Raven_Writes
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Summary
Eddie has never flipped his phone over so fast. Chris looks up, eyebrows raised.
“Did Buck send you another snake picture?” he asks.
He can't say no, because Buck… Buck did. But not of a rattlesnake mid-strike this time. He sent an entirely different sort of snake. He nods, his throat too dry to speak.
Buck sends Eddie a nude. Eddie can't stop thinking about it.
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Buck chuckles, digging his fingernails into the expanse of Eddie’s hips. “Don’t forget the name of the game… truth or dare?”
“I hate you,” Eddie hisses as he lets his head hit the door with blunt force, the sound echoing throughout the empty house. Bad idea. That may hurt tomorrow.
“Feels like it.” Buck pauses to pull back, sweat dripping down his forehead, his cheeks blotchy and his nose beet red. Eddie wants to lick it up, wants to take another shot of tequila and chase it down with Buck’s sweat and a squeeze of lime. “You’re still so hard, Eds.”
Or; Eddie and Buck get drunk on tequila and they play a very intense game of Truth or Dare.
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"That is. Okay. Where do I start." Pushing off the counter — hands need to be free for this. "Number one. That is not how being secure in your sexuality works. Number two. That is the opposite of how it works. Number three. Most straight men who are secure in their sexuality do not, as a method of confirming this, seek out gay sex. That is— Eddie, that is gay. The thing you are describing is gay. The act of doing it is gay. There is no version of this where you end up more straight at the other end."
Eddie scoffs. "You don't know that."
"I do know that."
"You don't."
"Eddie, I am bi. I have personally conducted this experiment. The results are in."
Or,
Eddie asks Buck to fuck him to prove he's straight. Things go about as well as you'd think.Series
- Part 1 of veni, vidi, vici
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Summary
Eddie keeps forgetting that he has a girlfriend. Or that Buck has a boyfriend.
a.k.a:
Chimney's bachelor party, as told in two parts.
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Summary
"Leave it," Eddie says, his voice pulled taut like a wire about to snap, tight enough to hum.
Buck looks at him, and Eddie’s whole body has gone so rigid he looks carved from stone, but Buck will ruminate on that later. But he can't exactly leave his phone under the seat for the next eight hundred miles, it's got his whole life on it, every stupid photo he's ever taken of Christopher and Eddie and Eddie and Christopher and, embarrassingly, just Eddie, so many just-Eddies, an entire hidden album of candids he'll never admit to because they constitute evidence of something he's been pretending he doesn't feel.
"I can't leave it, it's my phone. It's got— hold on, I think it slid under your seat."
“Buck, don’t.”
It’s as if Eddie doesn’t even know him, because Buck has never once heard the word don’t and responded with anything resembling obedience. So now he’s stretching across the center console with one hand braced on Eddie’s thigh for leverage, the other reaching blindly into the dark gap beneath the driver’s seat, and he’s aware on some level that his positioning is— that he’s essentially— that his head is—
He’s in Eddie’s lap.
Or,
What's a little road-head between friends?