#didn’t realize how touch starved i am until he started the little hand/forearm massage | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elisela · 4 years

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touch has a memory & mine is you buck x eddie, for @buckleysbabe on her birthday ♥️ (ao3)

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It starts small—just Buck’s hand wrapping around his wrist to tug him close when a crowd of people at Dodger Stadium nearly separate them as they meet in front of the stadium—but when Buck starts to let go, Eddie swings his arm in closer, presses their bare forearms together. It’s been weeks since they’ve spent time together; another earthquake and dozens of first responders injured across the city meant temporary transfers and shifts being changed from 24-72 to 24-48, and they somehow hadn’t found time for anything other than phone calls and texts for nearly a month.

“God, I missed you,” Buck says, and when he swings his arm up on Eddie’s shoulders, Eddie can’t help but lean into it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to pull back, embarrassed. “I knew you’d be late, Buck, we’re gonna miss the first pitch.”

Buck makes a noise and pulls him closer. “Yeah, yeah, there’s at least 200 more after that,” he says.

“That’s—” he wrinkles up his nose, thinking, “seven pitches per batter on average. Kershaw is starting tonight—”

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, “are you seriously trying to lecture me about baseball already? You know I need a beer before you start in on all this.”

Eddie elbows him in retaliation, but Buck still doesn’t move his arm, so Eddie elbows him harder, until he snatches it away and hits Eddie back, the two of them play fighting like children until they get up to the gate and Buck backs away, pulling the tickets out of his pocket, and Eddie misses the heat of his body even though it’s what he had meant to happen.

----

Eddie had never realized how much Buck touched him until he wasn’t anymore. His new crew at Station 69 (which had made Buck snort milk through his nose when Bobby had given him the—temporary—transfer papers) aren’t a close bunch; they have his number and he’s gotten a few texts on his off hours, but no one is spending their days off with him, sending him pictures of cats available for adoption and whining when he points out how much work an animal is, and certainly no one has shown up at his house unannounced with take-out and a new board game. And they certainly aren’t as touchy as his team; no one squeezes his shoulder as they pass by, knocks their arms together on the way to the truck, or sprawls against his side while they play video games on the couch. They’re perfectly respectful of his personal space, and Eddie fucking hates it.

He makes it three innings before Buck twists in his seat towards him and leans in with an intense look on his face, knee bumping up against Eddie’s. “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Betts is on first and Hernandez is up to the plate, but he’s got two strikes and—Buck, seriously, haven’t I taught you enough about baseball for you to be able to follow this?”

Buck looks unimpressed. “I meant with you. You’re—weird.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Buck says. “Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You are now,” he says, looking away. “Let it go. And don’t you dare start singing that song.” Buck huffs out a breath next to him, and when he doesn’t move away, Eddie stands up. “I’m gonna go grab more beers,” he says, ignoring the half-full bottles in the cupholders in front of them, and he flees.

----

Chris is going through a phase.

At least, that’s what Eddie hopes it is.

Twelve is apparently too old to be hugged by your dad, to let him give you a kiss goodbye, or goodnight—too old for anything except an occasional bump against the shoulder in the kitchen, or a fist bump a second before he opens the door to the truck to be dropped off at school.

If Eddie holds his arms out, Chris looks at him flatly. If Eddie follows him to his bedroom door at night to tuck him in, Chris draws his name out through several syllables and declares that he’s not a kid and definitely doesn’t need to be tucked in. If Eddie reaches out a hand to place on his back while they go out to dinner, or to a movie, Chris ducks out of his way and shakes his head.

The touch-aversion is killing Eddie.

----

In the sixth, Buck’s fingers brush against his as he hands him a plate of nachos.

In the seventh, Seager hits a homerun and his skin buzzes after Buck gives him a high-give, lacing their fingers together briefly before Eddie pulls away.

In the eighth, he squeezes past Eddie to use the bathroom, one hand on Eddie’s waist when Eddie stands to let him through.

