Archive of Our Own

One: It made me think of you.

Eddie is not a fan of grocery shopping.

There is a lot about this particular activity to not like. The harsh fluorescent lights. The pervasive chill of the frozen section. The whir of the carts' wheels. The backdrop of a variety of different conversations happening around him. The narrow aisles that get smaller every time he visits.

Buck thinks he is crazy because of that last one. Eddie doesn't quite care what Buck thinks or believes. He knows the truth. And the truth is that the contents of each aisle only ever increases despite the lack of space and for some reason whoever owns and runs this store thinks it is a great idea to bring in even more products despite having to constantly change the layout and width of the aisles.

For revenue reasons Eddie is sure. This he also does not care about. A thought that might make him feel a little guilty each time he has it but not enough to keep him from thinking about it or dreading each time he has to come to the store or grumbling under his breath as he makes his way around and through the stupid fucking aisles after noticing that Chris has put cookie crunch cereal and double fudge caramel ice cream on the list half a dozen times.

Kid thinks he is smooth and sneaky and that Eddie is just gonna give in to his demands.

Eddie puts a second tub of double fudge caramel ice cream in the buggy then retreats before he gets a third. The wheels screech against the slick, shiny linoleum floor. He winces. Checks around for anyone watching. No one.

He swings the buggy around this way and that, jostling everything inside, and slides his way into the aisle that is supposed to have Buck's favorite gross, organic trail mix but very much does not because why the fuck would it. Why keep putting a product in the same place every time? Crazy that. Definitely wouldn't be nice or helpful in any way.

Eddie's grumbling picks up like it never stopped and maybe it didn't. He tends to lose time and a certain amount of concentration when he does this. Buck offered to do it instead, the way he always does, or to accompany Eddie, the way he always does when Eddie doesn't feel like waiting four hours for Buck to get back and vehemently refuses to allow Buck to go by himself.

Buck swears he has a system, an efficient one that cuts down time and keeps him from forgetting anything and helps him find the best deals. It may be efficient for Buck but it certainly isn't for Eddie. And he's sure it is hell on Buck's bank account since he always comes back with more than what was on the list Eddie hands him with a stern look.

Having Buck with him though, well, that's alright. Nice. Good even. It still takes longer than it should, but Eddie can't deny it is more fun. Everything kind of is with Buck, no matter how mundane. He is good at that. Eddie doubts there isn't much Buck couldn't find the fun in. It is part of that effusive, powerful, bright nature of his. Comes from the sunshine he seems to carry around in his smile and the palms of his hands.

Eddie isn't above taking advantage of that. Siphoning extra enjoyment off of Buck like it is spare oxygen in a compacted, flooded room.

But, for the first time since Eddie got back permanently from Texas, they had to work different shifts today. So Buck is at work, saving lives and messing around with Hen and Chim and seeing how much he can get away with before Bobby tries to stop him then inevitably ends up joining in. Doing what Buck does best. And Eddie is here, bemoaning his existence and missing Buck. Also doing what he does best.

He has gotten very good at those two things. Gotten good at ignoring them too. Tried to stop from doing them at all. It is much easier to do that with one of them than it is the other.

Missing Buck is an ache Eddie isn't quite sure what to do with. He is even less sure that it will go away. Insane really, considering they live together. An adjustment for sure. Something new added to their dynamic after they had already endured a wealth of new things for them. The distance, mainly. This though, sharing a home, is good.

Eddie thought it might be more challenging or annoying than it is. Not that Buck can't be challenging or annoying. No, he is very good at those things when he wants to be. When he doesn't want to be too.

He gets up too early and makes a ton of fucking racket until Eddie and Chris are forced to get up too and spend time with him. He makes far too much food every time he cooks. Food that goes in his fancy Tupperware containers which in turn get pushed back further and further into the fridge until Eddie finds rotten food that he for the life of him cannot figure out what it used to be no matter how hard he tries.

Buck sings in the shower. Loudly. Even if he is showering at midnight like a weirdo because he just felt like it. His music choice is questionable. Occasionally it will overlap with Eddie's and they will shimmy their way through setting the table together or cooking or wandering through the house with Buck making up the most ridiculous moves known to mankind and Eddie getting amused and horrified enough that he tries to teach Buck some proper dance moves to no avail. He keeps trying though. They both do.

A lot of the time though Buck's music isn't something Eddie can enjoy or dance to and instead it makes him grit his teeth as he bears through a spiking headache and pleads with Buck to put something else on. Usually, Buck will turn the music up and pretend not to hear Eddie. They may have gotten into a little brawl or two over that.

Buck forgets to do his laundry more often than not. Leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor. Has an ever-growing collection of dorky coffee mugs because apparently one can never have too many of those. Borrows Eddie's toothbrush without telling Eddie because he has no sense of boundaries.

His bad habits combine seamlessly with Eddie's and Chris' until the house is something close to a nightmare. Messy and loud and packed tight.

So, yeah, living with Buck isn't perfect. Eddie likes it anyway.

He forgot what it was like, living with someone other than Chris. Not that Eddie has much experience with that. Just his parents and sisters. Just Shannon, brief as it was.

The little house he and Shannon shared is sometimes blurry in his memory, dim and faded compared to what really shone in that house, his wife and his son and his own absence. It's been so long that, well, he has kinda forgotten what living with Shannon was like.

He remembers waking up to her in the mornings, after they were married, when she was a few months pregnant and began sleeping like the dead. Eddie would stare at her, brush her hair back from her face, wipe the drool from her mouth with a wrinkled nose and little laugh that would often wake her up. He remembers all the shit she had cluttered on the bathroom sink. He remembers the creaky, warped step on the porch she asked him to fix a million times.

Eddie never did.

There must be more than that, but it's lost to him. Lost to time spent across the ocean in tents and cramped quarters. Lost to the arguments that seemed to swallow the house whole. Lost to everything he missed and everything she resented him for.

What isn't lost is the reality that the two of them never exactly figured out how to share space.

And now he is doing just that. With Buck. Sharing every bit of space with his best friend. His—Eddie's brain sputters, a struggling car engine searching for a spark. A lot of other words could describe Buck and what he is, what he means, to Eddie. None of them land though. None of them ignite. None of them are examined.

Best friend. Important. Those are enough.

More than enough. Which is why Eddie spends thirty minutes searching for Buck's trail mix, because he can't quite bring himself to come home without it and see Buck's disappointment. He is strangely and worryingly attached to that trail mix. Maybe Eddie should work on changing that.

Instead, he searches and searches, cursing under his breath in Spanish and nearly running over a sweet old lady short enough that he couldn't see her, until he finds it. There are worse things he could enable.

Eddie sets the trail mix down next to the tubs of ice cream. Sighs. Shakes his head. Tries not to smile when he imagines how happy both Buck and Chris will be. His boys. This, at least, Eddie can do right.

He crosses trail mix off the list and groans in relief because it was the last item. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Mercifully, Eddie's path toward checkout is mostly unencumbered. He does have to maneuver around a new display taking up so much room that he's not sure he is gonna be able to squeeze past it, but thankfully that is his only obstacle.

Once he has edged past the corner of it and turns, ready to floor it to the checkout regardless of how ridiculous it may make him look, he notices one part of the display is made up of coffee mugs.

Eddie slows. Stops. Looks.

There are a variety of mugs in different colors. The one that catches his eye and holds him captive is big. Deep. Flared at the top. It is nothing special not really, but—

But the handle is large enough that both Buck and Eddie could push their meaty paws through it. Eddie picks the mug up, head tilting to one side then the other. His fingers slide through the handle with ease. Enough room is left over. Not a lot, but definitely enough that he knows it would make Buck happy because he's very adamant about preferring large handles that don't pose any risk of squashing his knuckles.

Buck's hand isn't that much smaller than Eddie's. He has more length, thanks to those fine-boned, lean fingers of his. Fingers that are soft and careful and strong. Fingers that Eddie has felt on his skin. His arms and shoulders mostly. His cheeks once, and right underneath his eyes. When he broke and couldn't pick up the pieces, sobbing and tear-stained in a way he hadn't been since childhood or maybe ever.

Eddie's heartbeat quickens. A noticeable uptick like a kick inside his chest. Because of the terror and darkness of that memory and—and maybe also because of how soft and kind Buck's fingers were as he swept Eddie's tears away.

He licks his lips. Tries to flood his dry mouth with saliva. Focuses back in on the mug, turning it around in his hands.

It is pink. A pale sort of bubblegum pink. A color that is as soft and lively as Buck. A huge heart dominates one side of the mug with tinier hearts cradled inside. Two to be specific. Those are different shades of pink and the design make it looks like they are pulsing within the big one which explodes in a flurry of darker pink and gold streams. The heart seemingly bleeds out and shimmers everywhere across the mug's surface, curling around to the other side.

The smooth ceramic is cool against his skin. Cooler than his pulse and the heat he has been feeling more and more lately. The heat that awakens and spirals and glitters in only certain situations, only around one particular person, at least so far.

A flurry of warmth and sweat builds up in Eddie's palm, making his skin stick to the ceramic and peel off with a noise he very much does not like. The mug goes in the cart along with the trail mix and ice cream and everything else. He doesn't even bother with looking at the price tag. It doesn't matter. Buck will like it. That's all Eddie cares about.

Though—as Eddie is checking out and watching the cashier messily wrap up the coffee mug with some paper that Eddie specifically requested because he does not trust it to remain intact on the way home thanks to all the fucking potholes between here and there—he does not anticipate finding a spot for the mug. God knows they don't really have any. An entire cabinet is already taken up by Buck's mugs. Fuck if Eddie knows where this one will go.

He'll leave that problem to Buck. It's gonna be his after all. Scrutiny will be involved though. He doesn't want Buck putting it somewhere crazy like in the microwave or on top of the fridge or any other ridiculous spot Buck could come up with in a split second.

By the time Eddie has paid and gotten everything in the car, it is late afternoon and enough traffic has built up between him and home that he spends a good twenty minutes coming up with increasingly creative curses. Buck isn't beside him to laugh at them, so Eddie resolves to tell him about them later.

At home, it's quiet. Chris is staying with a friend, and Buck doesn't get off for another few hours, provided nothing catastrophic happens, so Eddie has the place all to himself. He has gotten more acquainted with that feeling this past year than he ever thought he would. An empty house. No sounds but his own. Everything a little colder and less bright.

There are times he hates it, even if it isn't something he has to endure very long. Too much wakes up within that space and silence, demanding his attention, drawing his focus to things he can usually keep in the periphery. Other times it can be nice. Some rarely provided peace. A few moments to not be or do anything.

Today, it isn't peace he finds. So he turns on one of Buck's playlists that Buck has saved to his phone, an amalgamation of alt rock and pop and a few country songs that surprised him the first time he listened to it.

The music fills up the kitchen well enough as Eddie puts the groceries away that he doesn't feel so alone. Everything goes in its place until all that is left lingering around is the pink cup and himself. Eddie paces around the kitchen for a few minutes, knuckles rapping against the counters and cabinets absentmindedly as he chews his lip and thinks about where to put the mug.

There are at least still four hours to go before Buck gets home.

Eventually Eddie's stomach rumbles loudly and forcefully enough that it puts a stop to his pacing. He sets the mug down next to the coffee maker and begins making some food. It's a simple meal, beef stew with plenty of seasonings and vegetables Chris has taken to being rather picky about.

Making the stew and eating it eliminates nearly two hours. Washing the dishes another fifteen minutes. Then he showers, lingering in the wet warmth longer than he typically allows himself because he's alone and—and he is fucking puttering around, wasting and filling time until Buck gets home, like he is some kind of lonely housewife who rarely gets to see her husband.

Eddie slumps against the shower wall. Presses his forehead into the tile, recently scrubbed to perfection by Buck because as annoying and messy he can be, he is also a neat freak when it comes to certain things. The man has a particular suspicion in regards to all the places bacteria can build up and then eventually grow strong enough to strike.

After reading some of the articles Buck sent him, plus watching the videos he attached alongside them, Eddie can't entirely blame him for that worry. And it works out for times like now, so that Eddie can lean his body against something clean and not slimy or coated in soap scum or stray hairs.

He has no reason to need this. To be so tired and aching. To be realizing the way he is acting doesn't exactly fit what he and Buck are.

Eddie isn't lonely. Buck isn't his husband.

Both are true. Both taste like lies.

Eddie pushes himself off the wall and scrubs a hand down his face, trying to yank away the fine crunch of whatever weird emotion has been clinging to him. He glances down at his feet, the water sliding down his skin and pooling around the drain where it spirals down down down.

Nothing is there. No evidence that he has gotten rid of the odd things that have been tormenting him lately.

When Buck is back it'll be fine. Better. He makes things better, all the time, even when things aren't necessarily bad. Buck just—fills up the space around him. Or maybe it is that everything around him is drawn to him, flocking to his sweet, sassy sunshine self, energy and gravity and emptiness closing in around him and dominated by his presence.

Buck is big and bold and beautiful. Very beautiful. There should be a word other than that for Eddie to use, but he can't think of one. Doesn't really want to think of one, if he's honest. Buck is beautiful. It didn't take long for Eddie to realize it and he thinks that throughout all these years he has just been realizing it more and more.

The softness of his curls. The brilliance of his birthmark, it's color finely tuned to Buck's emotions. The swell of his biceps, his thighs, his stomach. His smile. Particularly that lazy, lopsided one. The bridge of his nose. His sea glass eyes. His wonderful, terrifying, big, stupid, beautiful heart.

Yeah, Eddie has noticed. All of it. And he keeps noticing it, so much so that it feels like all he knows lately. It should be a problem. It is a problem.

Eddie very much wants it to be a problem. But—It doesn't feel like one though.

It's just a simple truth, not one that can be fought or undermined. Just like how Eddie needs air to breathe. Just like the love Eddie has for Chris. Just like the way Buck has filled this house to the brim, shining on all the empty spots hidden away here until they are obliterated by Buck's light and life and laughter.

Eddie didn't even know those empty spots were here. Or at least he didn't know they could be filled by someone other than his son. Other than the wife he lost. And of course Buck blows that all out of the water. Another specialty of his. Blowing Eddie away.

Now, Eddie hardly knows the definition of the word empty. Except for maybe when he's not with Buck.

Which is stupid. Eddie lived most of an entire life before Buck. He lived halfway across the country from Buck for months. He should be more familiar being without Buck than with him. But he's not.

It's a dangerous thing to need. Clearly, seeing as he is mopey and out of sorts over being separated from Buck for only ten hours now.

Eddie thinks he might be really, truly fucked.

He stops lingering in the shower. Finishes washing himself perfunctorily. Scrubs a towel through his hair. Lathers himself in the lavender lotion Buck got him. Dresses mindlessly, throwing on a pair of sweatpants, mismatched socks, and a hoodie that he can't even pretend to himself isn't Buck's.

Whatever. Eddie is getting kind of sick and tired of pretending anyway.

The rest of the night he spends on the couch, resting against one arm with his legs stretched out in front of him, taking up all the space that no one else is here to take.

Eddie puts on a telenovela, one of his favorites that he's seen a million times before, the well-known storyline and dialogue comforting as he, well, as he waits.

He waits. He watches the show and waits. He yanks the collar of Buck's hoodie up to his nose and breathes in the faint lingering scent Buck always leaves behind, vanilla and eucalyptus, and waits. He fidgets on the couch, starting on his back then curling up on his side before flopping once more onto his back again, and waits.

Two hours after Buck's shift was supposed to be over, when night has fully descended and deepened, black velvet that has enveloped the house and soothed Eddie enough that he has dozed off, Eddie hears the creak of the door followed by the slight bang of the knob hitting the wall because Buck always opens the damn thing with too much sloppy force when he's tired.

The immediate acceleration of Eddie's heart followed by the intense settling of it should probably be studied by a professional. Eddie, however, is very keen to keep its tenderness and wild rhythms and stupidity to himself.

Eddie hauls himself upright in time to see Buck stumble into the living room. He is in a threadbare white t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and bright pink socks with bananas on them, his shoes undoubtedly discarded near the door alongside Eddie's and Chris'.

Even in the dim lighting he is bold and brilliant. Eddie rubs his knuckles into his eyes then stands, weary and languid but most importantly filled with pleasant warmth at the mere sight of Buck.

Buck blinks at him. Tilts his head. Some damp curls fall forward. Eddie aches to rub them between his fingers. Brush them back. Scratch at Buck's skull and see what kind of reaction that would get him.

He does none of those things.

"Hey, Buck," Eddie murmurs.

"Eddie." It's a breath, nothing more. Raspy too, clearly made raw from exhaustion. "Hey. Hi."

Eddie smiles. "Hi."

A person shouldn't even feel this warm and gooey right? Like he's made up of dissolved candy, all sweet and fizzy and stretched taut.

Buck's mouth curves, a lazy sideways smile. Eddie's favorite. "Why are you still up?"

Eddie shrugs, casual as anything. "Wanted to." Not eloquent but it's the most he can allow himself to admit. It's miles better than I wanted to look at you I wanted to talk to you I wanted to ask you how your day was I wanted you to be the last thing I see before I go to sleep and tomorrow comes.

That would be too much, even for Buck who acts like anything and everything given to him is a grand prize.

Buck's smile deepens. Widens. Stretches. Full of something fond and indulging.

That sticky sweetness taking hold of Eddie worsens, bubbling up in his belly and threatening to fill him to the brim until gravity can't contain him and he floats away.

"C'mon," he murmurs, tearing his eyes off Buck's mouth. "Bet you're hungry. I saved you some dinner." He slaps a hand against Buck's shoulder, right beneath the sleeve of Buck's t-shirt which has ridden up and is holding on for dear life.

Buck's skin is warm and soft. Pliant too. Not letting his touch linger tugs at Eddie, a chord plucked too hard and letting out a discordant, terribly pitched sound.

Buck ducks his head, the shimmer of his eyes and the shape of his smile hidden as he motions Eddie onward, ready to follow Eddie's lead as usual. As they make their way to the kitchen, Buck utters his thanks to Eddie's back, the word soft and warm just like Buck's skin.

Eddie directs Buck to sit down once they are both past the entryway. He could say that it's because of Buck's stumbling steps and the heaviness of his eyelids which makes him worry about the safety of his kitchen in the presence of Buck's clumsy bulk. But really, it just allows Eddie to get his hands back on Buck. On his shoulders, broad and strong. Heat seeps into Eddie's palms as guides Buck around the counter and then pushes him down into a chair. The fresh scent of soap wafts off of Buck, bullying into Eddie's senses and making him linger longer than he should.

Eucalyptus. Vanilla. And a hint of citrus from his ridiculously expensive organic shampoo.

The desire to stick his nose into Buck's hair, into the crook of his neck, into the valley of his sternum between his pecs, is a crazy one. Odd and out of place except for how it seems perfectly fitting to Eddie who can't manage to want anything else even as he steps away from Buck and gets the wrapped bowl of stew out of the fridge.

While the food warms up in the microwave, Eddie faces Buck, leaning back against the counter in a lazy line.

Buck's eyes drip down his body, slow slow slow.

Heat crowds up underneath Eddie's jaw. The beat of his heart pounds at the base of his throat, loud and forceful and stuck.

Buck's lashes flutter, a tiny ripple of the darkest of gold. Eddie wonders what they would feel like against his skin. Fine and soft probably. Maybe ticklish. He wants to find out. Wants to get close enough to Buck that they brush over sensitive, flushed skin. Wants to drag his thumb over them. Count them. Lick over each one. Take them into his mouth and hold them there.

Christ.

Eddie's ribs creak around the rush of breath he takes in, shaky and too large for his body. He cuts his eyes away from Buck, breaking the haze that was descending over him.

He hears Buck make a sound, low in the back of his throat.

The microwave beeps and sings a jaunty little tune.

Eddie turns quickly, his socked feet slipping against his pristine floor. More heat rises in him, this kind much less pleasant. He ignores it though and prays to a nonexistent or indifferent God that Buck does too.

Silently, he sets the bowl down in front of Buck. Gets him a spoon. A glass of water. Sits down across from him and places his chin in his hand. And he watches Buck eat, content to just be here with him, the two of them quiet and alone.

There is something domestic about it. Though Eddie supposes that can be said about pretty much everything they do together, especially here in their home.

Their home. Yeah, Eddie is supremely fucked.

"Good?" he asks Buck, the word breaking a bit in his throat.

Buck hums in agreement, too busy shoveling the stew in his mouth to take a breath let alone speak. One would think he hadn't eaten in days. It's a little gross honestly.

Eddie keeps watching, a tiny grin flickering over his mouth. He can cover it with his fingers thankfully, so he doesn't bother trying to rein it in. Let it be. He can just let it be for now. Here. In the dark and quiet with Buck's attention located elsewhere.

