Work Text:
Eddie has a sweet tooth. He likes all kinds of food, but Buck knows he can win him over easiest with something sugary and sweet. He’s memorised a lot of Eddie’s favourites, the recipes burned into his brain, but the one Eddie is currently working on in front of him is one he truly wishes he could scrub from his mind — or, perhaps, from the universe. No one living or dead should have to witness the concoction Eddie is coming up with in front of him.
Eddie is thinly slicing pickles from a jar on a cutting board, then laying them on top of Reece’s peanut butter cups. This Buck could survive. It’s weird, it’s beyond strange, but then the third, evil ingredient joins the mix.
Eddie begins sprinkling little chilli flakes on top. He’s making a whole little tray for himself for their movie night. Buck knows about pregnancy cravings, but this– this is truly something to behold.
At least he’s not craving dirt. Buck read about that, too.
Eddie finishes preparing his little tray and smiles, content and pleased. He lifts one up, offering it to Buck, the molten chocolate of his eyes shining bright.
The gesture is so sweet. Eddie looks so happy. Buck wants to capture this moment forever, the snack aside, and keep it alongside the dozens and dozens of piling memories of happy, pregnant Eddie that he’s collected in the last few months. Some days are harder, heavier, especially when dysphoria creeps in, but there are so many good ones. Things are just so good.
“You wanna try?” Eddie asks.
No, no, no, fuck no, not really, I don’t even like pickles that much. I only eat the ones off your burger because you don’t normally like them, he thinks.
But what he actually says — because he’s whipped, in love, and their baby is growing inside Eddie's stomach — is, “Yeah, um… of course.”
He takes it, his hesitance hopefully smothered even slightly, and brings it up to his mouth. Eddie watches, lifting one of his own, and Buck meets him in the middle, cheersing the cups together.
He does not want to eat this. He thinks, under normal circumstances, someone could not pay him to eat this without a bucket nearby. And yet, here he is, preparing to sink his teeth into it in the middle of their kitchen.
But then Eddie bites into his first, moaning obscenely, eyes fluttering closed, and– okay. Maybe it’s not that bad! Maybe Buck can stomach it. His boyfriend wants him to eat his weird peanut butter, chocolate, chilli, and pickle combo, and he’s going to do it. Because he’s so brave, and he’s a good boyfriend.
He takes a bite, and immediately gags so violently that he feels a little light-headed before the coughing even begins. He drops it onto the table, turning his head and coughing a few times, the taste after just one chew lingering over the wet muscle of his tongue. He winces, grabs his beer from the table, and downs the whole thing in three long gulps.
The taste had been impossible to describe, like brine, and spice, and sickly-sweetness all at once — swirled in the worst way possible across the plane of Buck’s tongue. The beer does little to wash the suffering away, but it at least gets all the remains of it out of his mouth and teeth. Thankfully, he’d only taken a small, testing bite; otherwise, he thinks he might’ve simply died.
When he looks up, Eddie has an eyebrow raised and half a pickle-peanut butter cup in his hand. “You alright there, baby?”
Buck shoots him a wordless thumbs-up, fighting another retch.
Eddie reaches across the table, taking the ‘treat’ from Buck’s hand and popping it into his mouth, chewing it and swallowing it down. Sympathetic to Eddie’s gut, Buck’s own churns unhelpfully, making him almost gag again.
“You know you could’ve said no, right?” Eddie places his half-eaten snack on the tray, lifts it and steps out from behind the counter. He’s a little wobbly on his feet — still adjusting to the ever-growing added weight on his front. “I know my cravings are a little weird right now.”
“But you offered it to me.” Buck pouts.
Eddie’s expression softens. “Buck, I was being polite. Trust me, I do not particularly wanna share right now. I’m eating for two, and half the time, it feels like three.”
Buck’s eyes widen. Wait, is he ...
Eddie lifts a hand, halting the thought and Buck's almost words in their place. “But it’s not. Ultrasound, remember? There’s just one little avocado-sized you in here.”
He stands, then, closing the distance and putting a hand over Eddie’s stomach. “No, there’s an avocado-sized us in there.”
Eddie’s expression is so warm and loving in response that Buck feels like chocolate on a summer’s day, melted beneath a blood-warm thumb pressing into it. Buck is the one who closes the distance, leaning in and kissing Eddie softly, tasting his lips–
Oh no.
Tasting his lips.
His pickle juice, chilli, peanut-butter-covered lips.
Buck pulls back, face scrunched up, and wipes aggressively at his mouth with a nearby napkin.
Eddie rolls his eyes, fondness bleeding through, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head. “Okay, that one is on you. I wasn’t gonna kiss you till I brushed my teeth.”
“But I love kissing you!” Buck defends, wiping over his mouth once more, hoping to wipe away the last of the taste.
“And I love it when my boyfriend doesn’t look like he’s gonna throw up after he does kiss me.”
Touché.
Buck pouts, defeated, and kisses Eddie’s glowy pink cheek. His skin is so soft these days. It’s crazy.
“Fine. I’ll kiss you after you eat your–” Buck’s eyes flicker down to the evil, evil tray. “...Snack.”
Eddie taps Buck’s shin with his foot. “Can you try not to sound like you’re saying a slur when you say the word snack? Jesus, bud.”
Buck kisses his cheek apologetically. “Sorry. You go sit. I’m gonna grab another beer.”
He heads toward the fridge, listening as Eddie’s footsteps pad away down the hall. By the time Buck passes through the archway again, Eddie’s already settled on the couch with his shirt tugged up, one hand resting instinctively on the curve of his stomach, just beneath the faded pink scars beneath his pectorals. The tray is balanced on the armrest beside him a little unsteadily. He looks comfortable. Content. Soft and at home in their shared home in a way Buck doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.
Eddie seems so happy these days. Settled and relaxed despite the raging hormones inside of him. That’s all Buck wants for him. The TV hums in the background, playing a show that Buck doesn’t recognise, but it’s really just background noise to the soft hum of joy filling their home. Fuck. Buck is so happy. He’s so, so happy.
Eddie glances up and smiles. “Can you grab me the jar?” He pauses, then adds, casual as anything, “And the mint ice cream from the freezer?”
Buck stops mid-step, fingers tightening around the neck of his beer. He fights a wince. “Any chance you’re gonna eat those separately?”
Eddie doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he picks up another peanut-butter-chilli-pickle cup, pops it into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, then swallows. Only then does he look back at Buck. “No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”
Buck stares at him for a second, then exhales through his nose. “Okay. One second.”
And he turns on his heels, dutifully stalking all the way back to the kitchen to gather further items for Eddie’s monstrous combinations.