After the ninth, he stays in his seat, looking over at Eddie thoughtfully as they wait for the crowd to thin out before leaving. “You gonna talk to me now? No one’s around.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says. There’s not. So what if no one has touched Eddie outside of calls in a month? So what if that sort of contact isn’t enough for him, if he craves the kind of touch Buck has so freely given him over the years? It’s not Buck’s problem that Eddie is touch starved, and he refuses to make it his problem. He just needs a little distance, because every time Buck touches him, it’s all Eddie can do to not plaster himself to Buck and take the comfort he desperately wants.

Buck groans. “Eds, it’s been a month since we’ve gotten to see each other and if you think I’ve forgotten how to tell when something is wrong, I haven’t. Did I do something? Did we make plans that I forgot about, or—” he reaches out and puts his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie stands up.

“Come on,” he says, “traffic’s probably died down a little by now.”

----

It’s not that he doesn’t know what his problem is, or that he hasn’t tried to solve it. He’d tried a massage—extremely uncomfortable once he’d realized that he was basically paying someone to make him feel good and couldn’t get the thought out of his head—gotten an unnecessary haircut, tried a pedicure.

Nothing worked.

He doesn’t want someone to touch him just because he wants it, he wants them to want it, too. He doesn’t want fingers digging into tired ankles, he wants someone’s palm to rest against his skin and stay there, to put down roots and make a home inside him.

He wants—deperately—Buck.

----

It doesn’t surprise him to see the Jeep’s headlights sweep across the front of his house a few minutes after he arrives home; he hadn’t bothered locking the door, knowing that ignoring four of Buck’s phone calls meant that he would surely show up.

But Buck doesn’t come in and make himself at home, just opens the door, leans against the frame with arms crossed over his chest, and says, “why don’t you want me touching you? Why didn’t you just say something? I would have stopped, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him in, but Buck stays stubbornly where he is. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Buck insists. “I made you uncomfortable, and I—I’m really sorry, Eddie. I just—can you tell me why?”

Eddie tilts his head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose; Buck sounds hurt and small, and Eddie knows without a doubt that if he lets him leave feeling like this, they’re going to go weeks without seeing each other again, and the phone calls will drop off, too. He scrubs a hand across his face, takes in a deep breath and says, eyes still focused on the ground in front of him, “I haven’t—no one’s touched me in weeks.”

Buck is silent.

“I thought I might not be able to stop,” he admits. “I just want—” he stops, shakes his head. “It’s pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know if you hug someone for twenty seconds, it releases oxytocin?” Buck asks, and Eddie hears the front door closing before Buck’s footsteps sound across the floor. “There’s a surprising amount of health benefits,” he says, and Eddie looks up in time to see Buck’s hands reaching for him.

He goes willingly when Buck pulls him up, buries his head in Buck’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, and breathes him in. Twenty seconds—that’s new. They’re quick huggers, usually, lingering for a few seconds sometimes, hands on each other's shoulders or waists, but it’s—comforting. Buck is warm against him, and Eddie loses count when he gets to twenty in his head and Buck still doesn’t move except for the rhythmic sweep of fingertips along the back of his neck. He gives in and lets his body melt against Buck’s, lets his fingers creep up into Buck’s hair and run through the soft strands, gives up his dignity entirely and pushes the arm around Buck’s waist underneath the shirt he’s wearing and places his palm against skin.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, and a shiver jolts up his spine, and Eddie blames that for the very stupid, very reckless thing he does next: slides his hand further up into Buck’s hair to hold his head still, tilts his own head up, and kisses him. He kisses him like he’s been wandering the desert for days and Buck has handed him water, kisses him like the last bit of air left in the world resides in Buck’s lungs, kisses him like he’s a sinner and Buck is his reconciliation.

His knees hit the back of the couch and he falls, Buck landing on his lap, and Buck only moves away to say, “this isn’t just because—please tell me this—”

“It’s not,” Eddie says, chasing after Buck’s mouth, “Jesus, you have no idea—”

“Kinda think I do,” Buck says, and he dips down to kiss him again. “Hey Eddie,” he says, hands framing Eddie’s face, thumbs brushing over his skin, “did you know that skin to skin contact reduces the amount of cortisol in your body?”

Eddie can’t stop touching him—hands on his waist, stroking up his back, digging his fingertips into Buck’s biceps as they kiss. He hums, reeling in his desperation, the desire that sings through his frantic heartbeat. “Got any suggestions?”