Eventually Buck slows down enough that he can talk. They trade inane, mundane stories and updates about their day, reminders about upcoming plans and appointments, and any random little thing that pops into their head. Most of their nights are similar to this. Eddie thought it might get boring after a while, but it hasn't. It's nice each time. Relaxing. Good.

"Thanks," Buck says to him again once he's finished eating and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand despite the fact that Eddie gave him a paper towel to use. "That was really good. Needed that." He leans back, smiling all lopsided again, and pats his stomach.

Eddie snorts. "Bobby not feed you?"

"Bobby always feeds me. But, y'know, I'm a growing boy and all that."

"Hmm," Eddie hums. "An incorrigible, bottomless pit more like."

Buck grins the way he always does when Eddie teases him, bright and big, all teeth and gums, his head ducking down again as he huffs, pink cheeks on display.

Eddie's fingers curl inward. Aching and sore.

He could touch. He knows that. There isn't a touch of his that Buck hasn't welcomed wholeheartedly. Maybe that is what stops him. Surely at some point he will find the line, the one he shouldn't cross. A touch of his exists, many of them probably, that Buck wouldn't want. Eddie doesn't ever want to reach that point. The line needs to remain undiscovered, for his own sanity and the preservation of what they have if nothing else.

Being aware of how much he wants to push past any boundary is bad enough. The acknowledgement he hasn't been able to dodge since living like this with Buck has hooks and spikes and claws, rooted so deep he can't ever ignore its existence again, and yet, it is the most gentlest thing he knows.

Eddie will become accustomed to it. He will. If there is one thing he's good at, it's adapting.

So he keeps his hands to himself and engages in a late night version of a dance they do often. Cleaning and putting away Buck's dishes. Wiping down the counters. Making sure everything is in its place. Nudging each other with elbows and hips, a form of communication they can't ever seem to quit. Eddie probably relies on it more than he should, but it works.

He and Buck move around the kitchen like they've been doing this all their lives. It isn't exactly seamless, they bump into each other unintentionally more than once and squabble over the best place to put the silverware and roll of paper towels, but it's better than any perfect thing Eddie could imagine.

All too soon they've finished. It's been a long day for both of them, the near pitch black darkness outside makes the kitchen window look like an entrance into another world, Buck is stumbling the way he does when he's really tired, eyes half closed even while standing up, his hand coming up often to wipe over his face, and Eddie himself is ready to dip back into the comforting oblivion he visited while waiting for Buck to get home. But—

But Eddie finds himself wanting to hang on. To this moment. To Buck. He is reluctant for it to be over. To say goodnight and separate from Buck. He'll be unconscious for most of that separation, but still, it makes his skin crawl. Eddie hasn't had enough of him. Not today. Not at all.

"Hey," Eddie whispers when Buck starts to angle his body toward the entryway. He catches Buck's bare elbow in his hand. Bone and muscle nestle softly into his palm, so very warm.

Buck hums in response, turning back to Eddie and blinking slow at him, a crooked half-smile on his face that makes him look like there's nothing more pleasing to him than being stopped by Eddie, touched by Eddie, kept still by Eddie.

"I, uh—" Eddie coughs. Clears his throat. Feels his cheeks go hotter than Buck's skin. "I got you something."

A little jolt goes through Buck. Eddie feels it more than sees it since he is still touching Buck. He should probably let go.

He doesn't.

"You did?" Buck asks, eyes wide and alert now, shining like blue sunlight. That smile of his widens into something real and just as blinding as his pretty eyes. Being pleased is a good look on him, Eddie should get him stuff more often just to see him like this.

Eddie swipes his thumb back and forth across the dip of Buck's elbow. That gets him another jolt and Buck's body leaning in closer toward his.

"Yeah," Eddie replies unnecessarily. He can't help it, he's caught. Held captive. Struck dumb. It's exhaustion mostly, but not entirely.

"What is it?" The brightness of Buck's tone is loud but not abrasive. It easily betrays his eagerness, just like the rest of him. Buck's heart doesn't just rest on his sleeve, it bleeds out there and rotates around his entire body. "C'mon, Eddie," Buck needles. "What is it? What is it?"

"God," Eddie huffs with a laugh. He lets go of Buck's arm, something in him going all shimmery when Buck looks down at where Eddie was touching him and frowns at finding Eddie's hand really isn't there anymore.

That shimmery thing lights Eddie up and coaxes him into placing his hand on Buck's chest. It would be weird to just rest it there probably. That's not exactly a touch he has done before and he doesn't want to risk anything tonight so he puts some force behind it and pushes Buck playfully, nudging him backward into the counter behind him.

It creates some space between them and Eddie is torn between his distaste of that and the strange, swooping feeling in his gut at seeing Buck let himself be moved so easily by Eddie, seeing Buck pushed up against a counter, seeing Buck open and receptive like an invitation waiting to be answered.

Eddie turns away, choking on a wave of want he is just learning the true shape and depth of, and stumbles around mindlessly, stupidly, needlessly until he comes to where he placed the mug he bought.

The porcelain is cool in his hands, a welcome reprieve, but it heats quickly as he swings around on his heel and holds it out toward Buck.

Buck blinks. Once. Twice. Stares at the mug then at Eddie. Back at the mug. Back to Eddie.

Eddie grows warm. Flushed head to toe. So heated he's sure he'll melt into a nasty pile of viscera on the floor, curled up all around Buck's feet.

He shakes the mug at Buck and raises an eyebrow, playing at being unaffected. He should be. This is—This is nothing. Literally nothing. Nothing is happening, Buck is just taking a moment to process, something stalled in his mind at Eddie handing him a pink mug with a heart on it and a handle big enough to fit both their hands. That's all it is. Eddie has done plenty of stuff to get this reaction from Buck, and yet—

And yet Eddie feels odd in this moment. Strange. Unknown. Like he's done something surprising. Offered something other than a pretty cup for Buck to use to drink his sickly sweet concoctions in the morning.

"Buck," Eddie urges, hoping to prod him into motion. An ache is starting to build up in his arm, the limb left outstretched longer than comfortable.

Another blink, those long, fine, golden lashes fluttering and fucking glittering in the low kitchen light. Those things could cause gale force winds. Inspire wars greater and deadlier than any other that has been waged over treasure and greed and lust.

Eddie clenches his hand around the cup. His knuckles flash white.

Buck licks his lips, lashes still sweeping over those crystalline eyes and awakening a riot in Eddie's chest—hot and loud and awful, like a panic attack, but worse and better at the same time—then he reaches out and takes the cup from Eddie, mouth resettling into a sweet, soft shape Eddie memorized years ago.

"You got this for me," Buck breathes, still smiling, head ducked down low the way it always does when he's pleased.

It's not a question. Still, Eddie says, "Yeah." The word comes out on a breath. More heat bunches up underneath Eddie's skin, crowding up in the center of his cheeks and beneath his jaw. Something sweet and metallic clings to his tongue.

Eddie clears his throat, an effort to get his heart unstuck from there, an attempt to move that heat elsewhere. "It's just—It's nothing. I just…thought of you. When I saw it." He clears his throat again and shifts on his feet. Sticks his clammy hands in his pockets. Watches Buck twist the mug around in his hands, mouth parted and soft soft soft, the lines around his eyes deepening with each second that passes.

"It made me think of you," he says again, rewording his clumsy explanation as if he didn't already get his point across. He withholds a wince.

Buck hums. Traces the heart with his thumb.

Eddie's heart shivers in his chest. Trembles. Skips. Like it's the thing Buck is touching. It's a common enough occurrence, this sensation. Eddie is more than accustomed to it, so he doesn't react or do anything other than feel it.

"Thank you, Eddie." Buck's still talking softly, all hushed, like he's admitting something precious. It brings goosebumps to life on Eddie's skin. "It—It's sweet. I love it."

Sweet. God, Eddie can't remember the last time someone associated that with him. Or, at least, the last time someone did that and he believed it. He does now though. Buck could get him to believe anything.

A breath punches out of him and he ducks his head a little, toeing at the tiles beneath his feet. There's so much warmth in him right now, more than he ever thought he could contain.

He feels—bashful. And yeah, sweet. It's been a long time since he's felt either of those things, especially this intensely. And it makes him kind of want, well, something crazy. For Buck to put him in his mouth and chew him up. Or to slide up under Buck's shirt and meld to his skin. Maybe curl up in that pink mug and have Buck bring him up to his lips. He'd be sweet enough for Buck's tastes, he thinks.

Goddamn it all to hell. He is fucked fucked fucked.

Eddie takes a deep breath. Yanks a hand out of his pocket so he can rub his knuckles up and down his sternum. Makes himself say, "It's really nothing, Buck."

Buck looks up at him, the full force of his gaze now pinned on Eddie. Blue blue blue. Lit up like the hottest part of a flame. Eddie wants to burn.

"But I'm glad you like it," Eddie adds.

"Love it," Buck corrects with that crooked grin of his, the one that makes Eddie giddy and feel like he could actually do any number of the crazy things he wants and get away with it, as long as Buck is doing them with him.

Eddie rolls his eyes but can't suppress the happy pleasure spreading over his mouth. His body instinctively rolls towards Buck's and Buck's does the same, the two of them wobbly and meeting in the middle.

The brush of Buck's warm, soft, bare skin against Eddie's has its own unique charge and polarity. It's nothing new. Forearm against forearm, bicep against bicep. But it never looses its thrill or comfort. If anything those things only increase with each touch, becoming more and more until it has brought Eddie here, where he can't deny a damn thing, at least to himself.

Still, there's an old instinct to beat it down. Something he thinks he has done for longer than he knows. And he does. Maybe not with fists or the total force of his strength, but he pushes and presses and breathes until he's steadier, in control, more himself and less what Buck makes him.

Eddie is an ancient dog after all. New tricks still give him pause, too difficult and different to convince him to fully give up chewing on a bone that's long since worn away into nothing.

He steps back, reasserting the space that was previously dividing them. Something of Buck's bright light dims, but his smile stays and so does the pink blush eating at his skin, little blotches covering his throat and face.

Eddie bets each spot is incredibly warm. Hot and thrumming with Buck's vibrant pulse. The urge to put his mouth to that flush—lips, tongue, teeth—strikes hard. His stomach clenches. So do his teeth.

Both stay clenched, tight and rebelling against him, as Buck moves around him and places the coffee mug with all the others, putting it in the spot he usually reserves for his favorite one, a chipped dark blue mug Maddie got him years ago.

An insane amount of pride and satisfaction comes to life, threatening to drown Eddie in their indulgent euphoria. And suddenly everything in him loosens, this out of pocket feeling of being incredibly pleased at being chosen in such a mundane, stupid way breaking him free of the tension he so carefully carries on a daily basis.

Buck seems unaware, lost a little in his own world. He fiddles with the mug a bit, situating it just right, humming to himself and still wearing that smile he gives away like it costs him nothing. Once he's happy with it, he taps the rim and then, with a casual, stumbling, sexy swagger that Eddie is not jealous of or dry-mouthed over, he's bullying into Eddie's side, hands grabby and moving Eddie around, head ducking down and slotting into the space between Eddie's throat and shoulder, arms wrapping around and around until Eddie is held tight and secure.

Air collapses in Eddie's lungs and falls out of him in a quiet sigh.

Buck is the best kind of person for hugs. Like with everything else, he gives all he's got. Uses his whole body. Envelops the other person so totally that nothing else exists. He's large and warm and soft, all cushioned muscle and fat and miles of moisturized skin. Every time, Eddie finds himself barely able to hold back from digging himself into the meat of Buck, all teeth and nails, jaw locked tight around all that softness, all that give, all that earnestness to comfort and please.

It's usually why he doesn't let them linger, especially now because that desire is sharper, harder to ignore, so very alive and aloud with it's own pulse and rhythm and color.

But, right now, Eddie lingers. He takes a little. Just a little. Buck is willing to give it after all and he's rather sweet and darling in Eddie's arms, pushed up flush with Eddie's body, curled around him so much so that he seems small and Eddie feels larger than life.

He squeezes Buck tight. Stays close longer than he usually allows. Takes Buck in and keeps him, hugging him back fiercely in a way he hasn't since he left for Texas and the only thing keeping a smile on his face was, well, how sweet and eager Buck was being. Story of his life.

"Thanks," Buck murmurs, mouth brushing near a pulse that will damn Eddie if he lets it.

Eddie tries shrugging but their embrace makes it impossible. "No big deal."

Buck snorts, loud and wet against Eddie's skin. Ew. Eddie frowns and pinches at the stack of skin, muscle, and fat covering Buck's ribs.

Buck just giggles. Sags a little, his weight falling on Eddie with a pressure he'd like to have take him to the floor.

"Okay," Eddie says with a pat to Buck's back. "Okay. Let me go you big oaf."

He feels Buck's pout. The dampness of his full bottom lip juts out, sticking to Eddie's skin. God, he's gonna kill Eddie, he really is.

"Stop pouting."

Buck pouts harder, his entire body going into it, and for a second Eddie really thinks they are going to fall to the floor in a terrible tangle of limbs that'll leave them sore for days, but Buck releases him, pouting still, though there's a wicked gleam in his eyes, giving an edge to the lax, sleepy expression on his face.

"'M not that big," he mutters.

Eddie raises an eyebrow and, stupidly, drags his eyes up and down Buck's very big body.

Buck huffs. "Y're as big as me. Don't think I haven't noticed." He smiles a little to himself, a sideways slant of a thing that pokes into Eddie, and wraps his hand around Eddie's bicep.

"Oh?" Eddie flexes his bicep, just a little. There's far too much interest in his tone, making it deeper and more coarse than it typically is. "You have?"

There goes those lashes again. Fluttering. Shimmers of dark gold. And then a blotchy riot of pink lights up Buck's cheeks. He coughs. Releases Eddie's arm. Scratches the back of his neck.

Eddie is dizzy dizzy dizzy.

"I'm gonna—" Buck points over his shoulder, toward the entryway. "Gonna go to, ah, bed. Or, uh, c—couch." A strangled little laugh falls out of him.

Right. That's—yeah, a good idea. There's a better idea in there somewhere, for the both of them, but Eddie can't quite conjure it. He's too stuck on the way Buck touched him, how appreciative it was. That's—Is that something?

Eddie nods. Licks his lips. Nods again. "Yeah. Yup. Yeah, me too. Been…a long day."

Now Buck is the one nodding. And he keeps it up as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the entrance to the living room.

"Night, big boy," Eddie calls after him. He winces as soon as it is out of his mouth, features twisting painfully. Buck makes some kind of choking noise and his socked feet slip against the floor causing him to nearly topple over as he makes his way out of the kitchen, a thumbs-up thrown over his shoulder.

Without explicit permission, Eddie's hand comes up, palm slapping against his forehead. What the fuck is wrong with him? His stupid heart falling out of his control is one thing but his mouth? His entire body? "Big boy?" he mutters to himself. "Jesus fucking Christ."

He stumbles around as he gets ready for bed, everything inside him all jangled up and misaligned as if he's out of place or been torn apart and put back together wrong. It's not exactly bad but it's disorienting. And all he can think about is the noise Buck made when Eddie called him big boy. The way he seemed as uneven footed as Eddie as he made his retreat.

Stupid stupid stupid. Eddie is stupid and will never get anything right and he's gonna ruin everything with his big, traitorous mouth and even more big and traitorous heart and go to hell where he'll spend the rest of eternity grocery shopping while he burns and burns and burns.

Sleep is elusive. His skin crawls, too flushed and tight, pulled taut over his bones and flooded with too much warmth, too much pulse, both of which only rise higher and higher because he can't stop thinking, and especially can't stop thinking about Buck.

As he tosses and turns and throws the sheets off only to tug them back up to his chin, he thinks that if Shannon could see right him now she'd be laughing her ass off.

Two: Come here. Let me fix it.

Evening washes over L.A., painting everything in darkened, rich hues. Amber and cobalt and rose gold. Dashes of purple lingering around the setting sun. It's almost like watercolor, everything mixed and blending and creating this dream-like atmosphere that is so entrancing and beautiful you have to take a second and even maybe a third look.

Buck has always been a morning guy. He loves when things are soft and bright and new, loves the freshness and clarity of mornings, but there is something special about late afternoon here.

Pretty colors and rowdiness. Bursting with life and energy. All things Buck has always appreciated. Things that are in abundance at the autumnal fair he and Eddie have brought Jee to. And the way Eddie looks in this light—golden and strong, his face and the shade of his eyes highlighted with dark shimmer and so bold it's hard to see anything else—is an impossible thing not to appreciate. Magnificent like the colors surrounding them.

Jee must have thought the same thing when Eddie got her out of the vehicle, because she squealed in delight and patted Eddie's cheek while telling him how pretty he is. Eddie was pleased beyond belief at such a declaration, chest puffing out in quiet boast. Buck wondered how he'd react if Buck said he was pretty. Buck didn't. He just stole Jee from Eddie and rushed toward the fair's opening, giggling as Eddie complained and chased after them.

Maddie and Chim decided to take some much needed and well deserved alone time now that little Robbie is several months old and more than happy to spend a quiet evening with the Lees. Jee-Yun though demanded more than that if she was gonna be forced to spend a night without her parents. So Buck offered to take her to the fair he had seen posts about on this local account he follows that highlights activities to do in the city.

He's not really sure when Eddie got brought into the mix. He thinks he asked but it's very possible that he didn't and just assumed Eddie would tag along because, well, that's what he does. That's what they do.

Buck would be hard pressed to find anything they don't do together these days. Every minute, every task, every action and thought and circumstance, is taken up by Eddie. Months of this and it's just as thrilling now as it was when Eddie and Chris moved back.

Buck has always been hungry and eager and maybe a little desperate for Eddie's attention, even for the brief period where he didn't like Eddie all that much. There's something about it, Eddie's attention. His gaze and consideration. His high spirits and general nature. The way he makes you feel like you're the center of the universe.

At least, that's how it is for Buck. How it's always been. And how could he not be greedy for all that? It's an addictive, wonderful thing and he's not ashamed of how much he wants it, needs it, goes after it, so ready to give give give and take take take. Eddie offers him a lot these days, more than Buck really ever thought he could get and there not be consequences such as being called needy and pathetic and inspiring a general sense of disgust over how focused and crazy he is.

The others do tease Buck about it, especially about how attached he and Eddie are, but he doesn't care. Eddie likes him here, in his house and by his side, so that's where Buck will stay. And he'll stay forever if he can unless Eddie gets sick of him and kicks him out. Even then though, Buck would probably still hang around, an abandoned dog hiding in the shadows, waiting for another offering.

"That one! That one!" Jee screeches, tugging at Eddie's hand and doing her damn best to haul him across the asphalt toward a ride that is big and shiny and spinning so fast it's nothing but a blur.

Eddie allows her to move him, stumbling along after her though he's slow and steady about it. Buck watches him blink up at the ride, brown eyes alight and glittering with the reflection of all the color around them. His mouth falls open, a ruddy, dark pink in this light. Not that Buck really notices what color his mouth typically is. Nah, that's—Why would he?

"Uh." Eddie pauses. Chews on his lip. Throws Buck a helpless look, eyes wide and eyebrows high.

Buck smiles at him, heart pulsing so loud and fierce he can feel it between his teeth.

Eddie's brows lower. "You're no help," he mutters.

Then, to Jee, he says, "Honey, I think that one is too big," in a sweet tone that would rake down Buck's spine if it were something he was into. Which he's not. No spine tingles here. No shivers, no siree. Just, y'know, a general warmth flooding him, bright and writhing as it wraps around him and shoots up and down between each individual vertebrae.

Jee frowns at Eddie. "But I want it."

Eddie's face crumples and Buck's heart stops. But it's okay, death isn't after him again or able to get a hold of him, because his heart starts right back up again, thrumming and fluttering wildly enough it drowns out everything else, echoing in Buck's ears as Eddie shoots him another helpless, pleading look, his chin jerking in between Jee-Yun and the ride she most definitely cannot get on.

Buck can't help it. He pokes his bottom lip out in a pout that he spent a good many years perfecting, not entirely sure why he's doing it. Eddie just makes him wanna do things like this. Strange, needling things. Anything to get a reaction. "Eddie, she wants it."

Jee nods ferociously, her chin coming close to knocking into her chest, and her free hand reaches out for Buck's, clutching at him in solidarity. "Buck gets it."

Eddie groans and purses his lips, hip cocking outward in the stance he always takes when he's fed up with Buck's shit.

A laugh is begging for release, straining Buck's lungs and knocking against his ribs, but he holds it back. Unfortunately though, he can't keep up his pout. It slips away, replaced by a shit-eating grin he couldn't fight even if he had the strength of a thousand men.

The heat of Eddie's glare only makes the grin bigger, bolder.

"Buck," Eddie grits out, harsh and reprimanding, "is just being mean to me."

Jee gasps and pinches Buck's palm. "Buck!"

"Hey now," Buck protests, "Don't throw this on me."

