Chapter Text
The second time Buck “invites” Eddie to a club, he is adamant that he will not leave his side.
“That’s what you said last time,” Eddie points out, nonplussed. The wide-eyed, almost comical look of apology in Buck’s eyes would make him crack any other time, but then Eddie remembers the couple standing in the station lobby, the way their eyes lingered on Buck. The exact way that Buck had said it was kind of mind-blowing, actually, with that little smirk that’s half-sheepish, half-smug, all infuriatingly charming on his face.
“C’mon, Eddie, that was last time, I promise I’ll do better this time! Scout’s honor.”
Eddie snorts. “You were never a scout. Too much discipline.”
“Explains why you liked being one so much, then,” Buck fires back instinctively. Then he shakes his head, which is good, because it means he doesn’t see Eddie’s full-body flush. “Which is not the point.”
“Buck.”
“Eddie,” Buck shoots back, with the easy grin that always makes Eddie feel at once like a giddy kid and an idiot who’s missed several steps in the conversation. “C’mon- actually, no, you don’t have a choice. We’re going out again.”
“Chris-”
“Is sleeping over at Maddie’s. I already got her to agree.”
Eddie glares at him, which works approximately as well as anything else does. He can’t even scold him for scheduling a sleepover with his kid without his knowledge, because Buck’s had the right to do that since Eddie made him the legal guardian of his baby boy without informing him beforehand.
“You are a menace,” he tells Buck.
Buck just flashes a toothy smile back, not answering. They both know that he has Eddie in check and mate.
At least, Eddie thinks, hours later. He didn’t bring Ravi this time.
Actually, Eddie isn't sure if it is a good thing for Ravi not to be here. On one hand, Eddie won't have to see the look of pitying bafflement in his eyes as Eddie sweats and gripes his way out of actually meeting any women. On the other, Eddie also doesn't have anyone to make commiserating eye contact with when Buck, well, goes full Buck.
“Eds!” Buck beams as he swings an arm over Eddie’s shoulders, shoving a heavy-bottomed glass filled with something colorful into his hands with his free hand. “Look who asked about you when I was grabbing your drink!”
Eddie, concealing a wince, looks at the woman trailing after Buck with a bemused expression on her face. Admittedly, she’s an attractive woman, wavy chestnut hair falling over her shoulders and a perfect cupid’s bow of a smile. She waves at him, and he nods back, suddenly feeling cold sweat gather at the base of his nape.
“Buck,” he tries to hiss. Buck’s arm just tightens around his neck, which makes Eddie’s body go hot in a way that he refuses to think about.
“Hey,” the girl says, either not noticing or ignoring the expression on Eddie’s face. “I was just talking to, uh, Buck? And I couldn’t not meet the guy he was talking up so much.”
It’s meant to be a conversation opener, probably. Eddie is too busy getting caught up in the words the guy he was talking up so much. What did she mean by that? What did Buck say about him? Does Eddie even want to know?
Buck shakes him by the shoulders slightly, moving him easily even with one arm. “Yeah, this is Edmundo Diaz himself!” He beams, so bright and fond that it makes him glow under neon lights.
“Eddie,” Eddie corrects. There’s a beat, and he realizes that he should probably say something else. He opens his mouth again. Hm, nothing is coming out. He closes it.
“Pull her in, give her a handshake,” he startles when he feels Buck’s breath on his neck, the arm around his shoulders tugging him close, his voice low and amused against the shell of Eddie’s ear. “C’mon, Eddie. She wants you to touch her first.”
He moves away before Eddie can even let himself register the hot breath, thick arm, easy teasing. Eddie blinks away the loss, and his arm is reaching forward without permission, taking the woman’s hand loose and casual, her smile beaming wide as she uses the excuse to pull him in for a half-hug. When they part, she lets her hand linger, and Eddie’s eyes dart towards Buck to see his reaction, if he did it right.
Buck’s eyes wrinkle at the edges with the force of his grin. “Good,” he mouths, and the dim lights of the club means that Eddie has an excuse for why he has to stare so intently at the shape of his cupid-bow lips.
And that-- that does something to Eddie. Something that uncoils his shoulders, makes him turn to look at the girl with more intent. Buck wants this for him, and Buck has always been better at wanting things for Eddie than Eddie has wanting things for himself. And maybe this is the two shots and half a cocktail in his system, but if this is what Buck says he wants for Eddie, then--
He lets himself smile back at Buck, turns it to the woman, who stares at him with eyes that linger. She introduces herself -- “Angelique, but call me Angel.” -- and Eddie hums, answers when she asks what he does, giving her the careful charm that he usually reserves for patients and PTA meetings.
