1 - 20 of 59 Works by rhodeys
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Buck freezes, staring wide-eyed at his wall as though with enough conviction he could render it transparent. On the other side, Eddie lies in bed, unaware his phone is still connected, still broadcasting sound through Buck’s speakers. Where he’s awake, where he's watching—
“Such a gorgeous fuckin’ mouth, fuck—”
—because Eddie wants to— or he’s trying to…
“Suck on it, yeah, like that, suck it up—”
Belatedly, Buck realises he’s already on his feet. Compulsion has coiled around him like a silken leash, tugging him out of his bedroom and down the hallway towards the guest room.
for Bottom Eddie Week Day 1: Fixation (Breathplay/Choking)
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"Yours. Always yours," Eddie answers, sinking back against the headrest, face kissed gold by the morning light. He angles Buck a sidelong look, then adds a considerate, “unless you’d rather not. If you’re tired—”
“No, no,” Buck cuts in quickly, pinking at Eddie’s clear preference. “I’ll make us something. I like cooking for you.”
Eddie hums, pleased, and turns back to the sun. His lashes slide shut, languid as a cat stretched across sun-warmed concrete. “I like when you do, too.”
Or, truth serum: party of two. Unfortunately, they're the last to know.
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Someone exclaims in the background, but Buck’s voice cuts through louder when he asks, “You… you want to borrow my…?”
“Flashlight,” Eddie supplies with patient emphasis. It is not, strictly speaking, a leap of faith to assume Buck of all people would have one, but he did move recently, so— who knows what’s still lost in Packed Box Limbo. “Please tell me you have one I can use.”
“I…” there’s a lengthy pause on the other end, Buck’s voice weak and tapering off at the end. “Y-Yeah, okay.”
Or: Eddie just needs to borrow some tools. Fleshlight, flashlight, what’s the difference? The distinction has never been more illuminating.
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The doctor tilts her head to the only source of warmth in the cold, hospital room. “And who’s he?”
Buck’s eyes drift to Eddie, hungry for the sight of him. They fall upon the tense line of Eddie’s shoulders, the firm press of otherwise plump lips, watching like the very air in his lungs depend on Buck’s answer.
“That’s Eddie,” Buck answers, and the smile sneaks up on him. “Eddie Diaz. My partner.”
There. Relief washes through Eddie in a visible wave: his shoulders drop, features relaxing with the soft push of an exhale. Buck warms at the sight. Right answer.
—
A polysemy is a word with multiple, related meanings. The word partner, for example, can mean close friendship, a teammate, a co-parent. To someone else, it can also mean a lover. -
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“You fucked him,” Buck says, easy as two plus two.
“I mean—” and Eddie cuts himself off immediately. He doesn’t know if correcting Buck and saying he fucked me is the best course of action at this point.
Buck stares, almost hopeful, as if expecting Eddie to follow it up with a negative on the accusation. I mean, that’s not what happened or, I mean, that’s clearly lotion on the bed, dumbass. Buck stares and stares, and the hope withers and dies, and he finally lets out a short, disbelieving laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Jesus, Eddie. So what— what, you fuck men now? Were you even gonna tell me?”
Or, Eddie sleeps with the Boston firefighter, and Buck takes it about as well as you'd expect. What's a little roughhousing between friends, anyway?
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"Sorry." Buck shifts his weight, folding his arms and drawing in his shoulders, missing the attempt to look unassertive by a mile. “Is there a problem?”
She doesn’t answer Buck’s question, which by itself can be assumed as answer enough. “Were you aware that while partners are allowed, couples are not?”
“Yeah?” Buck’s voice climbs at the end, mirroring the same confusion Eddie feels painted over his features.
“Then you understand why we have to disqualify you.”
Spoiler alert: they're not a couple. (yet)
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“Probably been a minute since they got any,” Eddie says, voice dry.
“Been a minute for you too,” Buck shoots back, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to dip, or for him to step forward in that same breath.
Too late to take it back now though; the context, the subtext, the combination of it all, has propelled them right over the invisible line they’ve flirted with for nearly a decade, a line they tease and retreat from in equal measure, and— Here’s the thing, right?
Eddie won him.
Or, Eddie wins Buck at the auction, and Buck figures the least he can do is make the victory worthwhile.
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“I didn’t hit my head,” Eddie shakes his head free with an irritated huff and shoots Buck a glare. “Stop deflecting. What are you sorry for?”
(the flashback, the freeze,
the shove,
the dull, sickening thud of Eddie’s body taking the hit meant for him)
Buck swallows; where does he even begin? There is no stopping the barrage once he opens his mouth. The guilt will spill out messy and humiliating, and he will cry, and he will abase himself, and he will beg for forgiveness even though he is undeserving of it.
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There’s no marriage left to salvage. Shannon left him two years ago, and whatever fragile hope he was holding onto, whatever flickered in their bed two days ago, died the moment she recognised Buck.
But that’s not what he tells Buck.
“Right,” Eddie says, shifting his weight, crossing his arms across his chest. “And Shannon’s back, I mean you saw her the other day, so we’re gonna—” Eddie takes a breath. “—try again. And me and you can, you know, move on.”