"Oh, so you're fine with her getting on that ride then? That one right there. The one slinging bodies through the air. The one operated by a kid who hasn't looked up from his phone once in the past ten minutes. The one with a very clearly stated height and weight limit she does not reach."

Eddie raises one damn expressive eyebrow at Buck and releases Jee's hand to cross his arms, judgmental and haughty and waiting for Buck to capitulate because that's really the only option—he absolutely has no plan of letting Jee think she can get on that thing—and—and that expression of his is, for lack of a better, more friend friendly word, hot.

Heat suffuses Buck, crawling with heavy intent and curling up beneath his jaw, over his cheeks, along the hollow of his throat where he swears he can taste his own pulse.

He really—He needs to get a handle on that.

"W—Well." Buck pauses, snapping his mouth shut and looking anywhere but at Eddie only to immediately be drawn back to him. It's just hard to draw his eyes away from Eddie, even harder to keep them away. Eddie just—shines. "Well, n—no. She—No."

Eddie's triumphant grin makes something in the pit of Buck's stomach tighten, clench, coil tight and do a somersault. Buck might throw up.

"I bet you made zero friends on the playground," Buck grumbles, shoving a fist into Eddie's strong, firm shoulder. Very strong. Very firm.

Eddie's grin doesn't fade but it does change shape. A little crooked, pulled more to the left than the right. Softer. Fond. "And you did? You, the man stubborn enough to stick to a point you don't even agree with just to be contrary."

Buck sticks his tongue out at him.

Eddie's laugh is softer than his mouth. Well, softer than it looks. Which is pretty damn soft. But Buck doesn't know. How soft Eddie's mouth is. He doesn't know—Of course he doesn't.

"Buck," Jee grouses. Her surprisingly strong fist tugs at his pant leg once before doing the same to Eddie's. "Eds," she adds in complaint. Buck called Eddie that a few weeks ago when around her and she has stuck to it like glue, declaring it her name for Eddie. Little brat. Buck loves her to death.

How could he blame her for wanting one piece of Eddie for herself? Who wouldn't?

In Buck's case, he might like to have all those pieces, every single one, but, well, that's not for him. If he's too greedy, he'll lose more than he'll ever be able to get.

Eddie's smile is still fond when he turns it down to Jee, but it's a little different than the one he gave Buck. Buck has been watching lately, the shape and warmth of those smiles, to see if he gets what everyone else does, or rather, if everyone else gets what he does. They don't, not all the time. There are special ones, just for Buck.

Buck drags his shoulder against Eddie's, gentle and playful, and grabs Jee's hand once more. "C'mon, sweetheart. Lead the way. Not to that ride though."

Jee pouts. It's a good one. Buck has taught her well.

He bends his knees to get closer to her. "It kinda scares me," he whispers.

Jee's eyes soften and her mouth falls open. "Oh. S'okay, Buck. Me 'n Eds will protect you."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "Yeah. Right, Eds?"

Eddie's bottom lip is in his mouth, pulled in and indented a little by his teeth. His eyes are startling, dark and bright. His cheeks are rosy. And he looks so lovely like this, fond and softened. It's Buck's favorite version of Eddie.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. His free hand moves toward Buck, fingers grazing across the back of Buck's knuckles. "We will."

That's good enough for Jee who is instantly back in motion, tugging them toward a nearby stall that is overflowing with stuffed animals and toys ready for grabs for anyone who can get three little ping pong balls in the round jars filled with water set out on a table.

Jee isn't tall enough to see over the edge of the stall, so he and Eddie switch up who holds her as she tosses the balls towards the jars.

Eventually, she gets one inside a jar and cheers loud enough that both he and Eddie wince. The person manning the stall seems endeared by Jee's tenacity and enthusiasm and tells her she can take her pick of any of the stuffed animals.

The rest of the evening passes swift and sweet, with Jee dragging him and Eddie around, the two of them doing their best to keep up and hold the prizes they all win.

It's the most fun Buck has had in ages. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much and his stomach hurts too from all the laughing. Jee and Eddie are two of the funniest people he knows and together they are fucking lethal, it's a miracle that all tissue around his ribs and stomach isn't bruised.

After stuffing their faces full of fries and greasy burgers and too much cotton candy for all of them—especially Jee whose pupils Buck swears he can see dilate from all the sugar intake that will no doubt come to bite him and Eddie in the ass—they haul their prizes to the car and leave.

Buck expected a little bit of a fight from Jee-Yun. She's not a fan of anything ending. Transitioning her from one place to another or from one activity to a different one usually has to involve a lot of cajoling and bargaining and sweet talk, but Eddie's soft voice and big brown eyes seem to make everything alright, of course they do, so she gets in the car with no problem, singing to herself as Buck straps her in. She even yanks him down for a kiss on the cheek before he closes the door.

When they get home, Jee shoots through the door and starts running from one end of the house to the other. Buck shares a frantic, frightened look with Eddie and then they are both in motion, following after her and making sure she doesn't crack her head open as she dashes around.

Later, much later than Buck would like, the crash comes. It is sudden and all at once. One minute Jee is twirling in circles, still singing, darting in between Buck's and Eddie's legs with lilting laughter that sounds exactly like Maddie's, and then her eyes grow heavy, her arms drop, and she plops down on the couch with a weary sigh.

Buck barely blinks and she's already horizontal, stretched out and taking up a lot of room for someone so little, looking like a little pink, fluffy starfish in her tiny hoodie and fuzzy socks.

Eddie blows out a breath and sags against the wall. Sweat shines on his forehead and the hollow of his throat. His hair is damp at the temples. His chest heaves a little bit, making the stretch of the shirt across his chest obscene, highlighting all the breadth and strength there.

Buck's mouth goes dry.

Eddie's dark lashes sweep over his eyes, something sultry about the small motion. "I'm too old for this."

Amusement curls low in Buck's belly. "Clearly. One sweet little girl has you more winded than any call we've been on."

"One sweet little girl," Eddie repeats. "She's a terror."

"Hey, she is the sweetest little girl. And precious!"

"Did I say she wasn't? Hm, nope, don't think I did. She can be sweet and a terror. Like someone else I know." Eddie's mouth goes crooked, a lopsided smirk that turns the temperature in the room up at least twenty degrees, and jerks his chin toward Buck.

"You think I'm sweet?" Why did that come out all breathy? Fuck.

Eddie hums. Closes his darkened eyes and rests his head back against the wall keeping him upright. "Sometimes." He bites his lip and laughs a little to himself.

Buck licks his lips. Swallows. Stares and stares and stares until Eddie opens his eyes again and he has to look elsewhere.

"Next time," Eddie says, sudden and loud enough that Buck jumps, "we make sure Chris is with us when we get her. At least then we can pawn her off and get a breather."

We. The two of them. Him and Eddie. And Chris. A unit.

It's not like Eddie hasn't nearly always talked like this. From the get-go he's been happy to include Buck, to tug him into his family, to enmesh him so deeply in their lives that sometimes Buck can't ever remember what it was like to be without Eddie and Chris. He does though. Remember what it was like before them. And after them too, when they were both gone and Buck was left untethered and stranded.

So he knows why his blood rushes when Eddie talks like they are a package deal. It's the belonging he's always wanted. The belonging he didn't ever truly get or understand until he was here, until Eddie showed him day after day.

It's nice to hear. Even now. Especially now.

Buck heads over to Eddie and leans against the wall beside him, shoulder pressing into the plaster, body growing warm from Eddie's heat. "You and I both know that even if we had Chris with us, you'd be hogging Jee the entire time."

Eddie scoffs. "I don't hog her."

"Yeah, you do. It's annoying. You're trying to take my spot as favorite uncle which is a pretty dick-ish thing to do."

Eddie looks pleased by that.

Buck pokes his beautiful, red cheek. "Why are you smiling? Stop it. I'm getting onto you."

"Oh, I'm properly chastised," Eddie replies, still grinning, still shining bright, still red-cheeked and satisfied. Still terribly, devastatingly beautiful.

A hollow pang echoes around in the chamber of Buck's chest. He rubs his knuckles against his sternum, up and down, up and down, up and down.

They stay like that for a moment, not moving and not speaking. Just breathing. Just leaning into one another. Just warm and alive. Buck could remain right here, propped against the wall with Eddie by his side, for the rest of his life and be content.

Eddie taps Buck's elbow with his fingers. "C'mon, let's clean up her mess."

Buck guesses Eddie would be less content to remain here forever. That's okay. That's fine. It's…expected.

They quietly go through the house and pick up the debris Jee left behind. Then Buck washes the dishes in the sink and Eddie moves clothes from the washer to the dryer. They wipe down the already clean kitchen counter together. Turn off the lights. Head to the living room to check on Jee who is dead to the world and has fully claimed the couch for her own.

It's Eddie's turn to sleep on the couch tonight. They were gonna put Jee in Chris' bed, but Jee, bless her, has upended the arrangements.

Buck has half a mind to ask Maddie if she put her daughter up to this. She would is the thing. But if he asked it would be admitting something and he isn't doing that.

"I'll move her," Eddie offers, already stepping toward her.

Before he has even made the decision to do so, Buck holds out his arm and stops Eddie with a hand on his chest.

Eddie drops his chin, looking down at Buck's hand splayed over his chest. It takes up a decent amount of space. From wrist to fingertip Buck has Eddie covered nearly from pec to pec, his sternum in between them soft against Buck's palm. Every breath of his ricochets through Buck. Hot and rapid and heavy. The longer Buck's hand remains the heavier and hotter and more rapid those breaths get.

He wonders what color Eddie's eyes are right now. If they are coffee dark or deep and rippling like a riverbed or shinning like summer sunshine. They tell him a lot, Eddie's eyes. Them and his mouth usually have emotion carved in them if you know where to look and Buck has learned very well where to look.

But Eddie's eyelashes obscure any color Buck might see and his mouth is—soft. Parted and almost round, like a rosebud not fully unfurled. He just stares down at Buck's hand and keeps staring and Buck keeps not moving his hand other than to curl his fingers slightly into Eddie's shirt like—like he wants to stay there. Keep Eddie. Take possession and never be removed.

Stupid. An utterly stupid thing to want and try to take. But not taking has gotten so hard lately.

Time holds still, uninterrupted except for the faint puffs of Jee's breathing and the warmth seeping from Eddie into Buck. Then it resumes, pushed back into motion almost violently when Eddie raises a hand to touch the back of Buck's lightly with his fingers and then meet his gaze with a raised brow.

Sweetened coffee. Caramelized sugar. That's what Eddie's eyes are like. And his face—it's a question, silently communicating a need for an explanation from Buck. Eddie's mouth is upturned like his eyebrow, an encouragement or perhaps just fond amusement.

The continued caress of his fingertips sends a shock of sensation barreling down Buck's arm. He shivers. Eddie's pupils expand. Buck swears he feels his own do the same.

"Buck," Eddie murmurs. Waiting, still waiting, and not going anywhere. Maybe he wants Buck kept here too.

Buck's mind goes terrifyingly quiet, full of dull static and then nothing at all, absolutely blank like a fucking error 404 screen. It's just—nice. Eddie's eyes and face and his chest. Very nice.

Jesus fucking Christ, Buck needs to get a grip. Or loosen the one he already has.

Buck removes his hand, burned and pained and chastened by whatever this is, and stammers out, "Uh, y—you, you sure you wanna do that?" He waves a flailing hand at Jee. "Moving her? There's a high risk of waking her up, y'know."

Normal, that sounded normal, right? Full sentences, for the most part. Subject, noun, verb. Or whatever the correct order is, he suddenly can't remember, held captive by the memory of not knowing the answers in English class because his mind was already either seven steps ahead or several steps behind. A cold shudder travels down his spine.

Buck is normal and can be normal. He doesn't know why his heart is racing or a flush is blooming beneath his skin, bloody and sticky and eager for release.

Eddie blinks at him and tilts his head. "I think it'll be fine."

Buck scoffs. "You've clearly never woken her when she's like this. Believe me, terror doesn't even begin to describe it."

"Okay," Eddie says slowly, his mouth quirked up at both corners now and his hands placed firmly on his hips. It's a stupid stance but he makes it look good. "So what do you suggest?"

What does he suggest?

Great question, Eddie. Could you please be less competent and logical?

"W—Well, I—" He cuts himself off. Worries at his lip with too blunt, too forceful teeth. Blushes brightly if the heat in his cheeks is any indication. Takes a breath that doesn't get completely strangled in his throat even though his heartbeat has taken up residence there. "We should probably just leave her. She's comfortable and—and we wouldn't wanna ruin that. We can share the, uh, the bed. If you don't mind! I—I don't." Buck coughs a laugh, grinning wide enough that his hot cheeks hurt hurt hurt.

That lightning bolt really should have done him in.

Eddie blinks at him again, looking like everything about Buck is just about too much for him to process right now. Buck gets that, he really does. Still, something pangs in him. A barely healed bruised touched too soon.

Then Eddie's lashes are fluttering and he's dragging a thumb over the corner of that sweet, supple bow of his mouth and there's more redness in his cheeks and on his throat that looks like it matches what's been burning in Buck all day. And Buck can't feel anything other than oh wow.

"You sure?" Eddie ends up asking, gaze solely attached to Jee.

Fuck no. "Y—Yeah." Another smile twists his lips.

Eddie peeks at him and blows out a breath through his nose. It sounds the way it always does when he's trying not to let on that Buck is making him want to laugh or be excited about something. And that sound—that familiarity—it's a balm.

"Alright. Then we will—we will do that." Eddie snaps his fingers and then aims a finger gun Buck's way.

It's cute and ridiculous and it makes Buck want to both adore Eddie fiercely about it and also tease him until he tries to run away.

A slight grimace pulls at Eddie's features. He drops his hand, shaking his head, and then motions over his shoulder with a thumb. "Let's—Yup, this way." Then he turns swiftly on his heel and heads to the bedroom. His bedroom, but really their bedroom. Buck has shared a bed with Eddie before, what feels like a lifetime and several versions of himself ago and also when they were surrounded by two other people, so, yeah, this is a bit different. It's Eddie's bed they are sharing. His room. His own space and intimacy and vulnerability all there for the two of them to experience together.

Doing this with your best bud probably shouldn't inspire the heat and ache that arises in Buck, but he ignores that. He's good at that when he really wants to be.

Buck follows after Eddie once he's shifted Jee ever so slightly closer to the back of the couch and tucked a spare blanket around her. "Thanks for getting me into this, you terrible thing," he whispers to her, cooing and sweet and punctuated with a kiss on her forehead.

Jee mumbles something back, smiling gently in her sleep, and turns on her side, happy and content.

When Buck stumbles into the bedroom, his socked feet dragging across the floor and his gait as slow and controlled as he can make it, Eddie is standing near the dresser, wearing nothing but his favorite pair of cut off shorts and fiddling with the t-shirt in his hands.

Buck stops short just shy of the threshold, a fist clenched tight around his entire nervous system, pulling everything to a screeching halt. Breathing, heart beat, nerve endings, synapses, it all goes quiet and still and Buck very well may drop dead.

Knees. Those are Eddie's knees. Nice and round and flattering as far as knees go. A faint, thin white scar mars the left one near the center, an old childhood hurt that came with a story that made Eddie laugh when he told Buck.

There are calves too, well-built and shaped, the curvature of them surely handcrafted by God himself. And thighs. A great deal of thighs, since Eddie's shorts are fucking obscene and he has no shame. They are a little paler than the rest of him but not by much since he's started playing basketball regularly again. Another scar, pink and puckered from a bullet that Eddie can't laugh about no matter how much he tries. That dark beauty mark on the back. Buck can't see it right now but he knows where it is. He could pinpoint its exact location with specific coordinates at any time if asked.

Dark hair dusting every inch of golden skin. Muscles, most of them bunched and shifting because Eddie is swaying slightly side to side. The protruding bone in Eddie's ankles. Buck wants to poke that bone. Maybe bite it and see how it fits between his teeth.

Buck swallows, or tries to anyway, his dry mouth makes it really fucking hard. Difficult. It makes it difficult. Just like the pause in his ability to function and the tight coil simmering low in his belly.

"Stop loitering," Eddie snaps at him without much bite.

That gets Buck back in action. Nothing can do that quite like Eddie can. He rolls his eyes and walks into the room, finally tearing himself and his terrible thoughts away from Eddie's bare legs. Only to then become consumed by his bare chest. More muscles and skin and scars where skin was once peeled open and bleeding into Buck's hands. Hair around dark nipples. Sparse and probably soft. More hair trailing down down down to—

Buck coughs, tasting something tangy and metallic. "You gonna put that shirt on or keep playing with it?"

He turns away before Eddie answers, grabbing his pajamas from last night off the floor. They are good enough for another night and allow him to get away from Eddie for a second instead of having to get closer to him and paw through the dresser that's so near to all that skin and body.

Buck does not get to be that close. He isn't allowed.

He spares a glance at the bed while he hastily dresses in sweats, t-shirt, and a thin hoodie. The sheets are rumpled and wrinkled, impressions of Buck's tossing and turning body left behind for them to fit themselves into. Waiting and beckoning and looking like the most dangerous thing Buck has ever seen.

Eddie clears his throat. The sound startles Buck enough that he almost yelps.

"I just—" Eddie pauses and there's the absolute faintest slick sound that lets Buck know he has licked his lips and is now sucking at the inside of the bottom one with his teeth. Something sharp crawls down Buck's spine and collapses into a puddle of goo at the bottom of his back.

"You just what?" Buck asks. The hoodie is giving him trouble. Honestly, it's probably too tight, but he wants it on. Needs it on. He gets cold and—and more layers are really a good idea right now.

"I run hot."

Buck looks over to see Eddie shrug a shoulder, teeth once more sunken into his lip, fingers tugging at the shirt's hem.

Eddie's eyes burn Buck straight to the core. "And," he continues, "you're here. I mean you'll be—" He wiggles his fingers at the bed. "So it will be, um. Warm."

"I am very hot."

Eddie snorts. "Shut up."

Buck smiles, all teeth and gums, and momentarily forgets about getting the hoodie the rest of the way down his chest. "You can—" He wags a finger at Eddie's chest. "It's fine." Fine fine fine, Buck hates the fucking word. It haunts him like the world's most determined, stubborn ghost.

"Yeah?" Eddie looks unsure, more unsure than Buck has seen him in a while. He wonders what it is. What about this bothers him or worries him. Used to, he would have an answer for that, but now—Things are different. Changed. Not bad exactly, just—not the same. Buck feels like he knows less about everything now than he used to.

Maybe for Eddie it's as simple as being hesitant about being half naked in bed with his male best friend. Eddie isn't really shy or stuck up about that kind of stuff, but—it's different when you're experiencing it. Could be he isn't comfortable with the thought.

Buck has made it his mission to not be the cause of such a thing. There are so many more opportunities and ways he can make things not okay between them and he won't do that. He's been determined to rip out his own guts to stop that from happening if that is what it takes.

God, his head hurts.

"Yeah," he says instead of puking all that shit out and leaving it at Eddie's feet. "I don't—It doesn't bother me. It's just—skin, man." He forces out a laugh and stumbles forward, knuckles rubbing over the swell of Eddie's bicep. "Good skin."

"Good skin?" Eddie asks with delight, eyebrows high and teeth bright.

Yeah, he said that, didn't he. It's true, but that's most definitely something that should have remained an inside, unspoken thought. They don't do that, talk about each other's skin or give compliments like that. For good fucking reason too, Buck just forgot about that for a second.

Buck sucks in a breath and shoves a hand against his face, hoping to cool himself off or wipe away whatever is clinging to him right now, all raw and exposed and hot. "Give me a break," he mutters. "I'm exhausted, man."

Eddie laughs, sweet and deep. "Yeah, okay. I'll use it against you later."

"Dick."

"Ah, but a dick with good skin."

Buck shoves him, giggling and imprinting the image of Eddie's broad grin into his brain so he never ever forgets it. He loves Eddie best when he's like this, loose and silly and boasting and saying ridiculous shit. Truthfully, he can never get enough of it, and even though he's a fucking calamity with legs that can't stop getting himself into stuff he should stay out of and is constantly embarrassing himself in front of one of the people he most wants impressed by him and feeling things about Eddie that are odd and different but so familiar, none of that really matters. Not when Eddie is like this and lets Buck see him like this.

Eddie tosses the shirt back into its drawer, still smiling and bright and just the most wonderful person Buck knows.

Buck wipes a hand over his face again and focuses back on his hoodie. The collar is twisted and the hem is bunched up around his pecs, stuck and overstuffed and refusing to budge. He grunts and grumbles, fingers slipping against the fabric and only managing to twist the damn thing further.

A small noise comes from Eddie, too low for Buck to decipher. "Come here," he murmurs. "Let me fix it." Then Eddie is in front of him and batting Buck's bumbling hands away. He tucks his long, lean fingers around the collar and yanks, bringing Buck closer and then positioning him the way he wants.