“I can think of a few,” Buck says, and his fingertips dance along the hemline of Eddie’s shirt.

----

Later—hours later—Eddie’s sprawled out on his front, head pillowed on Buck’s shoulder, fingertips counting out the steady beat of Buck’s pulse as Buck sweeps his hand gently up and down Eddie’s back. And he loves it, but—“you don’t have to keep touching me,” he says into Buck’s skin. “Don’t feel like—”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“Then let me keep doing it,” Buck says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #two touch starved fools tbh #soft soft soft #happy birthday elisa!

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gauntie-o-dimm · 5 years

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Lambert | Caught Red Handed

Prompt: ‘I wish it was you instead of my hand.’

Word count: 2500+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, anal fingering

My hands were pruned by holding them into the hot water for a little too long, but scrubbing Lamberts blood-stained armor against the washboard was no easy task. The scent of the strong soap stung in my nose and I rubbed some hair from my face before resuming this pesky chore - but then, it was something that had to be done. Was it up to the Witcher himself, he would walk around covered in body fluids and smelling of death, for the nasty smells left him unfazed. However, ever since we were in a relationship, he changed his ways. Under one condition, though: he would take a daily bath provided that I washed his clothes for him. Me, as a great girlfriend, agreed upon that, not only doing my own laundry, but his as well. I was just done hanging up the shirt that he wore under his coat - a shirt that had been crisp white once but now displayed a more grey haze - when I heard the front door open and close. Every few weeks, Lambert would crash at my place for a while, unwinding from his life as a Witcher and getting a taste of domestic bliss instead; something I think he never really was a man for, until he ran into me. But then, after all, I was the one to offer him to stay at my place every now and then. Healthy relationships always contained a sense of give-some and take-some.

'Hey babe.' he greeted, leaning down to press a kiss onto my lips - though he smelled so utterly of sweat and blood that I instinctively pulled back. The kiss landed on my jaw instead, though with a cheeky movement of his head. 'Alright then, I think I get the hint.' Hit cat eyes shimmered as he undid his armor, all whilst keeping that naughty glint as they rested on me. He tossed his dirty attire in the assigned laundry basket, much to my delight. Often, he had the bad habit of just leaving it on the floor, so I wasn't complaining. 'How was work today?' Lambert sighed, shaking his head. 'Slow and fruitless. Sat there waiting for a griffin ankle deep in mud, but it didn't show up.' 'You better not have left muddy footprints on my porch!' 'Well, you should have to double check that!' I playfully splashed some water in his direction, but he was able to avoid it anyways. 'Go take a bath, you stinky child!' 'Yes, boss!' Shaking my head with a smirk plastered onto my face, I continued doing the laundry until all pieces of armor were pinned to the clothing line to dry. I took a basket that contained dry, clean clothes and went on my way to put them in my dresser that was located in the bedroom. However, when I passed the bathroom on my way there, a low groan stopped me in my tracks. It made the hairs of my neck stand on end at how deep it sounded and an immediate fire started to burn in the pit of my stomach. The laundry basket was slightly tilted, causing the neatly folded clothes to fall to the floor, but I didn't mind. Instead, I rushed to the door of the bathroom, pressing my ear against the door to listen - hoping to hear another of those delicious sounds leave the Witcher's lips. '(Y/n)... Fuck... Take it... Oh, shit, you're so tight...' I immediately realized what he was doing. I pressed my legs together, hoping to soothe some of the ache that grew in between them. In addition, I only hoped he would moan my name again so he'd bring back memories from previous nights between the sheets, be it at Kaer Morhen or right here in my bedroom. '(Y/n)...' His voice was clearer now, different, mischievous. '(Y/n)...' It wasn't a moan, nor a grunt. It was as if he was... Calling to me?' '(Y/n), I know you're there. You can come in, if you want. The door isn't locked.' I nearly stumbled forward, ready to run. My feet however, for some reason, were glued to the ground, unable to move. It wasn't as if I hadn't seen Lambert naked before, and we were both turned on now, right? I thickly swallowed, letting my gaze fall to the floor for a moment. Then, I shifted, taking the doorknob and twisting it open. It was indeed unlocked and I shyly made my way inside, closing it behind me before finally daring to face the brunet Witcher, who was smirking at me rather naughtily. 'Hey there, babe... Noticed you listening in on me while I was touching myself.' He palmed his own manhood, jerking off his glistening length underwater. If I looked concentrated enough, I could just make out the vague outlines through the fading bubbles. He just smirked perversely, eyeing my body up and down with a confidence as if I hadn't just walked in on him with a fistful of himself and my name on his tongue. 'I think you should come closer. After all, I can smell your arousal from here, and as for me... Well, I wish it was you instead of my hand.' The offer was tempting. I shuffled towards him, suddenly bashful and insecure. Even though we had sex plenty times before and we were a couple, it still made me feel like I had walked in on something wholly private. But if Lambert minded, he wouldn't have let me know that he knew of my previously hush-hush presence.