It works, it always does, because Eddie is at his best when he’s not thinking too hard about anything. She smiles at him, leans in, and he lets his eyes sweep over the curves of her body because he thinks that’s what he’s meant to be doing. She is beautiful, and somewhere in the back of his mind twinges a spark of interest, but he’s more aware of the heavy presence beside them, the hands holding onto his strings.
Because Buck doesn't move away, is the thing. If anything, he moves closer, a six-foot-two shadow at Eddie’s side, sipping his drink and watching Eddie with an approving glint in his eyes. He interjects occasionally, just to correct or add to some story Eddie is telling, but he doesn’t seem all that fussed about being included in the conversation, content to just watch. To watch Eddie.
It occurs to Eddie that this should feel weird, intrusive.
It just feels safe.
“So,” Angel says eventually, bold as brass and leaning over their tiny standing table towards him. Eddie doesn’t lean away, because there’s a weight over his shoulders and this has never felt right but it does now, with Buck. “Is this…a two for one deal, or…?”
Eddie chokes on his drink a little, tilting to the side. Buck’s arm stops him, steadies him. Eddie blinks at Angel, who mostly looks amused, maybe…interested? Eddie opens his mouth: “N-”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Buck-”
There’s something intent in Buck’s voice, the kind of tone that he takes when he’s doing inventory or training probies or when he actually wants Eddie to knock something off. But his expression is smiling, half the earnest lopsided grin that Eddie is used to, half something sharper, more- something. “C’mon, Eddie,” he says, voice blurred at the edges by alcohol. “I promised, didn’t I? I’m not leaving your side at all tonight.”
Angelique looks between the two of them thoughtfully. When her eyes catch Eddie’s, she grins. “I don’t have an issue with a two for one deal,” she says, something delighted in her voice. Eddie wonders, suddenly, if this is what she’d been aiming for all along. “Especially not if they look like you two.”
Before Eddie can figure out what to say, Buck is leaning forward, half-pulling Eddie along with him. “Oh, I’m not joining,” he says, so confident that it almost makes his words sound normal. “I’m just here to make sure that you treat Eddie right.”
A raise of manicured eyebrows. “You think I can’t treat your guy right?”
“Oh, you definitely can,” Buck hums, dimple out. Eddie’s stomach flips at his tone, the easy way they refer to Eddie as Buck’s guy, the way the two of them are speaking, as if he wasn’t even there, as if it’s all out of his hands. “But I can give you some tips and tricks, make sure that you two have a better time.”
“And if you get to watch…”
A wink, rakish. “I’m not gonna say no to a view.”
Eddie- Eddie is definitely not sober enough to parse the implications of that. Or drunk enough, either one. He’s pretty sure that Buck isn’t, either. There’s something in his words that feels like a challenge, somehow. A challenge to Eddie, and Eddie has never known how not to fall for Buck’s teasing.
Angel doesn't seem deterred, either. “Well, I definitely don’t have a problem with having an audience,” she purrs, in the same confident way that Buck does, the same spark in her eyes that makes something hot lick up the column of Eddie’s spine. She looks at Buck, sweeping her eyes over him in a deliberate once-over. “At least, not if the audience looks like you.”
Buck tilts his head, sweet and unbearably attractive the way only he can quite pull off. “In that case,” he grins, tongue poking out from his teeth, thigh to thigh with Eddie. “You wanna get out of here?”
Angel laughs, holds out a hand to Eddie. Buck watches him. Eddie looks back at the both of them, beautiful under the strobing lights.
He throws back the last of his drink.
Eddie doesn't know how they end up at Buck’s place, except that Buck was the one who called the uber and ushered them in, shoving Eddie in the middle seat before sliding in on his other side. Angelique presses her ankle to Eddie’s calf, and Buck presses their pinkies together side by side. Eddie tries not to pop a boner in front of the uber driver, or to meet their eyes through the rear-view window.
Angel slips out of the car first, all long legs and the smell of whiskey and amber. Eddie fumbles with his seatbelt in the dark for a moment, before a warm hand nudges his aside. A click, and Buck has a twinkle in his eye as he pushes Eddie out the car door.
Eddie stumbles, and slender hands catch him by the arms. He blinks into Angel’s smiling face, her body leaning into his.
“What are you waiting for?” The sound of the uber engine growing dim is set behind Buck’s words, and Eddie opens his mouth to make a snarky reply back but then-- lipstick, whiskey, spit, a familiar dance that Eddie takes a beat to orient himself into.