That coil in Buck's stomach tightens and twists, much more tangled and bothersome than his hoodie.

He watches Eddie as he works, brow furrowed and tongue sticking out between his teeth, so serious in his endeavor. Something lightens in that coil just as a softness presses against Buck's heart. He smiles at Eddie though Eddie isn't paying attention, gentleness taking shape on his mouth so easily for this man who is dedicated to fixing Buck's clothing so he's comfortable and can sleep.

The fabric pinches tightly in some places as Eddie adjusts it, but Buck doesn't mind. He would take whatever hurt he could at Eddie's hands, always.

Eddie's tongue slips out further and he grunts low in his throat. Buck wants to touch the hollow between his collar bones, feel that sound against his fingers, carry it up to his mouth and let it slip down his own throat.

It's intimate is the thing. More so than anything else Buck can imagine. Eddie slipping easily into his space and fussing with his clothes, helping him get covered, breaths fanning over Buck's chin, the sweet, earthy scent of his lemongrass body wash and lavender lotion thick in Buck's nostrils.

Buck might choke on lemongrass and lavender. Might collapse at the surge of energy every touch from Eddie awakens. Might drown in the salty, softness of his skin and the brown of his eyes and the movement of that rosebud mouth.

After a few moments, Eddie is able to untangle the collar, slipping the hood free and straightening it so it sits right and then his hands slide down Buck's chest, gentle and what Buck might call appreciative in other circumstances. Eddie licks his lips, steps forward a bit so that their toes are touching, and curls his fingers beneath the hem, knuckles pressing into the Buck's pectorals, and then he pulls.

It slides down easily, settling at the bottom of Buck's waist, comfortably snug.

Eddie lets out a little, triumphant, "Aha," and smiles at Buck so wide and big that it makes his nose crinkle and the lines beside his eyes deepen.

"Thanks," Buck says hoarsely, the word nothing more than a scrape against a wound.

"Anytime."

And Buck thinks he really means it.

To Eddie, of course, it's nothing. Well, not nothing, but simple. Easily given. Meant with his whole heart. He's like that, sincere and true in a way Buck thinks few people understand. Buck sees it though. Understands it. Loves it.

Loves.

Goddamn fucking shit, he is fucked.

"Hey," Eddie says with a poke to Buck's forehead. "What's with that face?"

Buck has to swallow several times and forcibly remind his lungs to work before he can answer. "This is the only face I have, Eddie." It's a pathetic croak coming out of him, but Eddie seems more preoccupied with rubbing at whatever is happening to Buck's brow right now.

His thumb is large and warm. Soft too. Probably because of all the moisturizing he does. His lavender lotion is precious to him, Buck learned that early on when he borrowed some one of the first nights he stayed over and Eddie made him buy a new bottle even though Buck only used a single, small dollop.

Buck half-heartedly ducks away from Eddie's probing and swats at his wrist. "What?"

"You just—" Eddie's eyes narrow and his head tilts. "You looked like you discovered something that made your heart nearly stop." He laughs though it's not as rich and round as it usually is.

Something that made his heart stop. More like he has accidentally touched on something too real and too familiar for it to be new but nevertheless it has made his heart go into overdrive and try to crawl out his mouth into Eddie's lavender scented hands.

Yikes. He's really fucked.

Buck wants to scream. Maybe cry. Panic definitely. But he can't. Not now. Not where Eddie can see and dig into Buck to find the reason. Buck can hold it back. Delay it for later. Swallow and strangle the panic and problem for long enough that it can't take a breath until he's alone. That's his specialty.

"I'm just…ready for bed," he mumbles, stepping past Eddie and flopping into bed with a lot less care than he would have five seconds earlier. Exhaustion has taken root in him, burrowing deep enough that his limbs are heavy and his wild, ravaged, overworked heart slips out of its frenzy.

Buck crawls under the covers and scrunches his body in tight. It's a protective sort of hold, though whether it's for himself or Eddie he doesn't really know.

Eddie turns out the lights and gets into bed beside him. Buck is enraptured by the movement of his body, so precise and measured and visible thanks to everything but his cock and the tops of his thighs being bared.

Heat flares, thick and prevalent, coating Buck's cheeks and throat, the center of his chest and the backs of his knees. He sucks in a deep breath, hoping for some cool air but it's all just saturated with Eddie. Buck hums and curls his tongue around salt and lemongrass and sweat then buries half his face in his pillow. Probably he should turn over onto his other side so he isn't facing Eddie, but he's afraid to move. And comfortable, wrapped in all things Eddie.

Buck knows he shouldn't let himself be comfortable with that, with any of this probably. But he lost that battle years ago so there's no need fighting it again now. He knows what limits he can handle and adhere to. It's fine. He's fine.

Eddie grumbles under his breath and shifts, his knees bending enough that they bump into Buck's thighs before retreating again.

"Sorry," Eddie mutters.

"S'okay. Just don't kick me in the dick."

Eddie laughs. "No promises."

"Are you this cruel to everyone or just me?"

"Just you," Eddie replies, the words a happy little hum.

Buck bites down on his lip hard enough that blood wells up hot and fast beneath the surface. It does nothing to dampen his smile though. Maybe he really is fine. This is—normal. This is them. Buck can't possibly ruin that. Won't.

The cozy, muffled sounds of home settle over the two of them, tucking them in even more amidst the bedsheets. Passing traffic. Buzzing streetlights. Faint snippets of Mrs. Tally's TV, the sound always kept on the highest setting day and night. The house's little creaks and groaning. The rushing of the a.c.

Something sweet and slow trickles through Buck, loosening the tension that's been holding him in a vice. He relaxes into the bed and tugs the sheets more firmly around his shoulders.

Eddie's breathing fills the space between them. It's not slackening like Buck's is. He's still awake and thinking, not anywhere near to drifting off despite how worn out he claimed to be.

Buck knows that sometimes it takes Eddie longer to reach sleep and often there's not much that can help him other than waiting it out. But Buck isn't good about waiting anything out. And it feels like the wrong thing to do now.

"What 's it?" he mumbles.

Eddie sighs. Scoots closer. Buck can see lashes and soil dark eyes and the slope of Eddie's nose.

"The last time me and Shannon went out together," he murmurs, so low Buck has to strain to hear him, "Like, out on a date, a real date, before—We went to a fair like that."

Carefully, so mindful of the wound of Shannon, Buck asks, "Yeah?"

"Mhmm." He's quiet then, and Buck thinks that is going to be it, that it is all Eddie can offer or bring himself to say, but then Eddie continues, louder but hesitant with every word like he himself is trying to be careful too, like the memory of her needs delicate handling. "It was before it all went to shit, y'know. Or—" He hums, chews at his lip. "Maybe everything was always pretty shit, but—We had fun together. In the beginning. She was so much fun. And she loved that fair. The lights and rides. The food. She ate so many caramel apples that she puked behind one of the food stalls."

Eddie chuckles and Buck does too, or tries to, it's a little hard because of the obstruction in his throat and the sadness stinging his eyes. He thinks that sadness belongs more to Eddie than himself, but that's why he feels it so much more.

"That didn't stop her though. She puked and then washed out her mouth with my water and was ready to keep going. I didn't care too much for the rides but went on every single one she wanted. It made her happy. And made her laugh, probably because I looked like an idiot with my eyes closed while I hung onto her like some scared child. But I liked that. I thought her laugh was the best sound in the world. And—" Eddie trails off, words evaporating off his tongue, as if lost to the time when he was nothing but a kid in love with a girl who was in love with him too.

Buck wishes he could have seen it. Back then he probably wouldn't have liked sharing Eddie, he doesn't care much for that now, but it would have been such a sight. Eddie in love. Eddie young and carefree without as much of the weight he carries now. He carries it well, but still—Buck wants to know every version of Eddie, and there are several far out of his reach.

So, of course, Buck tries to get his hands on at least one, caution and limits be damned. "What about games?" More, he needs to know more. "Did you play any together?"

Eddie huffs out a laugh. "Oh yeah. Shannon was as competitive as me so—"

"So you kicked each other's asses?"

More laughter, this time barked out and bright. "Pretty much. Lots of elbows and shoving and shit talking."

"Who won more?"

Silence. Then, "That's not relevant."

Buck snickers and shoves his fingers into Eddie's sternum. Warm, hot blood beats beneath his skin and even his very bone seems—hot and thriving and lovely. Buck would like to blame the exhaustion, but he doesn't think he can.

Eddie snaps his teeth in an exaggerated, faux bite as he bends his neck towards Buck's fingers.

Dangerous of him to do. Buck would stick his fingers in that lovely, awful mouth in a second. But he can't. He can't he can't he can't.

Buck pulls his fingers back. "Sounds like it was fun," he says all dumb and breathless once his fingers are safely tucked away and Eddie's mouth is kept safely empty.

"It was," Eddie replies. It sounds like he is smiling, and though it's dark enough to obscure most of Buck's vision, he thinks he can see it too. A small thing stretched over his mouth. It gets smaller then stretches out into a different shape and size as he reaches for Buck, fingers tugging at one of his hoodie strings. "Today was fun too."

"Yeah?" That's breathless too. And dumb. Eddie doesn't often say things he doesn't mean. Buck craves the confirmation anyway. Craves knowing that spending time with Buck and his niece out in the sunlight covered in sweat and Jee's sticky fingerprints and leaning on one another was something great to Eddie. Something that he'd want more of. Something worth staying for.

Buck couldn't ever be Eddie's wife or the love of his life, but there's lots of room for everything else. He wants to be as much to Eddie as he can be. No matter what it does to himself.

Eddie nods, his hair dragging against the pillow with a raspy sound, and Buck wonders how sweet his eyes look right now.

"Yeah," Buck says again with a smile, imagining a sugary brown that someone would be glad to be buried in, and stupidly thrilled to have that confirmation sitting on his own tongue.

Eddie tugs at Buck's hoodie string again then winds it around one finger. Once it's wrapped several times over Eddie hums and drops his hand, keeping his knuckles pressed close to Buck's chest and that string around his finger.

Buck is helpless to do anything other than reach back, wrap his own fingers around a part of Eddie—his thick, broad, strangely handsome wrist—keeping Eddie the way he is keeping Buck.

They fall asleep like that, and Buck thinks that maybe loving Eddie won't be such a bad thing, won't be torturous or leave him lonely. Maybe for the rest of his days, it'll be like this—intimate and warm and cozy, smelling of salt, lemongrass, and lavender.

Three: It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway.

Sometimes Eddie loves the station at night. Dark blue and hushed. Everything soft and blurred at the edges. The refrigerator and dish washer running. The clinking of Hen's spoon as she stirs honey into the tea she drinks every night. The shuffle of bodies against sheets in the bunk room.

It makes the world feel still and settled, something Eddie has come to appreciate more and more over the years.

Nights like tonight though, it grates on his nerves.

Every soft sound. The dim colors and prevalent shadows. All of it curls around Eddie, malevolent and vice-like. A fist closing around him, pushing out air that can't return, pinching every nerve-ending, forcing the flow of his blood to rush outward. Nights like tonight, Eddie becomes a bruise. A little busted open and stretched. Sore and biting.

A few minutes ago, it became too much and he had to get up, get out. He slipped out of bed, tossing the sheets away from him as if they were to blame for making his skin crawl and his mind whir. His hip collided gently with Buck's arm, thrown out into the small space between their chosen bunks, as if used to reaching out even when he's asleep. Eddie moved fast after that, not wanting to be there hovering above if the touch woke Buck up. He didn't need those blue eyes on him, always the hue of an aged bruise when it's late and he's tired. Eddie has enough bruises on his own without handling Buck's.

Typically, he can find some solace for himself. A gentle though slightly punishing work out in the dark. A glass of ice-cold water. A moment spent stretched out on the couch which is less accommodating to his size than the bunk but for some reason that helps more when he's like this. A walk through the station, the thud of his footsteps soothing enough that his heart adjusts itself to match the rhythm.

None of that seems enough tonight though. Eddie can't even pinpoint exactly what is wrong. He's sure plenty of other people could. Frank. His parents. Probably everyone here. Eddie knows he has no small number of issues, things that make his brain rattle and his breathing take an awful turn that makes his chest tight. But those phantoms are best left untouched, especially here where he shouldn't be bothered by anything at all.

Eddie goes to the roof. Air is what he needs, pure, unfiltered air. Space to breathe. Something more open than the dark walls and sharp edges inside the station.

He collapses near the door, falling onto his ass in a heap of exhausted, slightly sore limbs. It's been a demanding day, full of back-to-back calls that took all he had to give and then some more. No losses though. Nothing that couldn't be helped. A few close calls, some remaining terror belonging to someone else that Eddie will probably remember for a while, but nothing that explains the mess in his head and the sleep eluding him.

The rough wall is firm against his back and a little chilled like the wind brushing over his exposed forearms. Eddie pushes harder into it, all that firmness pressed tightly to the vertebrae in his spine, and he breathes. Imagines turning into jell-o. Breathes some more. Tips his head back to look up at the velvet sky.

Though they aren't really visible, Eddie wonders what stars and planets are out tonight, able to be seen where city lights and smog don't smother them out. He thinks Buck mentioned something about how though the stars are constant they do change, their positioning dependent on the angle and rotation of the Earth.

It's a small fact. Relatively simple. Easy to understand. But the dichotomy, the dual existence of remaining constant yet changing position, that's what fascinated Buck. Along with the detailed, exact, way too mathematical science of the Earth's rotation that Eddie couldn't really understand and doesn't need to understand further than the fact that he's on a giant rock that spins slowly in space.

Still, he enjoyed listening to Buck talk about it with such excitement and wonder. His warm, broad voice soaked with light and that special brand of giddiness that is just so very Buck. That made it stick with Eddie, though Buck could say something in the most monotone, joyless tone and it would stick with him.

Eddie huffs at himself, head banging back against the wall. He doesn't think it'll knock any kind of sense into him, but the physicality of it is nice. A lament of his own pathetic self where he can actually do such a thing, alone and unwatched.

The door to the roof opens then, a quiet squeak followed by a quieter, searching, "Eddie?" murmured by that voice Eddie loves so much. Too much. Way too much.

Alone and unwatched no longer.

Eddie stifles what arises in him. It's not frustration or annoyance, though he would have appreciated a little more time on his own. It's just—what is always in him for Buck. Always there, bright and loud and dominating and no longer content to be ignored and dampened or pushed away. Sunlight pouring over a dark horizon, lighting up everything in its path and vanquishing the ability to hide. Eddie has learned to live with that sunlight choking him, but when Buck is next to him, it's so much harder to fight.

"Hey, Buck," he murmurs back, not bothering to look away from the sky. He knows what Buck will do and he smiles to himself when Buck does it, quietly shutting the door and settling down next to Eddie, as close as he thinks he can be without suffocating Eddie.

Buck doesn't say anything once he's situated. He does stay in movement though. His knees are bent, unlaced boots tapping at the concrete beneath them. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers interlaced and shifting against one another. His head tips toward Eddie then away. Toward him then away. Again and again.

Eddie's smile deepens and it must be so incredibly revealing. It feels saturated in the pulse of his heart and the thrum of what lives inside it so Eddie cuts it off, shapes it into something more casual, and nudges Buck's elbow with his own. "Did I wake you?"

Buck hums, a non-answer though Eddie knows what it means.

"Sorry,"

"Don't be," Buck says. "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway."

Eddie turns to him, eyebrow raised, disbelief churning alongside the amusement he can't ever get rid of when he's around Buck and isn't being bothered to the point of wanting to strangle him. "Buck, you were dead to the world."

Buck scoffs. "Clearly not." He waves his hand around, gesturing to himself and then Eddie to communicate I'm here, aren't I? With you.

"You didn't have to follow me," Eddie points out. This time he nudges Buck's foot with his own, his sock catching against the boot's tread. Maybe he should have bothered shoving his feet into shoes before coming up here, but he doesn't mind being without them, doesn't mind that some parts of himself are a little bared when Buck is covered.

Buck shrugs, his shoulders rolling dramatically. "I wanted to."

Eddie knows this is just Buck being Buck and he would do it for anyone he cares about, follow along and make sure they are alright, but it makes Eddie feel special anyway. And warm. Doused in unwavering brightness, that sunlight crowding up inside him and burning and shining and begging to be seen.

Buck would look good, Eddie thinks, covered in this love that has its own texture and heartbeat. Whether he'd want it though, whether it would be too much and would burn him and leave him scarred, is another matter. One Eddie can't address. For so many reasons, but particularly for the ones that won't let him sleep on nights like these.

A knock of his knuckles against Buck's knees is all Eddie can allow himself, a tiny show of appreciation that his tongue can't properly express.

Buck takes that infinitesimally small, simple thing like it's worthy of awe, his head ducking down and Eddie's favorite smile spreading across his dark mouth. His birthmark too turns dark, matching the shade of that smile—a deep candy pink—and Eddie's heart aches.

Quiet wiggles in between them, not a barrier but a covering. It's a soft, velvety thing like the night sky above them, like the strange peace Buck can give when it's most needed, like the skin of Buck's bicep against his own.

Eddie's mind still turns over and over, incessant as the prod of a probing finger. It isn't as loud though. More of a low buzz than the cacophony that chased him out of bed. Eddie wishes he could crack open his own skull sometimes, take the remnants of that buzzing and poking and prodding in his fist and crush it.

He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the brick behind him. All of his focus and attention trains right to a point, situating firmly on the flow of his breathing and the comforting temperature of L.A.'s twilight breeze. And he waits.

"Bad dreams?" Buck eventually asks.

Eddie is surprised it took him this long to push. He knew it was coming. Buck has a hard time let anything just lie. If he thinks there is something to be done he will try to do it. And Buck has learned Eddie, learned when it's best to shirk his instincts and let Eddie be or distract him to the best of his ability. Something about tonight must have convinced him that Eddie needed something else.

The urge to brush it off is an old one. Familiar and well-know and well-used. Eddie can't resist picking it up off the shelf, wiping it free of some of the dust it has collected, where it was just waiting for him to put it back to use.

"It's nothing, Buck." God, is that his voice? It sounds so—worn and tired.

"Hm. Yeah, sure seems like nothing."

Eddie bristles. When he looks at Buck, he's gazing up at the sky. His bottom lip, pink pink pink and fuller than the top, is sucked into his mouth. He wonders if Buck is tasting the bite in his own voice, wishing to take it back, or if he's stopping himself from saying something else.

Stars shine in the blue of his eyes, brighter and more visible than in any sky.

Eddie is nothing beneath that light. So small in comparison. But not unseen.

"I don't know," he breathes out, so caught up in the starlit blue of Buck's eyes and the way it bores into his mind, blue blue blue washing everything out or lighting everything up. He can't really tell which. But he feels more rooted in the moment, in his skin, than he did before.

If only he could truly let Buck into his mind. He takes up near full residence there anyways, and Christ knows there's plenty Eddie doesn't want him to see, but—it would be nice regardless. There wouldn't be any choices, no decision to make and no pretending to accomplish.

"Okay," Buck murmurs back, sweet and accepting when he doesn't have to be. Especially when he doesn't have to be and probably shouldn't be.

Eddie shakes his head, not entirely sure what he is trying to deny. "It's just—" An uptick in his heartbeat makes him stop, take a breath. He is exhausted, still drenched in the fear of others, remembering what that fear felt like in himself all the times he was close to losing someone and all the times he actually did. Yet, despite that, all he really knows and sees right now is blue blue blue. And flashes of pink. Sweetness and life. Buck.

He taps a finger against his temple. "—a lot rattling up in here. Loud. Annoying. My usual tricks to turn it off just aren't working tonight."

"Ah." Buck chews harder at his lip then lets it go. It's more plump now, a beacon. Eddie wants to lay down there, along Buck's mouth, become slick and shiny with spit and be endlessly stretched into the shape of happiness and held close and safe. "I know a little something about that."

Eddie snorts and digs his shoulder into Buck's. "I didn't think yours ever turned off."

Buck chuckles, head bouncing in a little nod as if to say, Yeah, that's true.

"What if—" Buck licks his lips, flicks his summer sky, star shine eyes away from and toward Eddie, over and over. "I could help."

Eddie's mouth quirks into a specific angle that is all for Buck. Of course he's already trying to find a solution for Eddie. It can be frustrating sometimes. Not now though. Now it is just reliable and steady like Buck himself. "Yeah? How?"

A shy but equally excited smile splits Buck's mouth wide open, revealing all his teeth and gums. The expression takes up his whole body, involving every breath and muscle. Buck twists toward Eddie, cheeks and birthmark darkening once more, feet shifting as he re-situates himself.

Watching it, Eddie is helplessly fond.

"It's a special Buckley trick." The shyness fades, replaced by something that shines so bright that Eddie has to blink against it.

"If you're gonna offer to knock me out, I'll have to politely decline."

Buck rolls his eyes. "Hardy har. No, it's much better than that."