I sat down on the edge of the tub, letting him wrap a wet arm around me, causing my dress to grow damp. He moved his other hand to undo the straps and buttons that held my dress together, letting it free until my breasts spilled out from the top. 'There. This place is warm enough, don't you think?' He moved his face in a way with a certain expression that told me that I had to kiss him. I obeyed this silent demand, leaning down to plant my lips against his. Whereas I did not make haste, Lambert was quick to grope at the mounds of flesh that hung from my shirt, rolling one of my nipples between his fingers. The Witcher almost seemed touch-starved, tongue rolling against mine with such a need that it took my breath away. I gasped softly as he nibbled on my bottom lip, giving a cheeky smile as I pulled back. 'Do you like it when I pinch your nipples like this?' he asked with a tone of his voice that was reserved for bedroom-affairs only. I whimpered as he massaged one of the buds, taking the other in his mouth, kissing saliva-laden marks all over it.

My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His body was damp and caused water to seep through my clothes, but I didn't mind. I had a feeling that they soon would be discarded on the cold bedroom tiles, only to be loaded with the smell of lavender by tomorrow morning. Lambert licked and sucked away at my breasts, cat-like eyes looking up at me, fingers electric to the touch as they managed to slip under my dress, pushing up the heavy fabric until it was halfway up my thighs.

I swatted his hand away from tugging at my briefs - after all, he was the one that was turned on in the first place. Following the act of rolling up my sleeves until they were safely secured behind my elbows, I moved in a way that one hand was in front of him, the other resting on the bathtub for support. Lambert leaned back, knowing damn well what I was up to. 'Oh, you cheeky thing.' I raised an eyebrow, slipping my hand into my underwear, coating my palm with my slick. The action made the Witcher grunt in arousal, his head falling back to rest on the edge. 'Holy shit. Are you going to...' An answer wasn't coming, or not a verbal one at least. I slipped my hand under the hot water of the tub, which was still surprisingly warm, despite Lambert already being in here for quite some time. I found his swollen length between the foam and bubbles, taking a firm hold of him as a sharp hiss left his lips, teeth gritted as I started to move my hand up and down. He braced his feet against the wood of the tub, bucking his hips upwards as I jerked him off, tugging on his length to feel every vein and crevice jerk in my grip. Lambert gritted his teeth, head rolling backwards and a grunt once again filling the bathroom. I liked the way he smelled right now, a mixture of lavender, blade oil and sex.

The brunets hand reached up, pulling me down for a rough kiss, a loud grunt being forced past my lips, trembling through my body. I stroked the head of his cock, gathering the pleasure that was already forming on the slit. One thing I never got used to was that Lambert could always cum extremely fast, especially when I wasn't being pleasured, but just him, as if he was in a hurry to touch me instead. '(Y/n), fuck!' he hissed, rolling his lower body into my palm. At the way he was throbbing, I could make up that he was close to orgasm. Without stopping, I continued the handjob, kissing his forehead in a sweet manne

My sleeve fell towards my forearm, my dress becoming wet underwater, but it was the least thing I cared about right now. Instead, I kept stroking him, tugging at the exact right places to have him buck his hips in my grip. Despite the water, his member was slick and slippery. 'Oh, babe, I am going to burst alright!' 'Do it, then.' I coaxed him, pressing a kiss on his hair, 'Come on, baby. I might have a surprise for you.' 'Can I eat your cunt?' he pleaded, groping my thigh. 'Oh please, I want you to ride my face after this... Fuck, right there baby girl! Oh, fuck yes!' I lightly laughed at how intensely he needed my hand around his cock right now, wholly enveloped by it as he started to thrust out his orgasm; hot seed spilled from the tip, leaking over my hand. Lambert groaned out loud, biting his lip tightly until he drew blood. 'Oh, I love you... I love you...' he murmured, contently rolling back his head as his high finished.

