Fics like beg for it, buttercup

Buck maneuvers them backward, guiding Eddie by the hips until he’s flush against the counter, bracketed in tight with Buck standing fully between his legs. One of Buck’s hands cradles the back of Eddie’s neck, thumb resting at the base of his skull, a possessive little pressure point that sends sparks straight down his spine. The other slips beneath his shirt and stays there, palm flat against his bare stomach, heat seeping into him like a slow infection. “God,” Buck says, almost pitying. “You’re shaking.” “I’m not,” Eddie lies, breath catching as Buck’s thumb brushes a line just above the waistband of his jeans. “You are. You’ve got a full-body hard-on and nowhere to put it.” Buck grins against his mouth, nipping once at his bottom lip before pulling away just enough to look down. “I mean, you’re so fucking hard. Did the cornfield do it? Or was it the blood type?” Or, Eddie thinks Buck's sexy cowboy romance novel is ridiculous. No one on earth finds “claimed like the prairie” sexy. Buck takes that as a personal challenge and proves Eddie wrong in the most humiliating way possible.

Fics like beg for it, buttercup

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