"Better than being forcibly and violently sent into unconsciousness? Don't tease me, Buckley, I'm getting all giddy."

The flutter of Buck's lashes is riveting. Eddie wonders how soft they'd feel against his tongue.

"Eddie," Buck whines, still grinning big big big though his brows have collided into a frustrated furrow. Eddie pokes it. Buck pokes him back.

Truthfully, Eddie is more settled and clear now than he has been in a while. There's less tension scrunching him up tight. Less protest in his bones. Less movement in his head. Telling Buck that though isn't something he can do. It would reveal too much and inflate Buck's already monstrous ego.

"Tell me," Eddie relents, meaning for it to come out soft but it comes out as more of an order instead which isn't exactly a bad thing. In the end, it's never really been hard to get Buck to do what he says. Or vice versa. It's power he wields over Buck and power Buck wields over him, never manipulated or taken advantage of, never making them unequal. It is something Eddie knows he can trust and play with even if he really shouldn't.

Buck claps his hands together eagerly and rubs them together, like he needs them warm and well-prepared for whatever he is about to do. God, Eddie has probably gotten himself into trouble, hasn't he.

Buck's hands—large and competent and strong—come up near Eddie's face, fingers waggling along with his stupid, pretty eyebrows. "Can I?" He wiggles his fingers even more, the worst imitation of jazz hands Eddie has ever seen, and gestures to Eddie's face.

Eddie has always been too curious and wanting for his own good so he nods.

Buck's hands on him are the best and worst thing. Wonderful and awful and entirely for Eddie and Eddie alone, no witnesses no judgment, just them, so he can bear it, he can keep it encased within a bruised fist, he can keep Buck from seeing the maelstrom of sensation taking him by force as Buck's skin presses against his own.

The calluses along the ridge of Buck's palm scrape over Eddie's faint stubble. The rest of his palm is soft, a gentle curve that cradles Eddie's face like he is breakable, precious, deserving of care given with the utmost precision.

Eddie is all those things, in Buck's hands.

Air drags against Eddie's suddenly dry, raw throat and sticks to his chest as Buck's fingers curl along the hinges of his jaw. Then his thumbs come close to Eddie's eyes, his mouth set in a firm, plump line that is more distracting than it has any right to be. Eddie doesn't flinch as Buck's thick thumbs move closer then start brushing over his eyebrows again and again and again.

It is the softest thing. Soft enough that Eddie trembles, first somewhere deep within, a part of himself long buried and hidden, then it balloons outwards, stretching over bone and skin.

"Cold?" Buck whispers, his thumbs slowing down the slightest bit.

Eddie can't look at him. His big blue eyes. The slope of his nose. The splattered crest of his birthmark. The pink apples of his cheeks. The intensity of his focus and care, saturating every inch of his expression that it is like looking at love itself in human form.

Eddie closes his eyes. Murmurs, "No." Then, "Keep going," said so softly it blends in with the breeze.

Buck does as requested. Back and forth his thumbs brush over Eddie's eyebrows and it's like they are connected to something, some vital part of him that is wound tight, an obstacle being gently undone and removed.

Forget jell-o, Eddie is pure putty. Liquid goo. Something malleable and sparkling. He sags, slumping into Buck who takes what Eddie gives with ease, nothing but a tiny huff of a laugh spilling out of his mouth.

"Maddie used to do this for me," Buck says, voice textured in that specific way it always is when he talks about Maddie and their childhood. "My head would get loud and busy and I couldn't sleep."

"And you made it everybody's problem."

Buck outright laughs at that, a rumbling, pleasant sound that wiggles past Eddie's breastbone with a warmth that no fire or sunshine could ever compare to. "And I made it everybody's problem."

Back and forth go his thumbs, back and forth. Soft soft soft. A strange lullaby only able to be heard because of how secluded they are. Eddie can't get too caught up in it otherwise he'll do something he shouldn't. Something risky and dangerous. Something that always happens when he momentarily deludes himself into thinking he can have something he can't.

"Maddie would bribe me to get me into bed then would sit beside me and just brush her fingers over my eyebrows. I'm not sure why it always worked, but it just—It helped me so I thought maybe it would help you."

Eddie hums, so safe and taken care of in the dark and with Buck. It'll have to end. Sooner rather than later. That doesn't stop Eddie from soaking it up as much as he can. He's as selfish as he is cowardly.

"S'nice," he slurs.

Buck digs his thumbs in a little harder on the next pass, drawing out a low, wretched sound from the bottom of Eddie's throat. It makes Buck's thumbs stutter but they don't stop. Eddie debates pulling away, but if Buck won't stop then neither will he, not yet.

When Eddie is deconstructed to his barest parts, the muscles and tissues in his neck completely disintegrated so that his head is practically weightless and lolling in Buck's hands, he lazily, blearily blinks open his eyes.

Buck pauses then, something indecipherable flickering over his expression. Whatever it is feels as raw as Eddie, digging sharply into Buck's cheeks and both brightening and darkening his eyes at the same time.

Eddie swallows once, twice. Tries to smile and fails. Stays still as Buck takes his hands back all slow and hesitant like he's reluctant to let go.

"Better?"

"Yeah." Eddie, in an act of insanity brought forth by the goo his brain has been turned into thanks to Buck, reaches out and drags a fingertip across one of Buck's eyebrows and then the other. "Thanks."

There's that smile again. Eddie's favorite. The one that flashes over the entirety of Buck's face. The one that is fully bared and broad and slightly off center and also somehow small and gentle at the same time. The one that Eddie wants to wrap around his finger and wear like a ring that means something too large for Eddie to deal with or understand.

That smile must have its own weight because it's always accompanied by the sweet duck of his head and a breathy sound.

"What are partners for," Buck says, punching Eddie gently on the shoulder, fingers fluttering around the edge of Eddie's sleeve before they are gone again.

"Put this on your resume," Eddie says back stupidly. "Eyebrow—Caresser? Tamer? Brusher? Whatever, I'm sure it'll get you any job you want."

Buck laughs, glee turning up his brightness so that it is almost unbearable. Not for Eddie though, he can bear it all.

"I've got already got everything I want."

"Yeah?"

There's a pause, like Buck is truly considering his answer. He doesn't look away from Eddie, gaze stuck on him as if Eddie holds the answer instead of Buck himself. He opens his mouth then, pausing and breathing and squaring his shoulders the way he does when he's about to plunge himself deep into something, and something kicks wildly against Eddie's ribs, all but shattering him to pieces, and then—

The bell goes off. A screeching, rattling thing that yanks at them harshly.

Buck jolts, cursing softly under his breath and Eddie gets that wild thing under control, a hand absentmindedly rubbing back and forth over his ribs as if that alone can stop it from ripping him asunder and escaping in a mess of flesh, blood, and bone.

He's back in his body fully, not as relaxed as before but still not clenched so tightly he can barely breathe. It takes barely any thought or effort to hop onto his feet and offer Buck a hand.

Buck stares, unmoving.

"Time to go, bud," Eddie encourages with a flick of his fingers in a come hither gesture he's had to use on Buck countless times before.

Buck's expression levels out, not blank but nowhere near as exposed before, all that starlight living in him obscured as he takes Eddie's hand and lets Eddie haul him up.

Too much strength on Eddie's part and too little on Buck's makes them collide once Buck is upright, chests fusing together and chins grazing. Buck barks out stuttered laugh and shifts but he goes the same way Eddie does so they collide again.

"Jesus," Eddie mutters, skin so hot he's afraid he might burn Buck to ash where they touch. "Get those giraffe legs under control, man."

"Me?" Buck asks, outraged. "Get your—" He waves a hand around, making a bunch of noises Eddie can't decipher. "—under control."

If Eddie had any more control he'd be a fucking robot only able to do one of the five things he's been programmed to do, never straying or changing. Some days he feels close to that. But when he's around Buck—it all frays and turns upside down and leaves him floundering in ways he thought he would hate but doesn't.

Eddie closes his hands around Buck's criminally large biceps and holds him still then pointedly takes a step back, his chest heaving with laughter. "Maybe I need to hold you still like this all the time and direct you where you need to go. Or better yet, put you on a leash. Heel, Buckley."

Buck shoves at him ineffectively and when that doesn't work resorts to sticking his tongue out at Eddie.

Eddie fights the urge to take it between his fingers.

He lets go of Buck then, hands falling away from all that skin and muscle, but Buck catches his wrist before Eddie can place it securely in his own personal space. Those kind, gentle fingers of his wrap around and around then tug, guiding Eddie the way Eddie joked he would guide Buck, bringing him toward the roof's door with a speed that makes them both nearly trip, all while laughing like a little kid.

Eddie loves him so bad. Badly enough it'll ruin him or save him. Knowing Buck, knowing himself, it'll probably do both.

Four: You didn't have to ask. // I like your laugh.

Loving Eddie is bad. So bad. Very very bad. Awful even.

Buck is consistently living his own personal terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Because every day he loves Eddie. And every day it is excruciating.

But it's also exhilarating. Beautiful. Fun. Lovely and bright and the best thing he has ever done.

Two things can be true. Buck contains endless multitudes.

So he loves Eddie, deeply, madly, incessantly, and it brings him to the heights of ecstasy and the terrible depths of devastation. He's not unfamiliar with such a thing, Buck rides through his emotions the way one rides a roller coaster—hanging on for dear life, embracing every bit of excitement and fright, yanked up high then plummeting low. Equilibrium has never been his strong suit. It has always eluded him and for the most part he has learned how to deal with that.

Adding in how he feels about Eddie to that already unstable equation leaves everything a little off-kilter. Something to accommodate for and adjust to, but the truth is, Buck isn't really doing anything differently. He has been loving Eddie all these years the same way he has been breathing. Instinctively. Naturally. Easily, except for maybe a few minor hiccups here and there.

The most difficult part is keeping it to himself. Buck likes to share most things, but especially something like this. When he's in love the world is shaded in the prettiest, most romantic hues. Everything is brighter, sweeter. Each sensation is heightened to the point that he's basically a walking exposed nerve. And he likes for people to know it, see it, recognize it. Some might consider it showing off but Buck just—He may crave some sense of validation and approval, signs from everyone else that he's doing it right, but more than anything, he likes letting others experience what he is experiencing.

All the mushy, visceral, sticky, frustrating, and lovely things about being in love aren't meant for one person alone. Buck's regular emotions on a normal day are often too much for him to handle and contain but this? Love. Loving Eddie. It is striking and large and it fills him to the brim. But he can't let it spill out. Can't hand it over. Can't fawn over Eddie, not visibly or too loudly anyway. Can't do any of the things Buck's heart is screaming for him to do.

His only saving grace is that he's learned how to do things quietly with Eddie. Not everything. Eddie can be rowdier than him sometimes, but being still, settling in a moment without giving anything up, appreciating what is before him, deferring to the wants and needs of someone other than himself—Buck has become well practiced at all of that because of Eddie. So, he loves his best friend as quietly as he can, as he has apparently been doing for years.

Strangely, it is hardest to do that not when they are alone—tucked close together in the home Buck cannot stop thinking of as theirs and which he has no intention of leaving, living in an intimacy Buck has had with very few people, touching and laughing and bugging each other and seeing parts of one another that no one else really gets to see—but when they are with others, out in public and exposed, when there are other people who can see Eddie and can see Buck and can see EddieandBuck and what they see doesn't look anything like the rose-colored world Buck inhabits with all the parts of Eddie that he is allowed.

Like now, on hour unknown out of one of the longest twelve-hour shifts Buck has ever worked. It's been call after call since this morning, most of them rather simple and easy with a great lack of tragedy, but this latest one—coming near enough to the tail end of their shift that all of them let out petulant, complaining groans at the sound of the bell, even Bobby—has been testing Buck's will power, well-being, and general sanity since they arrived on scene.

The thing is, Eddie is hot shit. Everyone knows it. Buck knows it, their team knows it, all their family and friends, and every single person Eddie meets. It is impossible to miss or not notice. Eddie just—ah he shines.

He is breathtaking in the simplest and most complex ways. How he moves, full of confidence and swagger, particularly when he is in uniform. The way he talks, firm and strong but also gentle and sweet when that's what someone needs to hear. The bold lines of his body, outlined in blue and lit up by the evening sun. Brown eyes, dark and bright like a black star or sunlight shining through the bottom of a riverbed. Soft, pretty mouth. Smiles for days, handed out with efficiency and ease. Those teeth. The pointy incisors that could sink into Buck's flesh and leave a mark. Legs and muscles and that slutty, subtle curve of his waist. His fucking aura, which is a thing even if Eddie swears it isn't. He radiates something almost undefinable, but whatever it is, it's intoxicating and enchanting, caring and protective, sweet and willing to take no shit.

Buck dares anyone to not get caught up in all that. It can't be done. The straightest man on Earth could take one look at Eddie walking toward him, there to save the day, tugging on gloves that cling to his big, broad hands and thick fingers in a way that is criminal and should be studied—and Buck fucking swears he is going to talk to Bobby about the gloves they order because this is a problem and indecent and no one should be exposed to this except for Buck which is another problem he needs to figure out because how the hell does he keep anyone else from seeing Eddie's hands in gloves but himself—and that man would fall to his knees in an instant. Simple truth that is.

And it's basically playing out right now. Has been for a while actually.

Some idiot had the brilliant plan to hijack a hot air ballon and maneuver it over the damn highway so he could get fifteen minutes of shoddy fame. Shockingly, things went wrong. The guy, one Elliot Champion, did not accommodate for what long, strenuous travel would be like and absolutely did not plan on being able to successfully operate the balloon by himself, so his repeated harsh beatings to the adjuster for the burner broke the damn thing, ultimately ending in the great crash of said balloon down onto over a dozen vehicles and their angry, perplexed drivers.

If Buck were going to pull this stunt—which he wouldn't, there are so many cooler, more fun, and relatively safer stunts to pull—at the very least he would have researched for a few days beforehand so he could operate the balloon appropriately and keep this mess from happening. Information is important, Buck hoards it for a reason beyond the general thrill of knowing something and being able to share it. Clearly, Elliot didn't agree.

And Elliot, dumbass that he is, has fallen victim to Eddie's everything. Which, Buck can't exactly blame him for that, it's an unavoidable condition, becoming besotted and enamored and having your heart take a nose dive into your gut in an overwhelming, sweaty swooning sensation that is meant to be reserved for the bodice rippers Buck steals from Maddie. All of that is a simple guarantee when you are exposed to Eddie Diaz.

Still, Elliot could have some kind of decorum. But no, he's just been mooning over Eddie since he and Buck got him out of the horrifically fucked up basket he was stuck in while way too close to an unstable flame. Unstable because of him but Buck digresses.

Eddie got his hands under Elliot's shoulders and Buck was able to grab his legs and together they pulled to get him free. A bit of an ungraceful, messy rescue but them's the breaks sometimes. And it worked. A little too well.

Elliot was all wide-eyed and stammering, blood dripping down from a cut on his forehead and his wrist bent at a weird angle. Eddie, of course, being the sweetheart and well-trained, helpful guy that he is, immediately got Elliot sitting down and situated so he could be tended to. Hen and Chim, the fucking traitors, were assisting the drivers involved in the balloon debacle. Ravi and Paulson were working with some of the officers to direct traffic around all this bullshit. Bobby bounced between everyone, checking in and giving out orders as needed. And Buck, well, there wasn't much for him to do, nothing to be broken open or into, nothing that needed lifting or climbing or anything at all.

So obviously he decided to stick with Eddie. Because Eddie is his partner and could need some help so it's best if Buck is already there to give it.

And yeah, it's also so Buck keep an eye on the idiot currently looking up at Eddie with hearts in his eyes like he's been doing for the past ten minutes. Even when Eddie was sternly albeit kinda politely scolding Elliot, the hearts didn't falter. No, they only brightened and got bigger and bigger and bigger. Buck himself has been at that particular end of Eddie's scolding and, sure, it can make you feel a bit like a kicked dog but it also makes you want more from him, makes you want to do better, makes you want to sit down and pant while you appreciate how hot he is when he's like this.

So Buck is extremely familiar with what is overtaking Elliot now and he doesn't appreciate seeing it happen to someone else one bit. It's not reserved for Buck, none of Eddie is, even though it feels the exact opposite sometimes, yet Buck can't help wanting to claim it anyway. Possess all of Eddie's attention whether it's good or bad. Be the singular point in Eddie's world. Be the only one who gets to feel like Elliot is clearly feeling now.

If there was a way Buck could put his own personal copyright on these feelings for Eddie he would. That might be difficult and utterly idiotic and involve way too much legal jargon that Buck won't understand but he doesn't care. Because Elliot is swaying closer and closer to Eddie who is crouched down to his level, thighs filling out his pants so damn well. His spine curves, highlighting the dip at the bottom of his back as he sort of perches over Elliot, first wiping at the blood on his face—which really is unnecessary, so what if he has blood sticking to his cheek that's not where the wound is—then efficiently bandaging the shallow wound, snapping his fingers occasionally at Buck to get him to hand over more gauze.

Eddie's kit is at his feet, just within reaching distance, but he always sneaks extra gauze into Buck's pockets, so Buck barely has to blink and process those snapping fingers tightly covered in blue latex before he is sticking a hand into Eddie's favored pocket to pull some gauze out.

When he has the gauze in hand, Eddie smiles at him, a little curve that means thanks and could mean good job or even good boy if Buck let himself sink into the heat of the day and Eddie's caramel gaze and fantasize like the wretch he is.

Elliot, of course, makes that a problem, what with him pulling Eddie's attention away from Buck, mumbling something about how gentle Eddie's touch is, his dark eyelashes fluttering crazily as he continues to coo and sigh dreamily while Eddie blushes this deep red color Buck doesn't think he has ever seen before. Why hasn't he ever seen it before? Why is Eddie doing it for Elliot?

"Everything okay?" Buck asks gruffly, so much frustration packed into the words he throws at Elliot he's surprised they don't bludgeon his fucking face.

Elliot's eyes don't even turn a fraction his way.

Buck doesn't let it deter him. "You're blinking like crazy, something in your eye?" Before Elliot can answer, Buck mutters to Eddie, "Maybe he has some brain damage."

Elliot pales. An irritating satisfaction bunches up beneath Buck's sternum, curling and spreading out like a pleased animal.

"Pretty sure fluttering lashes aren't a sign of any kind of brain damage," Eddie muses, smooth and low and so clearly amused that it both irritates and pleases Buck further. "But I'm sure Elliot here appreciates your concern and attention to detail."

"Um, sure," Elliot says.

Buck glares at Eddie's infuriatingly beautiful profile. Eddie's mouth twitches.

So he noticed the fluttering and what? Doesn't mind? Enjoyed it? Has no problem with some guy falling all over himself for him?

The thing is, the answer to that shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Except for how it really does matter because Buck is a guy, he's Eddie's guy, and has plenty to gush about when it comes to Eddie and he can be sweet and charming, many people have told him so, especially in bed, so if it's a man's attention Eddie doesn't mind receiving or even wants, why not Buck's?

That Buck definitely doesn't want the answer to, even though there's something crawling up his throat and winding between his grinding teeth, begging to be released and bitten into until it is bleeding everywhere for everyone to see.

There's so many reasons Buck can't be more than he is to Eddie. That does nothing to stop Buck from wanting. It's one of his biggest problems he knows. Obstacles mean little to him, just another thing for him to throw himself over regardless of whatever bruises or gets broken in the process. He'll work harder, push himself and whoever is around him, to get to that one thing that's so far away from him.

Buck's grasp nearly always extends his reach. And right now he is grasping for a way to mark Eddie as his. Keep others away. Keep Eddie to himself for just a little while longer. A little more time, that's all he wants, all he needs.

"You don't have to stick around with me, y'know," Eddie murmurs to him as he finishes tending to the laceration on Elliot's forehead and moves to his wrist. It's a little more swollen now, bruising some at the edges, and it's clearly tender based on the way Elliot flinches as Eddie inspects it with those goddamn fingers of his.

Buck frowns. Bites down on his tongue instead of one of those fingers. "What do you mean? I'm being super helpful."

Eddie snorts and it rocks through his whole body, making him sway backward and then forward as he reorients himself. A few strands of hair flop over onto his forehead, wavy and damp. Buck would bite down on those too if he got the chance.

"Okay, yeah, super helpful." Eddie's mouth twists some more until his teeth and gums are bared. "Lurking over my shoulder and handing me things I could get for myself."

"And looking pretty, don't forget that." Buck points a finger at him, delighted at the pale pink color that springs to life on Eddie's cheeks. It's not as dark as the blush Elliot got but Buck will take it. "Someone has to do that." He's not exactly proud of it, but he casts a glance over at Elliot, a pointed perusal and then an even quicker dismissal as he turns back to Eddie.

