me the way you do.”

Nothing has ever made Buck happier. No one is capable of taking care of Eddie the way he does. He is proud, joyful in his role as Eddie's care-taker. He’ll do it even when Eddie isn’t mortally wounded or exhausted or broken down. He’ll take care of Eddie’s child too, because he loves the both of them. And right now, he’ll get up while Eddie dozes off into a medicated sleep and wipe him down like he’s done so many times before. He’ll clean him inside and out, shuffle him into his pajamas and tuck the blanket tight around him. He’ll crawl in next to him and wrap himself securely around Eddie and never let him go.