The first time Shannon had kissed him was at sixteen, two months before the end of sophomore year and tiring of his half-baked attempts to ask her out. She had worn lipstick stolen from the bottom of her mother’s vanity, a shade of red too stark against her freckled skin, and Eddie had balked a little at the texture of it, the taste.
They had learned how to kiss each other in the weeks, months, years after that, nineteen and standing at an altar, twenty and aiming for normalcy over a newborn, twenty-six and in place of words. Later, he would kiss Ana feather-light and sweet, the press of her skin as insubstantial as their relationship turned out to be.
Marisol was more like Shannon, fingers curling into his hair and taking, and past the part of him that recoiled after realizing her connection with the church was a part of him that cracked open at the knowledge. That opened his mouth beneath her like an offering, like her lips taking from him could forgive him for something he could not yet confess.
Angel kisses like none of them. There’s an ease in the way her lips move under Eddie’s that feels practiced, casual. Eddie has never done casual before, never tasted it chalky and sharp on someone’s tongue. His mind throws out the question, just for a moment, of whether Buck kisses like this with people he meets at the club, too. Maybe not-- Buck has always been earnest in everything he does, competent in a way that felt like he put his whole heart into it. Maybe he would’ve kissed Eddie like he loved him, instead.
He locks the thought away as Angel slips her tongue along his canines almost playfully, hands wandering up his sides and sliding into his hair. In heels, they’re nearly the same height, and Eddie feels the damp sweat on her skin at the small of her back, the smoothness of makeup on her jaw. He pulls her closer, and she hums approvingly, nips at his bottom lip in a way that makes him make a soft, embarrassing sound.
Their lips make a slick, wet sound as they slide apart, breathing bittersweet and alcohol-sharp into each other’s parted lips. Eddie can’t help it-- he slides his gaze to the side, turns his eyes towards Buck. Buck, who’s standing in his peripheral vision, long legs and sweat-damp hair, mouth slightly parted and eyes on Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
Eddie swallows. Stares back, asking without wanting to say it out loud.
Angelique’s voice rings out, too: “Well?” her tone is soft, a little amused. “How do you like the show so far?”
There’s a moment of silence, and Eddie watches something flit across Buck’s face, an expression that Eddie has never seen on him before. For a moment, he wonders if this -- the reality of it, the physicality of it, has reminded Buck of how crazy this all is, has made the lines between them blurred by club lights sharp in relief again. He thinks for a moment, watching him, that Buck might leave, and Eddie-- Eddie considers, idly, what he’ll have to say to coax Angel back into an Uber and far away from Buck’s house once he does.
And then Buck opens his mouth, and his voice is throaty, half-hoarse, intent in a way that makes Eddie feel flayed open and wanting.
“Run your hand through his hair again,” he says. His voice is warmer than the dim light of the streetlights dotting the street, lighting Eddie up just as easily. The sound of soft, feminine laughter, and Eddie shudders as slender fingers scratch over his scalp, catching through his hair. “See how much he likes it when you pull on his hair, just a little?”
A pause, and Buck’s voice returns, sharper, intent, knowing without Eddie having to say. “Pull on it harder. He likes when it hurts.”
Eddie doesn’t have the chance to brace himself before the sharp-sweet sting hits, the fingers in his hair twisting, pulling, baring his throat sharply as his face tilts back. His mouth parts in a gasp without his permission, and he can barely focus on what’s happening but he can make out the shape of Buck, just watching, eyes thin rings of blue that Eddie can’t stop staring at.
“Mm,” Buck says, stepping forward, smiling at Angel. “See? Pretty.”
Angel laughs. “You’re right,” she says. “Any other tips?”
Buck tilts his head, eyes on Eddie. For a moment, it’s like he’s about to ask Eddie what he wants. Eddie despairs of it, doesn’t know how to wrangle his mind into anything other than the shape of Buck’s eyes, his voice guiding a touch that Eddie has never quite known how to accept into the shape of something that doesn't scald his skin. He doesn’t want to say please. He doesn’t know how to say stay with me.
But Buck, the Buck that Eddie calls his in the dark corners of his mind and shadowed streets where it doesn’t have to be real, says it out loud for him again.
“I’ll show you,” he says, like he knows, like he’s just an extension of Eddie’s desires, or the other way around. “C’mon, I have the keys.”
Eddie makes a soft sound as Angel loosens her fingers from his hair, tangling their fingers together to tug him forward. He stumbles, and Buck’s hand is at the small of his back, tethering and pushing him forward all at once.
Buck steps forward, and Eddie does what he does best: he follows.