Eddie's mouth pinches together and the lines beside his eyes crinkle sharply. Then the teeth and gums are back, bared in such a simple, delighted smile that makes Buck's heart stutter. "Other than me, you mean." It is said with the confidence and swagger that Eddie has gotten much better at displaying, even when he's just being playful.

Buck isn't playing though. Not about this. "Yeah," he says softly. "Other than you."

That stops Eddie short, every bit of him going so still that Buck's eyes drop to his chest to make sure he is still breathing. He is. A little raggedly, a step off his usual rhythm.

The brown of well-tended, fertile summer fields lights up on Buck, fixing him to the spot. It's just a peak, a brief glimpse as Eddie examines Buck through his periphery vision. It feels like a laser beam though, shooting straight through the core of Buck and burning him up.

Elliot coughs. "My wrist."

Eddie blinks a couple times in rapid succession then shifts his focus and demeanor so swiftly it's like whatever small moment just occurred didn't happen. Buck sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue until it hurts bad enough to make him wince.

He stays quiet while Eddie explains the sprain and swelling to Elliot, letting him know what needs to be done and that he'll need to be checked out at the hospital just in case to ensure there isn't a break. Buck is already digging in Eddie's kit for the wrap he will need and depositing it in his hands before he's done talking and can motion for what he needs.

A little breath exits Eddie. His fingers stutter and tremble a little against Buck's and then he's wrapping Elliot's wrist. Buck watches the movement of his hands, entranced even now by something that is so simple and should not in the least bit be sexy. Eddie is gentle with Elliot, touching him more than is probably warranted, all slow and tender, casting smiles Elliot's way every now and then.

Buck's vision fractures and his heart starts beating so loud and hard and hot that everyone within a ten mile radius must be able to hear it.

"You're usually bouncing around between everyone on scenes like this," Eddie says, casual and nonchalant, all of his attention still speared onto Elliot's wrist, fingers brushing softly over the swollen, inflamed skin.

Yeah, well, this guy clearly has the hots for you and is trying so hard to hit on you, so I decided I wasn't going anywhere else. Even if ordered to. Bobby would have to pull me away from you kicking and screaming.

Buck isn't the best at filtering what he should and shouldn't say, nor is he too well-versed in the self-control needed to keep his foot from being shoved in his mouth, but even he knows he can't say any of that.

Eddie doesn't need protecting from Elliot. Or anyone really. Except for himself sometimes and his difficult parents a lot of the time, but even then Eddie is a pillar, strong and unwavering no matter how the world tries to beat him down. It's one of the things Buck admires most about him and it's something he thinks Eddie doesn't truly understand or recognize about himself. Point is, Elliot isn't any kind of threat. To Eddie. Buck can't help treating him like one though, hackles raised and teeth bared in a way that completely contrasts to Eddie's amused and silly smiles.

If anyone deserves those hearts in their eyes for Eddie to be put on full display it is Buck. And Elliot is a horrible reminder of how that can't be the reality. And maybe he is a sign that the biggest issue here is Buck himself, not the fact that he's a guy, because Eddie has been preening and blushing over Elliot's compliments and swooning no matter how casual and uncaring he tries to act. He's professional, yes, always, but—Buck knows him. He can read Eddie better than anyone. And he has enjoyed the attention and flirting. Few else would notice it, but very few people have dedicated themselves to studying Eddie and knowing him the way Buck has.

In the end, Buck just shrugs and says, "No big deal."

Eddie peers at him, serious and considering. "I didn't ask you to." It's not mean or an invitation for Buck to find somewhere else to be. Years ago, Buck would have taken it as such, but now he knows this is just Eddie stating a fact as he processes something, nothing else hidden underneath. A coy, subtle guy Eddie is not.

"You didn't have to ask. I wanted to," Buck says. "Everyone else has their partner to help them. You need yours too, even if it's simple, so I'm here."

It's not an admission or a confession or even really a hint at what is bursting against the cage of Buck's ribs, all red and sticky and loud and needy, but fuck, it feels like one. Buck has revealed something and Eddie is seeing it, mouth help open in a small o and his eyes stuck to Buck like he's something special to see.

Nothing is happening really, but it feels big. Big enough to make Eddie pause. Big enough to make him look at Buck like that. Big enough for Buck to forget how to breathe and briefly consider throwing himself beneath one of the cars surrounding them.

"Partner?" Elliot echoes in a chirp, his eyes now flicking between Buck and Eddie.

A sound leaps out of Eddie, startled and high-pitched, something Buck won't forget for the rest of his days. And then Buck is cut off, every inch of Eddie swinging back toward Elliot. He smiles. It's a smile that is—more than what he typically gives patients.

Buck bristles. Barbed wire is scrunched up beneath his skin, prickling and cutting. "Yeah," he bites out with a manic grin. "Partner. Do you have something blocking your ear canal maybe?"

"Buck." His name is a swift cut, launching out of the back of Eddie's throat with harsh swiftness and followed by the shake of his head.

Something deflates in Buck. A hole poked in the swell of need and fury in him that so often slips out of his control. He bites his lip punishingly and casts his eyes to the ground, leaving Eddie to finish with Elliot in silence. He hears little of what Eddie says, whatever it is he's sure it is reassuring and kind and maybe it could lead somewhere other than the natural conclusion of patching someone up. Buck's stomach twists and burns at the thought, his palms going slick and the awful, insistent beat in his chest turning feverish.

Then Eddie is helping Elliot up and pointing him toward one of the ambulances nearby. Buck stands up too and is startled to find that Eddie is still there with him and not accompanying poor, pitiful Elliot.

Eddie's kit is dangling off his shoulder and his hands are on his hips, his stance bold and bracing. He's still wearing his gloves, their light blue color stark against his dark uniform.

"What was that about?" Eddie demands.

Buck forces a furrow into his brow. "What?"

Eddie exhales. "Seriously?"

"I seriously don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, yeah." The words exit Eddie in a rush, fitted around an unpleasant curl to his mouth. Then Eddie is wiping the bare part of his wrist against his forehead, those wild strands of hair getting tossed about, and he's breathing in a way that is very deliberate and controlled. "You just—"

Buck swallows something nasty. It pings against his raging heart and lands awfully in his stomach. "I'm what, Eddie?"

Eddie's lips purse and those examining eyes are turned fully and wholly onto Buck like he is a wound to be analyzed and treated. Whatever he finds in Buck, he softens in increments until his mouth is slack and there's less tension in his wide shoulders. "Are you—Were you—" Eddie cuts himself off, head shaking, then he straightens like his spine has been swapped out for a piece of steel and takes a step closer to Buck. "Were you jealous?" It's said with a mocking amusement, but Buck knows Eddie's sincerity. He knows what a genuine question Eddie needs the answer to sounds like.

It sparks something in Buck, a jittery, exposed sort of thing that makes him want to whine and snap. "Why the fuck would I be jealous?"

It's mean and defensive. Too mean and too defensive. In the back of his head he can faintly hear Maddie's voice saying over correction or maybe overcompensating. Logically, he should listen to that and readjust. But there's a film over his vision, something that alters the rose gold of a world with Eddie Diaz and his light in it, replaced by reels of the smile Eddie gave Elliot, one that Buck doesn't think has ever been aimed at him before and probably never will be.

Buck has gotten used to Eddie being unattached and uninterested. He has gotten used to Eddie's time and attention. He has gotten used to having Eddie all to himself. And he has too quickly gotten used to what lives and thrives and thrums in himself for Eddie, this need and want and love. All delusion and fantasy. Something Buck will never be able to reach.

It's nothing he didn't already know. Nothing he hasn't resigned himself to over and over again. Still, there's an urge to blow up the whole goddamn world or at least their corner of L.A. just to end it and get some peace. Because loving Eddie is wonderful, but loving Eddie on his own—that's terrible. Lonely. The exact opposite of peace.

If he was given a chance, Buck thinks he could actually make Eddie happy. He's been trying to do that for years and most days he thinks he is pretty successful at it. Then there are days like today and that assurance is obliterated.

Because with just one sentence uttered in an awful tone, Buck has alienated Eddie from himself. He watches in cold, numb, regretful shock as Eddie's face closes off, going blank like there was never anything there to begin with, his mouth twisted into a knot that wouldn't ever let out something gentle or hopeful or accepting. Not that Buck would ever really get those things or deserve them. Still, it's like a door slammed shut and locked between them.

Eddie nods his head woodenly and starts backing away from Buck. "Yeah. Yeah, alright." Then he turns on his heel and keeps walking, strides long and determined and confident.

This time, Buck doesn't follow.

…

Buck wishes there was a way to peel one's skin off so that the itchy, aggravating, tense tendons and muscles bunched up beneath could be scratched. Or even yanked out altogether. Who needs them? What good are they doing him? No good at all that's for sure.

It's just tension and tautness and a plethora of other vexing sensations sitting beneath flushed, painfully stretched patches of skin. And none of it will go away no matter how much Buck tries to distract himself by watching the scenery as they drive back to the station and arguing with Ravi over whether water is wet and furiously, studiously not ignoring Eddie but not not ignoring him either.

Nothing works though. Buck is just a giant, scrunched ball of heat and pressure and annoyance and something else that feels a lot like rejection sitting heavy in his stomach like a lead ball that's been swallowed and can't pass through his system and instead will slowly acclimate itself to its surroundings and live in Buck forever, a fucking permanent part of him like his DNA and his inability to let things go and his expertise at fucking things up. Like the mass of love, anger, and jealousy boiling to a point that Buck might not have to figure out how to safely peel his skin off after all because it's just going to melt off.

Eddie, meanwhile, is—Fuck, Buck doesn't know what he is. Can't read him. Can barely even look at him except for how he can't really bear to look away either. That blankness is still set in his expression, a sure sign of that firm, resolute stubbornness of his which can be hard to crack on a good day let alone one like today when Buck has done whatever he has done. Puffed up and acted out and let this thing he has for Eddie control him so horribly.

Reflection is a bitch.

But so is unrequited love, so Buck thinks he is owed some acting out actually.

But he hates that look on Eddie's face. Hates how far away Eddie feels. Hates that Eddie shifts so that their knees barely even touch the whole ride. Hates the flat, dullness of his eyes and the tense strain in his smile which is so fucking fake it makes Buck want to scream and wail and gnash his teeth. That smile is nothing like the one Eddie gave Elliot. Nothing like what he usually gives Buck either. Not that he's all the preoccupied with giving Buck anything other than the cold shoulder.

Fine. Two can play at the game. Buck is the fucking master at this game, and he won't let Eddie rip his champion status away from him, no siree.

So it goes. All through the ride back to the station. Through getting out of the engine and hanging up their turnouts. Through the team's slow meander up the stairs to the kitchen where the food Bobby cooked is waiting for them, cold now and needing to be reheated. Through everyone taking their seats at the table and waiting impatiently for the food to be served.

Eddie sits next to him though, like he typically always does. His bare elbow brushes Buck's and Buck sucks in a breath, that point of contact so sudden and just so suddenly much after being cut off from what has felt like ages but in reality is no more than thirty minutes. It sends a zap through him, a literal shock that punches his nervous system into action and has him drawing back so quickly he nearly falls out of his seat.

"Geez, Buckley, contain yourself," Hen says with a tired grin. "I do not want to spend this last hour looking over your big, breakable head instead of eating and then staring into the void until I can go home."

"Ah the void staring," Chim pipes in, voice light and dreamy. "Best part of the day. Don't you dare take that from her." He points a finger at Buck, his attempt at being menacing, as ever, failing.

Buck frowns at Chim's finger as he rights himself, scooting closer to the table then back again. "My head isn't big. It is a normal head, thank you very much. At least, that one is."

Hen, Chim, and Ravi all make general noises of disgust. A puff of either laughter or resignation comes from Bobby in the kitchen.

Beside him, Eddie remains still and silent.

"When's the food gonna be ready?" Buck asks, scratching roughly at his forearm and achingly desperate to get attention off himself for once in his life. Anyone looks too closely at him and they'll see things he can't have them seeing. He needs time to stow it away. He needs time to figure out how exactly to play this out between himself and Eddie.

"It'll be done when it's done," Bobby calls out.

Buck grumbles under his breath and collapses back in his chair.

"Dramatic," Chim teases.

"Oh, like you're not starving right now."

"Did I say I wasn't? No, no I did not."

"Okay, boys," Hen interrupts, hands held out like she's holding the both of them back. "Let's not do this back and forth, I'm begging you. That last call was exhausting, my stomach is rumbling, and I haven't seen my gorgeous wife in nearly twelve hours, don't make me deal with you."

Ravi makes an agreeing noise.

Chim pouts then nods reluctantly. "Alright alright. It has been a long day. I'm still dizzy from running after everyone on that highway. Who knew a damn balloon could cause such commotion?" Then, because Chim is evil and conniving which is something Buck must discuss with his sister because what the fuck how could she marry someone like this, Chim turns to Eddie, grinning ear to ear, and says, "Speaking of commotion. You caused quite a bit in our man of the hour, huh?"

Impossibly, Eddie goes even more still, a statue struck from pure, hard granite. His eyes flick quickly to Buck, a bracing burn that turns Buck both cold and hot. He scratches harder at his arm.

"What do you mean?" Eddie eventually replies. There's no waver in his voice, nothing to betray any kind of feeling. His eyes though give him away the slightest bit, the way they always do. Buck has studied those eyes beyond comprehension. He could live and die in those eyes, even when they are narrowed and sharp like they are now.

Hen laughs. "Oh, c'mon, Eddie. We all saw it. Hard to miss." She grins wide wide wide and plants her elbows firmly on the table so she can rest her chin in her hands, perched perfectly to aim her attention solely on Eddie.

Eddie shifts in his seat. Buck scratches and scratches and scratches. A frown pulls at Eddie's mouth, and it only deepens when Eddie glances over at him again, something kind of awful written into the edges of his face before he looks down at Buck's scratching and frowns harder before dismissing Buck altogether.

"Hard to miss what?" Eddie smiles at her, sweet and innocent.

"Our balloon man was awfully taken with you," Chim points out.

Eddie's breath whooshes out of him and he laughs, a manic, wet hiccup of a thing that has Buck's ears ringing.

Scratch scratch scratch. "He's not really our anything," Buck rushes to say. At everyone's blank stares he adds, "The, uh, balloon guy."

"Elliot," Eddie murmurs, then louder, with a pointed tap of his finger against the table, "Elliot. That's his name." Red stains his cheeks. Damning red.

Buck grits his teeth so hard he sees fucking stars.

"Elliot," Hen sing-songs. "Oh Elliot. Wherefore art thou, Elliot."

Ravi and Chim burst into laughter and even Bobby chuckles deeply even though he's supposed to be paying attention to the food that apparently he is in no rush to warm up despite the fact that they are all dying of hunger. Whatever. Maybe Buck should just strangle himself with his shirt collar that's just on the right side of too tight. Or wrong side, if you ask Eddie.

"Something to say, Buck?" Eddie asks, just as sweetly as he responded to Hen earlier, but Buck can hear the poison lacing it. Eddie's body betrays him too, tension deeply set in his shoulders no matter how causally he tries to sprawl as he twists his torso toward Buck, eyebrows high in question and surprise. "You look like you are chewing on something over there."

Buck separates the harsh clash of his teeth, the taste of metal hot on his tongue, and smiles so tightly his cheeks start aching immediately. "Nah." He throws out a finger, pointing between Hen, Ravi, and Chim. "They're right. Elliot—" He bites out the t like something satisfying such as blood or bone could break beneath his teeth. "—was fawning over you. A little embarrassingly to be honest."

Eddie's eyes turn into focused points, dark and expansive. "Not really. He was…appreciative, that's all." More red flowers beneath his skin, flowing out in a trail from his cheeks to his throat that should be chased and tasted. Buck's mouth waters. "And, yeah, okay, maybe he was flirting a little." He looks between all of them with a shrug that says what can you do. "It happens. You've had your fair share of it," he adds with a jerk of his chin toward Buck, a storm gathering in his expression that makes Buck's skin prickle.

"Th—That's different," Buck sputters.

The scoff Eddie lets out has Buck seeing red.

"How exactly is that different?" Hen asks slowly like she is really interested in Buck's answer.

Chim leans in close like he is just as interested, even going so far as to take a damn tiny notepad out of his pocket along with a pen so he can take notes. Ravi just clears his throat and says something about helping Bobby because he no longer wants to be involved and ditches the table.

"Yeah, Buck," Eddie throws at him. "How is it different?"

The click of Chim's pen is louder and more alarming and abrasive than any siren.

"I—" Buck licks his dry lips, still tasting metal, and searches for anything that can make sense. "Well, it—" He's got nothing. Absolutely fuck all. "It just is, okay," he says in a huff.

Hen blinks at him, that unimpressed expression of hers that she has perfected coming to life and making shame well up hot and heavy behind Buck's sternum. Chim mutters under his breath, pen flying across paper. He nudges Hen with an elbow, gesturing for her to look at what he as written down. Her eyebrows go high as she reads it and she hums, laughter kicking silently against her chest.

They don't get it. They just—don't get it. And Buck doesn't know how to make them understand.

He's afraid to know what Eddie's reaction is to his response, but he checks anyways. Staying away from Eddie in any capacity is an impossible thing for Buck. Even when he's upset and particularly upset with Eddie no matter how stupid the reason may be. Especially then to be honest.

There's nothing to greet him though. Nothing other than the firm set of Eddie's mouth and the slight pinch between his brows and the rest of his expressionless features, wiped clean of emotion and yet strikingly bright and full of emotion all at the same time.

"Look," Buck says, pushing and adding and beating the long dead horse because, again, when the hell can he ever leave well enough alone. "It's fine. Whatever. It's great. You were clearly into it. I mean you fed into his flirting so much it was, quite frankly, outrageous."

Something shudders over Eddie's face then, a storm that has reached its peak and is ready to rain down fury.

"But, yeah, whatever. Get out there, Eddie." Buck punches him lightly on the shoulder, his heart sinking down low into his roiling gut when that storm fades from Eddie's face and true emptiness is left behind. If that is what Buck's touch brings— "Sow those oats you usually keep to yourself. But, y'know, maybe not with a victim." He shrugs as if he couldn't care less.

Hypocrite. Hypocrite.

But Buck can't stop his mouth. It runs and runs, wild and reckless like his heart.

"Buck," Chim says, "you may want to put away that shovel you're using otherwise this hole you've been digging is gonna be too deep for even you to get out of."

Buck ignores him. "Honestly," he adds with a twisted laugh, "I'm surprised you didn't get his number."

Eddie shakes. Coughs out a wet laugh. Rakes his hand down his face. Shoots out, "Who says I didn't?" and then gets up, storming away from Buck and everyone else and stomping his way down the stairs.

Buck, the whole entirety of him, cracks further and further with each step Eddie takes until he is out of view.

…

Eddie stays scarce for the rest of the shift. He doesn't come back to eat. Doesn't come sit on the couch with Buck like he usually does when they are waiting for a shift to end. He's not verbally sparring with Chim and Hen or rage baiting Buck into a ramble of epic proportions that he'll listen to with that small smile of his that Buck is kind of obsessed with. He doesn't even come back upstairs.

Buck hovers around for too long waiting for him to come back. There's an urge to chase, follow Eddie's trail until he is close enough to sink his teeth into him. Buck resists. He's too hollow for that, lacking the energy or motivation. And he knows—he knows he wouldn't be welcome. Most of the time Eddie is willing to take that bite. Today though, Buck thinks he would be shaken off with a clinical, detached precision that would leave him wounded and sore for days to come.

And this day has been difficult enough without adding more salt to the cut Buck carries around and keeps open with blood crusted fingernails.

When it's time to go home, Eddie says nothing to him. Looks anywhere but at him. Stays quiet and withdrawn while they all dress and pack their bags, doling out a few fake smiles that convince no one and only make Hen's eyebrows raise so high Buck fears she might lose them and makes Chim pinch Buck's elbow to get his attention only to frown hard at him and point aggressively at Eddie.

Buck shrugs off Chim's gesturing and Hen's loaded facial expressions, getting ready for home as silently as Eddie. His skin crawls at the silence. Still, silent he remains.

He's actually proud of himself for managing to keep it up through following Eddie out of the station and into Buck's truck. The drive home. Them entering the house. The two of them stumbling and bumping into each other in the hallway before they separate and go in different directions.

Buck scratches his arm hard enough that a red welt has appeared, a little swollen and bright and stinging. He runs his thumb over it, again and again, as he listens to Eddie get ready for bed. His footsteps creak gently throughout the house as he makes his usual rounds, a habit of checking for something wrong before he allows himself to relax—one Buck doesn't think he will ever get rid of—and then the faint click of Chris' door opening, a pause, then the event fainter click of it closing. Eddie's footsteps then become quieter and quieter as he retreats to the bedroom.