Buck indulges in a threesome with a married couple in El Paso, Texas. Two years later, Eddie Diaz joins the 118. Buck really wishes those two facts weren’t related.
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“This your first commercial flight or something?”
“With you, yeah.” Buck’s grin widens, playful now, the earlier panic tucked safely away. “What, no commemorative gift?”
Eddie glances down at their joined hands—Buck’s fingers still loosely tangled with his, thumb still stroking the skin there. “Permanent custody of my hand ain’t cutting it for you?”
Or, Buck gets over his fear of flying, and joins the Mile High Club. Exactly in that order.
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“Oh.” The new toothpick is already sliding into Eddie’s mouth, making itself at home. Buck’s fingers had held it a moment ago. “Y’know, I didn’t— never realised you did that. W–with your mouth.”
“Did wha— Oh,” Eddie catches on mid-word, shrugs. “Yeah. Childhood habit, I guess. Thought I kicked it years ago but…”
“You do it a lot,” Buck blurts, then wants to saw his own tongue off.
It all starts with Eddie performing fellatio on a ringpop.
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And, well.
It keeps happening.
Buck invites: a dinner, a game, a just swing by, man.
Eddie dodges: laundry, groceries, whatever comes first before his mouth can betray him by saying I can’t be inside your house.
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“Catwoman, huh?” Buck’s eyes flick down again, snagging on the shape of Eddie’s torso. “Yeah, you’re, uh, pulling it off. But, uh…”
Buck straightens, licks his lips, voice shifting to something practiced, polite, and extremely strange to Eddie’s ears. “Look, you seem cool, and that suit’s... heh, working, but I’m— I’m not really doing the whole hookup thing anymore."
The words don’t register at first—then they do, and the world tilts, grin falling right off his face.
Buck doesn’t know it’s him.
Buck doesn’t know it’s Eddie.
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“What do you want?” Buck whispers, his hand trailing down Eddie’s thigh, fingers grazing the sensitive skin at the juncture. “Tell me.”
Eddie’s head thuds back against the pillow, eyes screwed shut. “Just—fuck—untie me, man.”
Buck leans close, shaking his head slowly, eyes flicking between rosy cheeks and taut arms, savouring Eddie’s obvious strain against the ropes. “No,” he drags out the syllable, “that’s not it. What do you really want, Eddie? What’s got you so worked up?”
“Shit,” Eddie breathes out, more to the heavens than to Buck. “I want—want you to touch me.”
It starts, as most things do, with a late-night research spiral.
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Buck’s hand slides up the length of Eddie’s arm, his palm catching along the edge of Eddie’s jaw. His other hand mirrors it, framing Eddie’s face with a careful reverence, eyes flitting across Eddie’s features, his lips the focal point.
“One kiss." Buck's words are so, so soft, laced with the slightest hint of determination.
“One kiss,” Eddie echoes, eyes fixated on the dark seam of Buck’s lips, the gentle arch of his cupid’s bow. “So I know.”
“So you know.”
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“And that’s what you want?
Buck meets his gaze again, steady. “I want sex to feel good. And this just makes me more sensitive to—heh—well, everything.”
“Sensitive?” Eddie asks, mouth suddenly dry. “How sens—sorry. Uh. Sensitive, how?”
Buck waxes his asshole. Eddie has a best-friend level of curiosity about that.
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The truth is, Eddie didn’t come back from Texas with just Chris.
He came back with the terrifying, undeniable knowledge that he’s in love with his best friend.
His partner. His co-parent. His person. And really—how else was this ever going to go?He just needs Buck to get with the program. And if he has to get a little crazy about it, so be it.
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“You’ve seen it, right?" Eddie drags a hand down his face before pointing at her with said hand. "He’s all… secretive. Texting all the time. Laughing. He’s just... not telling me things anymore.”
Hen gives him a flat look. “Telling us.”
“What? Yeah. That’s what I said.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. And for one sharp, uneasy second, Eddie braces for judgment. For the word overreacting. Which he’s not. Obviously. So she’d be wrong anyway.
Or, one's planning a Father's Day surprise, the other's planning a birthday surprise. Miscommunication galore.
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Eddie doesn’t mean to keep setting out two coffee mugs in the morning. It’s just habit — like glancing out the window for Buck’s Jeep, or cooking too much without thinking, or leaving Buck’s favourite throw blanket folded neatly on the couch, even though it’s been weeks since he last used it.
They say it takes sixty-six days to break a habit.
It’s only been eighteen.
Fuck.Or, Buck moves out, Eddie spirals, and a coffee mug becomes his final straw.
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“That’s literally what the flyer says," Buck points out. "First responders and their partners.”
He gestures between himself and the loft, where Eddie’s upstairs doing something productive and very unaware of what Buck is about to drag him into, and then shrugs like this is all very self-explanatory.
“We’re partners.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course!" Ravi says, and then slaps Buck on the back with a little too much enthusiasm. “Definitely sounds like you two could benefit from it.”
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Or, Buck misreads a flyer, signs up for couples therapy, and accidentally starts a relationship he didn’t know he was already in.