But I wasn't done, yet. I shifted, still holding onto his swollen member, but able to reach behind him as well. My other hand now gathered some of my own slick, that was easier to reach from the angle I was sitting in - though uncomfortable, he was now in between my arms. 'Raise your body up a little, Lambert.' I instructed, watching him knit his brows together in confusion, but he obeyed anyway. I circled one wet circle around his asshole, lubing it up and watching his reaction. The Witcher had not expected me to touch him that way, so he gasped loudly before turning beet-red. 'I am going to put my finger in your ass, okay?' He let out a small groan and nodded. 'Okay, (Y/n)... I trust you.' And with that, I added my index finger, turning it in a way so I could stimulate his prostate - it was something I had read the other day, a nifty trick that could make a man come much more intensely. Thus, I wiggled the digit around until I was one knuckle deep. 'Relax, darling...' I hushed his grunts, 'If you want to stop, just tell me.' 'Please, continue!' he pleaded, voice panicking as if I would stop. I took my hand from his length, moving it under my skirt, getting some extra lube to be able to insert my finger further, as well as a dollop of saliva to go with it. I rubbed it around the area before placing my palm back around his erect cock, managing to slip my finger in a little more whilst continuously stroking him. The Witcher seemed to completely get into the feeling, only moaning louder at the moment I found the plum-sized lump about three inches deep, starting to finger it with a slight ache of my finger. The only thing that held me from withdrawing the sore digit was the reaction I got from Lambert; complete awe and bliss. Moving my finger against his rectum all while giving him a handjob... And the knowledge of Lambert being submissive for once, it made it all better for me as well.

His fingers curled against the bath, gripping onto it but slipping away because it was wet, soon settling on my thighs instead to get some kind of brace against the jerks of his body. He was thoroughly enjoying this; and so was I.

Lambert was grunting loudly, eyes wide open as he stared at me. His mouth opened and shut, unable to let out any words, whimpering at the over-stimulation. Oh, I loved it how he was nearly crying at the way my finger moved in sync with my movements around his length, my grip slimy from his previous release. I kept fingering his prostate, looking him straight in the eye while doing so. 'Fuck, (Y/n)!' the Witcher murmured, overwhelmed by the new sensation. He was quivering now, legs trembling as I kept stroking his cock, that had started to throb once again. 'Oh fuck, I'm going to cum again!' he announced, lifting his hips from the bath before he sent a new load of his seed all over my hand. I tutted satisfactorily, tilting my head slightly before milking him through the high, until I knew he was fully spent.

He just flopped down against the edge, nearly slipping down, water splashing against his exhausted face. He was still trying to catch his breath, but I pressed a rough kiss onto his mouth nevertheless. 'You incredible woman.' Lambert breathed, his heart thumping in his chest though calming down. I smiled and pressed a kiss onto his jaw. 'Did you like it?' As if I had to ask... He smirked widely, leaning in to kiss me firmly. 'I loved it. I think that was the most intense orgasm I've ever had.' 'I should certainly finger your ass more often.' Lambert let out a chuckle, nodding firmly. 'I agree with that. Oh, I still feel all fuzzy down there.' I propped myself up against the edge of the tub, smiling up at him. 'Do you want to go for another round?' The Witcher didn't have to hear that a second time. He pulled me into the bath with him, causing us both to burst out in laughter. My dress was soaked now, but it had to be added to the pile of laundry, anyways. 'Seems like I can never get anything done in this household, Lambert.' He let out a small laugh. 'I agree. Not when I am around, anyways.'

#lambert x reader #lambert #the witcher #witcher x reader #smut

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