He might shower. He likes to do that before bed when he can. Likes feeling clean and brand new before slipping into soft sheets. Or maybe he'll flop right onto bed and pass out so he can forget this day and all of Buck's, well, whatever it is. Buck knows he was weird and obstinate and ridiculous, and yet, that awful part of himself that begs and whines and clings can't help but feeling justified and righteous.

Guilt drowns out most of it. It's had time to sit and simmer. And it is heavy. Pervasive. A knotted clench in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. Eddie didn't even tell him goodnight. Couldn't even bear to look at Buck.

Before Eddie moved to Texas, Buck thought that maybe it was impossible for him to push Eddie too far. They've done a lot of that with each other, pushing, and it's come with mixed results, but it has never ended with them further away from each other than when they started. Not for long anyway. Because the pull always came afterward, an instinctual force to put them back in the same place, keep them together, remind them that there are lines between them but they can forgive each other for crossing them.

Since Eddie left though, it's been different. He returned yes, but—He was gone so suddenly and for so long. Just like that. And Buck understands why and wouldn't have had Eddie do any differently, not for Christopher who so badly needed Eddie as much as Eddie needed him. It's just that—Buck realized how easily Eddie can leave him behind. He realized he can push enough that Eddie will go. So he's tried to be on his best behavior once he got both Eddie and Chris back.

Only to act like a fucking insane, pushy, jealous freak and disgust Eddie enough that he can't be bothered to deal with Buck at all.

Buck launches up off the couch. Sitting and wallowing isn't helping. It is only making every nerve jump and stutter, every breath ragged and sticky, every moment so nauseating that his stomach is pitching a fit and threatening to vacate his body entirely.

At first, he paces, as quietly as possible, from one end of the living room to the other. The rug beneath his socked feet turns warm and soon enough his path is well-carved into it. Eventually Buck gets tired of that, his mind too full and loud even with the movement and the TV on in the background, so he relocates to the kitchen.

He searches through the fridge and cabinets, nearly letting out a whoop of victory at finding that they have everything he needs, and starts cooking. It's a simple thing but it requires enough focus that he can temporarily step out of the mess he's created for himself. All that is important is cutting the bread into near perfect squares. Slicing the cheeses. Getting out the skillet without making too much noise. Butter and seasoning and the satisfying sizzle as the grilled cheese sandwiches come to life.

When they are done, he slaps them on a plate and stares at them appreciatively. Golden brown and crisp. Cheese leaking seductively out the sides. Savory aroma sinking into his senses. He taps the edge of the plate and grins then covers it all up with saran wrap. Places the plate perfectly in the center of the island. Washes his hands. Looks out into the darkness beyond the window. Stares at the sandwiches some more. Goes back to the living room.

Thirty minutes later, the bedroom door opens.

Buck surges upward from his sprawl on the couch, every part of his nervous system on high alert, paying full attention to his surroundings. His heart jumps into his throat and he has to swallow the furious beat of it down down down as he lowers the TV's volume and holds his breath.

There, the barely discernible shuffle of Eddie's feet coming from the hallway.

Buck's damn heart jumps again. Then he quickly lowers himself, flattening his body to the couch, staying hidden and calm and utterly cool while Eddie navigates his way into the kitchen, grumbling under his breath in a way that makes a smile tug at Buck's lips. Then the grumbling pauses. Everything in Buck pauses too.

Eddie walks into the living room, covered plate in hand. He's framed by blue light and shadows, looking so soft and young. So soft and so young that a pang shoots through Buck. He closes one hand into a fist and shoves it against the fleshy spot between his sternum and belly.

Eddie's thumb brushes back and forth over the plastic covering the sandwiches, staring down at them like he doesn't understand. Then that confused gaze shifts to Buck, finding him with pinpoint accuracy even in the shallow darkness.

"Buck," Eddie murmurs, all coarse and yet soft soft soft.

Buck shudders. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

"Did you—" Eddie blinks, licks his lips, continues to turn his attention from the sandwiches to Buck and back again. He shakes the plate a little in Buck's direction, as if to save himself from having to come up with the rest of his sentence.

Buck slides upwards until he's resting back against the couch's arm. "Um, yeah." He scratches at the back of his neck. Runs blunt, careful nails over the welt on his arm. Shifts to the left then the right. "You, uh, you didn't eat. Back at—at the station, so—"

"Oh." Eddie nods and brings the plate close to his chest.

Buck wants to say that it was all he could think to do. But he doesn't want to imply that the sandwiches are penance, partly because that's pathetic and partly because they aren't, not really. His mind was a whirlwind and it needed to be settled. And taking care of Eddie, in however small way he can, has historically been the best way to settle it. He didn't want Eddie to be hungry. Knew that Eddie would reappear when he thought he could do so without being noticed to find something to eat. And he wanted to make that easier for Eddie.

"Thank you," Eddie says, then he turns as if to leave and Buck's throat closes up so tight he might suffocate and die on the spot, but Eddie doesn't complete the motion. He stops. Inhales. Chews on the inside of his bottom lip, making a distracting indent that Buck can see even from the couch. Then his eyes are back on Buck, as if he's drawn the same way Buck is, moth and flame.

Buck wonders which one of them is which. Is he the bright, devouring flame or the soft being that is captured and devoured? Deep down he knows the answer. He could never be as bright and arresting as the black fire in Eddie's eyes or the warmth in his heart.

Eddie jerks his chin toward Buck, shoulders braced and held apart. "Can I join you?"

Buck certainly feels soft and captured as he sputters out, "Y—Yeah. 'Course." He hurriedly pulls his legs inward, bunching his knees up near his chest so Eddie has room to sit down.

At first Eddie perches on the edge of the couch, torso hunched over and knees bent kinda like Buck's. Uncomfortability lines his every edge as he unwraps the plate and it has to be because of Buck. Buck is making him uncomfortable. Buck is the reason for all the tension crackling between them.

He would leave entirely to make Eddie feel better. Walk out the front door and never come back. But he can't make himself offer it. Can't even begin the process of going away.

Buck stays, watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye.

When Eddie bites into the first sandwich, his eyes flutter closed and he moans. The sound is obscene. Indecent. The best and worst thing Buck has ever heard. It launches into his chest and rattles around, heating him up, and despite the strain between them that Buck put there, he glows with it because he got Eddie to make that sound. Even if it was just with food.

"Goddamn that's good," Eddie mumbles, mouth full, crumbs clinging to his lips.

Buck exhales something like a laugh. "It's Bobby's recipe."

Eddie hums. "Tastes better than Bobby's." Immediately his eyes go wide and he turns to Buck, no longer hiding himself away. "Do not tell him I said that."

That glow in Buck turns into a beam. "What will you give me if I don't?"

Eddie swallows the food in his mouth. Runs his thumb through the crumbs sticking to his lips. Never have they looked so soft and pink and welcoming. He'd probably taste like butter and bread and cheese, but it would be divine coming off his tongue.

Buck curls his knees in tighter, hoping to extinguish the coil pulling taut in an area too dangerous to even think of.

"Well?" he prods Eddie, unable to help it.

Eddie sucks some crumbs off his thumb, not breaking eye contact. "How about you don't tell him to make it up to me for being a dick today."

Air whooshes out of Buck. "Ah. Yeah."

"That's it?" Eddie asks between ferocious bites and loud smacking. "That's all you have to say?"

Buck throws his head back and stretches out a leg so he can stick his big toe into Eddie's strong, thick thigh. "I'm sorry," he groans. "I know I was…being weird."

"And a dick."

"And a dick. I didn't mean to—" He searches for a way to explain the delirium that fell over him. Perhaps he could blame it on the heat that saturated the air or the drag of the day beforehand or anything other than Elliot's flirting and Eddie's smiles and red cheeks. The words don't come though. Whatever bullshit he can usually come up with at the drop of a hat eludes him. It kinda usually does when Eddie is concerned. "I'm sorry," he settles for saying again.

"You gonna tell me why?" Eddie asks casually.

Buck peers through his lashes to find Eddie nearly done with the second sandwich already, gaze fixated on it like it has all the answers he needs.

"Other than I just suck sometimes?" He pokes Eddie again with his toe, hoping for a smile or a laugh or really any kind of reaction. Something. Give me something, he thinks at Eddie. Anything.

Eddie snorts, one crumb-littered corner of his mouth lifting every so slightly, raising Buck's spirits to a stupid and ridiculous degree. He continues eating, polishing off the sandwich in record time and then deposits the plate on the coffee table. In increments, he relaxes, sliding backward into the couch and unlocking the rigidity of his spine until it is flush with the couch.

"Did I do something?" Eddie knocks his knuckles on top of Buck's ankle then jerks his hand away and wipes at his mouth. "To upset you, I mean."

"What? No. It wasn't—I was just in my head and—and I took it out on you a little bit. Which I—I didn't mean to." Liar liar liar. "I was just, y'know, messing around. And you know me, I never know when to stop or shut up."

Eddie nods. "True."

"Hey," Buck says accusingly. "You didn't have to agree with that so quickly."

A lazy shrug of one shoulder is all Buck gets in response. But it's Eddie and Buck wants more, so he flounders for something else to say, latching onto Eddie's empty plate like it's a lifeline. He gestures to it and says, "Must have been hungry. To come out here and face me so you could demolish those sandwiches."

Eddie's shoulders rise a little, coming up near his ears. "Yeah. I guess so." A pause. "And I couldn't really sleep so—"

It's a strange pantomime of a few weeks ago, when Buck woke to find Eddie gone and ended up finding him on the roof looking small and lost and like he belonged to the quiet, lonely night around him. Then, he was able to comfort Eddie. Slip into the night with him. Touch him and ease whatever scrunches up in his brain sometimes.

If he tried now, would Eddie let him touch him like that?

A soft quiet falls between them. Buck lets it settle. Embraces it. Forces half of his attention to the TV. Trying to understand or process whatever is playing is futile though, with Eddie whole and warm next to him, arms and legs exposed, so intimately bared and vulnerable where he's sprawled on the couch. Nothing Buck hasn't seen before by now, still, his breath hitches and his blood hums. How can he still want more? Crave more? Need more? It's so selfish and greedy, this love in him.

"Buck," Eddie whispers, breaking through the gentle blue of the room and the pounding of Buck's heartbeat.

Buck's voice is scratchy and strangled when he replies, "Yeah?"

Eddie drops his head back onto the couch and rolls his neck. "Was I really being—outrageous with Elliot? I didn't think—" That typical Eddie Diaz furrow digs into his brow as he pauses and thinks. Is he trying to find truth in Buck's bullshit? Is he embarrassed? Does he feel like he has to defend himself? "I didn't think I was," he finishes with what Buck thinks was supposed to be a laugh but ends up being more like a weary sigh.

Buck never meant to be an opponent. Enough people have filled that role in Eddie's life. And yet here he is, staunchly on an opposing side, where he placed himself, because he can't control this awful heart and need of his.

"H—Hey, no. You weren't." Buck leans forward, desperate and full of an intent that sharpens everything to a startling, near terrifying degree. "Fuck, Eddie, it wasn't that bad."

A frown mars Eddie's mouth and still that furrow remains, a deep carve into Eddie's expression as he stares at Buck, both beseeching and frustrated. "But it was bad?"

Buck drags his thumbnail over his eyebrow, wishing he could dig in in in past the skin and muscle and bone to pluck out the ache building up there. "N—No."

Eddie's chin tilts down and his mouth flattens. It's a pretty good imitation of Hen's signature unimpressed expression.

Something hot and exasperated punches out of Buck, a reedy, stuttering exhale. "Stop asking me questions," he groans, falling farther back into the couch, wiggling as if he could dig a hole for himself there so he could never be found or seen again.

Eddie chuckles, low and dark, the velvet curl of it pleasant enough to raise a dead person's blood pressure. "It wasn't really about him, y'know. Not entirely."

"Oh?"

Eddie's shrug is painfully rigid. "I could tell something was off with you. Didn't know what, but—" A crook, half-smile flickers to life, rosy and bruise blue in this dim, revealing light. "You're a pain when you're too into your head but I didn't want to get into it in front of a patient so I—" He huffs out a laugh, hand waving out in front of him as if that singular motion explains everything. "I thought I could help you out, so I was making those jokes and leaning into Elliot's interest just to make you notice something else. To make you laugh."

He clears his throat then and his eyebrows lower over the darkness of his eyes as if upset with himself for saying something he didn't mean to. Buck could cut that expression up, compare it to Eddie's simply given words, and analyze each piece until he's exhausted and worn thin, until that thing in his brain clicks and clears, suddenly exposing what was hidden all along so Buck can finally understand.

Doing that requires work though. Patience. Finely honed skill and painstaking dedication. Buck possesses none of that, not a scrap. All Buck has is the scrape of air in his lungs and the pattering of his heart and the lurch in his stomach. Broken down to base, bodily sensations, everything else stripped away.

All that time, Eddie was thinking of him. And Buck—Christ, he's an idiot.

"Me?" Buck asks dumbly, tongue thick and tripping and unable to form any other word. He presses a fingertip to his own chest, pointing to himself for unnecessary clarification.

"Yeah, dummy," Eddie says with that same sideways smile. "You."

Again, monosyllabic responses are all Buck is capable of, reduced to such simplicity in the wake of Eddie's enormity. "Why?"

One of Eddie's pointy incisors sinks into his bottom lip, burying itself into flesh and then tugging tugging tugging. Buck is held captive by the point of it, the indentation it makes, the flesh beneath it turned white and flushed dark at the surrounding edges.

Stupidly, pathetically, and completely on brand, Buck is jealous. Of Eddie's lip. Of the fact that it's not him Eddie is taking a bite of.

The other incisor joins the party, and Buck is going to die. He will perish here on this couch. Stain the cushions and be a part of the Diaz house forever. Which isn't exactly an off-putting idea.

Eddie releases his lip then, letting go of those tiny points of hurt and aims those dark sunshine eyes on Buck. "I like your laugh." As if it is wholly simple and wholly true. An offering. Something personal. An admission of what lurks beneath.

Heat blooms in Buck, as if he contains his own tiny sun which has risen, its sweltering rays shining on every inch of him and staining him pink pink pink. "Y—Yeah?"

Eddie nods, chin dipping down and eyes averted almost like he's shy.

And Buck's mouth, once again, runs away from him. "Then tell me something funny."

Eddie blows out a breath through his nose and his fingers twitch, tapping on his thighs in a jagged rhythm. "Okay." His mouth contorts, like he is rolling around possibilities in the space between his teeth, tasting and testing them for worthiness. Then he wipes his palm over his mouth, hiding it from Buck, and he sinks lower into the couch.

Buck's toes get stuck beneath his thigh. He leaves them there.

"Alright." Eddie clears his throat and taps his fingers some more. "I said the thing with Elliot wasn't entirely about him. But it was a little." Pale, thin laughter squeezes out of him. "That attention from, uh, a m—from him, it was—different. Than what I'm used to."

The word different sounds odd coming out of Eddie's mouth. Strange. As if it is packed with a thousand contrasting meanings. It makes something in Buck come to attention, a part of himself perking up like a hound that's caught the scent he's been after. Here here, this is what it is, this is what I've been looking for.

"It was kinda nice," Eddie continues, his fingers now picking at the hem of his shorts. "I liked it. That kind of attention, I liked it."

Buck's mouth is dead dirt dry. It takes him several attempts to finally say, "That's not funny."

Eddie's face falls, hurt splintering his expression apart and nestling into every edge, every bare corner, every hue in those midnight eyes.

"No, wait, that's not—" Buck reaches out, his fingers pressing over the top of Eddie's wrist and then underneath as he curls his whole hand around Eddie, keeping and comforting and reassuring. "Not—I meant literally. Like, there wasn't a single joke in anything that you said."

The flutter of Eddie's lashes as his eyes fall closed sends a tempest through Buck. And then Eddie laughs. It's a manic, sparkling, giddy thing. A sound he's heard before. A sound he's been the cause of before. A true, uninhibited laugh that is because of Buck. For Buck. If he never gets anything else from Eddie, that alone will have been enough.

"I like your laugh too," Buck says, breathless and aching.

Eddie's laughter dies off, but his nose crinkles in a pleasant satisfaction that Buck doesn't get to see enough of.

"And there's nothing wrong with—" Buck waves his free hand in a wild gesture, the fingers of his other digging in softly to the veins in Eddie's wrist. "You deserve that kind of attention, Eddie."

Eddie hums, clearly unsure as to whether he agrees with that or not, but he says nothing in argument, so Buck takes it as a win.

He very pointedly does not ask if Eddie actually got Elliot's number. It would ruin everything and Buck isn't ready for that.

Five: Is this okay?

For the sake of Eddie's personal record—which he keeps adequately and sufficiently organized and meticulous for his own enjoyment (and debasement in some cases)—he is not drunk. One beer has sat in the cradle of his hand all night, its condensation turning his palm wet and slightly sticky, and taken up the little space of residence he's been allotted at the table that is far too tiny for the 118 and their respective tag-a-longs to all simultaneously occupy.

And yet, here they all are. Packed like sardines. Squished so tightly together it's difficult to tell where one person ends and another begins.

Maddie is in Chim's lap and has been for the past thirty or so minutes, one arm slung across his shoulders while both of his are wrapped securely around her waist. Hen and Karen are glued to each other's sides, heads ducked close together, whispering loudly and giggling. May and Harry are at the very edge of the curved booth, playing a very sloppy version of thumb war. Ravi tore himself free of the sliver of space carved out for him between Karen and Maddie's back and is now lingering near the bar, chatting with the cute bartender like they are best friends, much to the chagrin of everyone else at the bar waiting for a drink.

And then there is him and Buck.

Buck claimed the middle portion of the booth for the two of them, pitching a fit about it being the best spot and they should get it for an outrageously, and honestly quite impressively, long list of convoluted reasons that made everyone agree just so he would stop talking. Eddie slid his hand down the hard, warm line of Buck's spine in appreciation and thanks before taking his seat.

Perhaps it was coincidence how brightly pink Buck's cheeks were afterward as he slid in beside Eddie, but—

There's been a lot of coincidences lately. A lot of behavior from Buck that has Eddie—paying attention. More so than he usually does anyway. And it's less of his typical appreciation and detailing of the moment for memory and more a clinical yet wholly invested and probably biased assessment that has warning bells and alerts firing off with an intensity that is near painful sometimes.

The point is, Eddie is stuck in the middle of a curved human mishmash with Buck right next to him. Arms bared by his short sleeve button up. Biceps nearly bursting through the flimsy sleeves in protest. Hot, soft skin sticking to Eddie's where the sleeves of his Henley are rolled up. A massive thigh pressed to his own. A bony knee knocking into Eddie with every movement. Vivid blue eyes and a candy pink mouth and the darkening flush of the prettiest splotch Eddie has ever seen, all taking up his vision and every other sense and, really, his entire world.

It's dizzying, is the thing. Being so close to Buck. Being so caught up in him. And he's actually allowed to be. They are out at their favorite cozy bar, drinking and laughing and telling the same stories that never get old, and Buck is dripping with glee, shining like a pink star, gripping onto Eddie with his hands and the focus of his eyes and force of his body. So Eddie can sip slowly at his singular beer and watch Buck without fear because he takes up most of the conversation anyway and everyone else is so consumed by the warm, hazy giddiness that always arises when they are all out together.

Eddie can be warm and happy and something so very close to satisfied and it not be a fight or strange enough to draw attention. The slice of that freedom, here where he should feel exposed and alert to the point of distraction, is more intoxicating than any of the alcohol being drunk and spilled on the table tonight. Almost as intoxicating as Buck himself.

Eddie really has no need for anything else. No beer or whisky or fruity concoctions that'll knock him on his ass. Not when there is Buck who can do that perfectly fine on his own. And, well, he is just so bright tonight. Thriving off the company and attention. Perfectly placed in his element where he can take center stage without having to put on an act. Teeth glinting like pearls in the golden light, body all large and soft, flushed so sweetly Eddie wants to take a bite out of him.

Yeah, Eddie stood no chance.

He's been indulgent all night. Staring at Buck's arresting beauty like it could save him. Heart pounding with a ferocity that is frightening and thrilling at the same time. Something in him uncoiled and loose. Touching Buck—a hand on his knee, fingers dragging down his forearm, shoulder nudging shoulder, helplessly smiling lips pressed to his ear, the hinge of his jaw, his cheek.

That last part is all Buck's fault though. He just moves so goddamn much. Unable to sit still to a point that Eddie has half a mind to really put some force behind his touch and pin Buck down, watch him struggle before he relents. And the way Eddie is feeling now, high off the exhilaration saturating the air around him and his friends, he would do exactly that if he didn't like Buck's squirming so much. If he didn't enjoy how Buck's constant shifting means Eddie gets to touch a different part of him each time and it be okay.

Eddie isn't drunk. Which is a problem. Later he will have no excuse for his behavior. But later doesn't exist right now so Eddie forgets about it and gives in, indulging more and more, as much as Buck will let him, as much as he can before the sparkling lightness in his veins dissipates and leaves room for embarrassment and guilt to sink in.

As the night passes though, as Buck and Eddie get wedged closer and closer together, as Eddie stakes a claim on Buck's thigh—palm landing there hot and heavy and staying, moving only to caress up up up and down down down when Buck gets so excited his voice changes pitch—as Buck leans into him with this gleam in his eye that shatters Eddie's breath because he is so sure he knows what that gleam is it's just never been so solely directed at him like that before, as Eddie gets fleeting tastes of Buck's pink, sweaty skin—easily tossed aside as accidental because he needs to be close to talk to Buck, to keep it between themselves, to have a secret because it's just fun to have with him, so of course his mouth gets near enough to brush over skin—as Buck teases and flirts, as Eddie lets him tug at the hem of his shirt and curve two fingers into his waistband in a playful tug, there is no embarrassment and no guilt.

There is just Buck. Buck and Eddie. And this thing inside Eddie's chest, so very alive and demanding. Want isn't a good enough word for it. Love isn't either. It's much too big for either of those things, a colossal, extreme, painfully real and normal yet otherworldly kind of thing that surely no human can bear, but Eddie does. Eddie has. Eddie will.

When they get up to leave, Buck stumbles, his foot caught on one of the table's legs. A breathy, grunting oof punches out of him as he tilts and starts to go down. Eddie catches his elbow and yanks him inward, folding Buck's body into his own, and Buck comes so easily, malleable and moveable like he's not the fucking love child of a brick wall and a tank.

The skin on the inside of his elbow is velvet, all smooth and soft over the heat of his rapid pulse. Eddie digs his thumb into that pulse and inhales a ragged breath as Buck twists, falling into Eddie instead of onto the ground.

A giggle breaks past Buck's teeth, shining and bubbly. "Whoops."

Eddie grunts. Tilts his hips away. Pushes Buck forward as carefully as possible so they can escape the booth and the staring and chittering of their friends.

Buck sighs pleasantly, hand reaching out to pat Eddie on the chest. "My knight in shining armor."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie snorts.

"You are," Buck insists with enthusiasm.

Heat flares in Eddie's cheeks. His throat. His chest. Lower.

He stays hot even when they make it outside into the cool, fresh air. As fresh as can be with the stench of alcohol, sweat, and what Eddie is pretty sure is a puddle of piss at the end of the alleyway beside them. He keeps his chin ducked close to his chest, hand still gripping onto Buck's elbow so he can steer him and keep him from colliding into anyone, and angles his nose to the perfect degree to allow the sweet, floral notes of Buck's shampoo and the vanilla and eucalyptus scent of his skin to dominate his senses.

They are perfectly normal, unassuming scents. Yet on Buck it's something else entirely. Makes Eddie burn even hotter and keep burning as the two of them get into an Uber, sharing an extremely tiny backseat that has Buck lifting a leg to rest his thigh on top of Eddie's to give him more room and wreak havoc on what sanity he has left.

Hot hot hot. Burning burning burning. All through the drive home and their tangled limbs as they exit the car.

When they get to the porch Buck swings around on his heel and throws himself down, collapsing with breathy sound and spreading himself wide. He's so broad and loud, endearingly aggressive in the way he takes up space and makes noise. Eddie is grateful Chris isn't home so that he doesn't have to try to quieten Buck at all.

He nudges Buck's ankle with his boot. "Too drunk to even make it to the door?"

Buck looks up at him, blue eyes burning like that writhing, expansive thing living inside Eddie, his face all scrunched even when he scoffs. "I'm not drunk."

"Sure." He sits down beside Buck, bullying his way into the space Buck has claimed for his own.

Buck fights him a little, pushing and prodding and resisting, all while beaming so wide. Eddie's heart clenches. His own mouth splits with joy. They struggle and playfully fight for a little while longer, nothing but the sound of heaving breaths and quiet chuckles surrounding them like a blanket or bubble to protect them from the rest of the outside world.

Eventually Buck capitulates with a heavy sigh, sliding over a measly two inches to award Eddie a spot barely big enough to contain him. He doesn't mind though. This is different than the ways he has made himself smaller or contorted his own shape to fit somewhere he shouldn't. It's tight and a little uncomfortable, but nice. Nice like the booth at the bar and the backseat of the Uber they ordered. Nice the way most things with Buck are. Cozy. Full of a pressure that means impending relief.

"Sucks that we can't really see the stars here," Buck says, face uplifted and eyes intent like if he searched hard enough he could find all that obscured light in the sky.

Eddie hums in agreement. He's never cared very much about stars, but he found himself attached to them when he was in Afghanistan. There they beamed so brightly, casting rippling, colorful waves of light over dense mountains. Gorgeous really, when he could take a moment to appreciate it. He took as many as he could the longer he was away from home, looking up and wondering if Chris and Shannon were looking up too. It made him feel small and singular and he's never been sure if he liked that feeling or not, but there was a sense of connection too.

That specific type of connection isn't here where a few, weak pinpoints of light stubbornly try to outshine the city lights and the night's gentle fog. There is a different one though.

Eddie dismisses the sky in favor of Buck, and he wonders if that same searching intensity that is in Buck's gaze is in his as well.

Buck's eyes fall closed, lashes sweeping gently to rest near his flushed cheeks. He hums low, under his breath, and tilts his chin up farther.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks.

"Making a wish," Buck whispers, eyes still closed, face still given to the stars.

"Buck." Eddie stifles a laugh and knocks their knees together. "Pretty sure that's just for shooting stars."

"There could be one up there for all we know. Now, hush."

Eddie rolls his eyes then finds himself glancing upward to check. If anyone could bring a shooting star to life the moment the wanted it, Buck could. Eddie sees nothing but he feels—

Buck's mouth is shaped into the gentlest smile. Something sad or melancholic lingers around the edges though. Eddie wants to touch, feel all the emotions Buck bursts with each moment of every day and imprint them all on his skin. Maybe shape them himself, take control, keep sadness away for as long as he could fight it.

The air around them seems fragile, sharp and easy to break like glass. Eddie holds his breath, waiting for something though he doesn't know what.

Buck opens his eyes and ducks his head, grinning to himself, one finger tracing the edges of his mouth like he wants to know what it looks like, surprised at himself maybe.

Eddie wants to ask what Buck wished for. More than anything, he wants to know. He knows so much about Buck, has been given access and privilege to information few others ever have, yet he's not sure what Buck would wish for. Not on a night like this. Not when he's sitting next to Eddie. He has no idea what would put that expression on Buck's face. He would get on his knees and beg to find out, if he had the courage or a little less self-preservation.

"You should make a wish too," Buck murmurs, turning those blue blue blue eyes on Eddie. Their hue, akin to sea glass or blue evening stars or something else tragically, pathetically poetic, is lethal.

Eddie shakes his head, glancing up once more and knowing that he won't find anything. "Wishes don't change anything."

"That's not the point of wishes," Buck replies, hushed and reverent, the way Eddie has heard voices in church and confessionals and during prayers. Sacredness and meaning soaked into the most mundane of words as if Buck is trying to give Eddie something.

"Then what is?"

"Hope."

Buck looks like hope. Big and beautiful and soft. Offering things that are unspoken and difficult to understand. It scares Eddie. Terrifies him. Because wanting and loving Buck is one thing. That exists all on its own. But to hope for something more. To hope for reciprocity. To hope that Eddie could be a whole person who is good for someone else. To hope to be wanted and loved. That is too much. Impossible. Nothing more than silly wishes.

None of that stops Eddie from asking, "And what do you hope for?"

Buck's hopes are far more personal and real, intimate and vulnerable, than his wishes. Eddie asks for them anyway. Maybe because what lives in him has grown so far outside the bounds of what he built to contain it that it is wild and uncontrollable. Maybe because he wants some kind of proof that he isn't alone in this. Maybe because he wants to know if there is something Buck won't give him.

Selfish. Greedy. Things that couldn't possibly make Eddie a good anything. So many failures have proved that. He's done wrong by those he loved. Ruined things with Shannon. Been unable to build something good and lasting with anyone else. Made mistake after mistake. He has no right to hope or wish. Has no right to want Buck like he is already Eddie's.

And yet.

"Too much," Buck answers, expression broken open like he's been flayed and peeled apart. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Eddie swears he can see down to Buck's very marrow and all he finds is beauty. Does Buck know that? Does he know how deeply beautiful he is?

"Too much," Buck repeats with a little, wistful laugh.

"Sounds like you," Eddie murmurs and he means it so fondly.

Buck smiles. Oh how he smiles. And everything just turns startlingly clear.

This is it. This is how it's supposed to be. How Eddie always wants it to be. And of course Buck is in it with him, here with him, he always is. And still, he comes closer, swaying in in in like he has no control, like he's caught up in the same spell as Eddie.

"Is this—" Buck breaks off, mouth splitting with a spit-slick sound as he shakily sighs and licks his lips. Caution and something that looks an awful lot like regret flickers over his expression, but Buck seems to barrel through both. "Is this okay?" he asks, two fingers coming up to brush over the corner of Eddie's mouth, his voice achingly unsure and as shaky as the sigh that trembled out of him. His face is crumpled, like he's at the precipice of being shattered. The terrifying, exhilarating fall right before the crash at the bottom.

Eddie touches the wet swell of Buck's bottom lip with more pressure than Buck exerted on him. Pushes down. Nearly passes out at the low, involuntary noise Buck makes in response, surprise lighting up his eyes to turn them into tiny blue suns.

Fuck it.

"Yeah," Eddie croaks.

And then Buck is kissing him. Buck is kissing him.

A full body shiver crackles down Eddie's spine, his world altering and shaking and coming apart at the seams. All that holds him together is Buck's mouth. It is as soft as Eddie imagined, plush and full and devastating against his own. The gentlest stitch.

Buck kisses with the entirety of himself, involving every part of his body. Hands cradling Eddie's jaw. Torso twisted into Eddie, spine arched so Buck can curve over him the slightest bit. Knees parted and caging one of Eddie's thighs. It's like being kissed by a cresting wave, all motion and power and intensity and a sweetness that would be surprising if Eddie didn't know him so well.

"God, Buck," Eddie mutters onto the flat, wet stretch of Buck's tongue. Consumed, he is utterly consumed. No longer Eddie. In this moment, he is Buck's. He is the rhythm of their mouths and the hot spark in his heart. He is blood and bone and need.

Buck groans, a reedy, drawn-out thing that settles achingly low in Eddie's belly. He sucks on Buck's tongue, trying to get him to make that noise again, and smiles when he does.

A pinch of pain cuts through the soft pleasure, Buck's teeth nipping at Eddie's cupid bow, biting into and taking a taste of Eddie's smile, the point of his tongue flicking out to trace it.

Eddie's head swims. His vision blurs. He aches aches aches.

"Again," he orders, pleads, not entirely sure what he is demanding but needing it all the same.

Buck eagerly complies, surging forward and taking more of Eddie, the kiss shifting from a tender, warm exploration, the beginning of something thrilling and new, into pure hunger. Buck's thumb moves to the center of Eddie's chin, pressing in and down, forcing Eddie to open wider.

The most haunting, embarrassing sound shudders out of Eddie's throat. He attempts to swallow it but Buck is devouring him and there's not much he can do but kiss back. Touch back. Give back as much as he's being given. Take what he can while he can.

There's a raging, bruised fist clawing at Eddie's heart, clenching so tight he bleeds and bleeds and bleeds, and if this goes on much longer he'll bleed right onto Buck. The knowledge of how bad Eddie is at anything good has not deserted him. It is as real and true now as it was when Eddie couldn't bring himself to wish on the possibility of a shooting star that he could have Buck and Buck could have him.

Problem is, Eddie can't stop. Not now that he's started. Not now that he has Buck's taste in his mouth, so human and him with the barest traces of the fruity little drink Buck was sipping on all night.

Eddie claws for more, licking over the back of Buck's obsessively whitened teeth and twisting his tongue just so to make Buck jolt and squeak. He has a fist in Buck's shirt. No idea when that happened, but he's holding on for dear life, keeping Buck so close.

That's never been a problem for him. Keeping Buck. There's never been something he has wanted more than that, tried so hard for and never really had to try for at all either. Eddie has never felt more sure or steady or present than with Buck.

So he keeps his hold, knuckles turning white. And Buck lets him. Seems to enjoy it so enthusiastically that he presses the heart of his warm palm over Eddie's clenched fist, a soft touch for a hard one, the two of them meeting in the middle, and he whimpers and kisses Eddie so fucking hard that the stars that have been hidden from them all night come to life all at once, exploding over Eddie's vision in white fractals.

Eddie's pulse is everywhere. The soles of his feet. Behind his knees. His groin. Belly. Throat. In his mouth where Buck licks after it. It is loud and ravaging and Eddie almost wishes he could get rid of it because of how overwhelming it is. Tear it out and toss it to Buck. He'd take it, Eddie thinks. He'd take anything given and keep it safe.

"Inside," Buck pants, the word mumbled and garbled and disintegrating between Eddie's teeth. "Let me—Inside."

Eddie runs a thumb over Buck's jawline and twists his mouth away from Buck's, grinning at the whine he gets in protest. He nudges Buck's nose with his own and bites at the plush, red corner of Buck's mouth. "Little too dressed for that, Buck."

"What?" Buck mumbles, his brow scrunching where it rests against Eddie's. Then he coughs like something is trying to break out of his chest and says, "Jesus, Eddie. That's not what I—God, would you?"

Eddie hums in question, far too preoccupied with the rush of Buck's heart against his fist and the shape of his swollen bottom lip. Eddie plays with it, the flesh so sweet and wet and willing. The blunt edge of Buck's teeth is revealed. Eddie sticks his thumb inside to feel the scrape of them.

Buck's mouth closes over his thumb, sharp, hot suction. A tortured gasp falls out of Eddie and something very low and deep in him twists violently.

Pure need has taken over, erasing everything else, guiding all of Eddie's thoughts and decisions and movements. More more more. That's all he knows. That and Buck Buck Buck.

He gets his mouth back on Buck's, kissing him stupidly around the thumb he still has trapped between Buck's teeth, his knuckle barking and aching so awfully that it is so very good.

"Inside," Buck says again. Eddie chokes on the raw, wrecked scratch of his voice. "Let's get—ah—inside. Please."

"So polite," Eddie croons.

Buck pouts, a jaunty, dramatic push out of his lower lip. Eddie licks it. Bites it. Sucks it into his mouth.

"D—Do you want to stay out here necking like teenagers?"

"Necking?" Eddie barks out a laugh. "Okay, old man."

"Shut up," Buck bites out then kisses him, quieting Eddie so efficiently that Eddie can barely breathe.

The world tilts then, filled with buoyancy and urgency. Eddie bends his knees and forces himself upward, sliding his hands underneath Buck's arms to pull him up too. Then they are moving, fast fast fast, colliding with the door so hard it creaks and Buck cries out. Eddie has to shush him with his lips and teeth and tongue. No one else should get these sounds. Only Eddie. Only Eddie.

Seconds, minutes, eons later Eddie gets the door open. Buck is stuck to his back, plastered to him like he wants to sink beneath Eddie's skin and attach himself to Eddie's spine. Eddie would let him. Eddie would carry him for the rest of his life.

But this isn't that. Eddie honestly doesn't know what this is beyond desire and need and a hunger he fears won't be satiated tonight but only awakened further, emboldened and fed to grow past the limits Eddie has set for it. What happens after isn't something he can entertain. Because he doesn't want to and because Buck is everywhere.

Hands pushing and caressing. Feet colliding with Eddie's own and making them trip down the hallway. Mouth attached to Eddie's throat, his jaw, his ear. Breath hot. Skin flushed and sticky. Blue blue blue eyes.

Eddie's existence narrows down to those things and nothing more. Buck is the fixed point at the center of Eddie's world, and after orbiting for so damn long, Eddie finally gets a moment to be still and touch. It won't last long. He knows that. He couldn't care less. Something is better than nothing. And Eddie has had far too much nothing to bear getting only that tonight when Buck is bright and eager and giving.

Selfish. Greedy. Eddie might be that way all the way up to his grave.

When they make it into the bedroom—bodies flush, clothing wrinkled and askew, sharing breaths and spit—something changes.

There is still heat, still a grave, deep, gnawing need, still the hunger burning a hole in Eddie's belly and his heart too, but it all slows. Like they've crossed a line and everything around them is adjusting to it, making room for it. Time suspended. Shadows dark enough for secrets and hasty decisions but light enough for Eddie to count Buck's eyelashes and see the exquisite, dark splotch of his birthmark.

Each breath is abrasive in Eddie's lungs, tearing him up from the inside out. Buck doesn't seem much better off, breathing hard, chest heaving, blue eyes heavy and half-mast.

They stand there in the middle of the room, glancing at one another beneath lashes, a small pause that is so weighted Eddie swears the impression of it will be left on his skin and bones. They don't speak.

Outside, it was easy. Muttered words and the slight bickering Eddie gets off on most days. But here, inside their home, here where Eddie has slowly been catching more and more glances of Buck—pieces of him unveiled, things unknown now learned—it's different.

Eddie is afraid one word will break it all apart. That his voice will be too rough and revealing. That speaking will make it all too real and end this before anything has truly begun. So Eddie keeps his voice to himself and he does what he always wants to do when he's afraid.

He turns to Buck and loses himself in him.

Buck's skin is soft and hot where Eddie's hand slips up his shirt. He feels every shudder and heave of Buck's breaths pushing out his ribs and then sucking them in. He feels muscles and fat and strength. He feels a shiver pebble to life on the surface of Buck's skin then dig in deeper, making him tremble in Eddie's arms.

All because of him.

For most of his life, Eddie has felt powerless. Small. Helpless, even when he's trying his hardest. Buck turns that all on its head.

Because Eddie is powerful here. Large. Still helpless though, funnily enough. Absolutely lost and out of control and the most unsure he has ever been. That doesn't seem like such a bad thing though, not with Buck guiding him into a kiss that is terribly tender, the softest thing Eddie has endured all night, a mere breath, a whisper of a touch, something that says hello there and I'm here.

The softness and tenderness continue long past what it should. Long enough that a crack breaks through the center of Eddie, leaving him gasping and far too vulnerable. Taking Buck's strong, wide jaw into his hands and angling his head into the perfect spot for Eddie to bully his tongue into Buck's mouth allows him to add enough heat to patch up that crack at least a little.

Buck moans around his tongue, a drawn out, battered kind of thing that Eddie has never heard from him before. He hears it again as he takes the pretty arch of Buck's cupid bow between his teeth to suck and bite. He has to leave a mark, as many as he can. Proof that he was here. Proof of what Buck let him do. Proof that this isn't all in Eddie's head the way he's been fearing for months since he came back from Texas and things were the same but changed so irrevocably.

Buck pushes, hands pressed to Eddie's waist, fingers gripping so tight that Eddie's skin screams a little beneath his shirt. Back back back Eddie goes, happy to let Buck take some of the lead, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he collapses downward, strings cut, body all shaken and loose and incapable of doing much of anything that doesn't involve Buck.

It's dark, but not dark enough that he can't see anything. The lamp he left on before they went out offers a golden glow, ichor staining the walls and floors and bed. The soft, rich color surrounds Buck, making him look younger than he is, hiding the strands of gray coming in at his temples that he furiously refuses to acknowledge and that Eddie can't help but be captivated by.

A smile gets offered to Eddie, Buck's chin downcast and his dark gold lashes obscuring the revealing depths of his eyes. The smile is tiny. Shaky. Communicating a hesitance, a carefulness, that makes Eddie pause.

He turns his attention into a fixed point, looking up at Buck, upward and searching the way Buck looked to the hidden stars, and reaches out, fingers grazing over one temple and the tiny strands of gray curls he can't see. Pressed between the pads of his fingers, the hair is soft. Thick and damp from product and sweat.

Buck sighs, so so quiet. Then he surges downward into Eddie, their mouths meeting in a collision Eddie feels down to each and every individual atom he is composed of.

Back back back again as Buck pushes him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him. His weight settles onto Eddie, a heavy, dizzying thing full of pressure that roots Eddie to the spot. He could escape if he wanted to. He really doesn't.

Though he wonders how much of a fight it would take. Buck would let him go in a second if he thought that's what Eddie wanted, but what would he do to keep Eddie? Is that important to him? The answer seems obvious. Yes, of course the answer is yes, but Eddie has no idea why or what it means. Buck is devoted. To his core, that's what drives him. Devotion. And it can to a person he has chosen or who has chosen him and it can be to a goddamn website that gives him all the answers he wants.

It's given out freely, eagerly. Maybe it makes Eddie a bastard for taking it like this. For kissing Buck like he is Eddie's and Eddie's alone, like this could be the last time but Eddie will do anything for it not to be. For loving every sound Buck makes, so loud in his enjoyment that it rattles Eddie's ears. For placing a hand on the small of Buck's back, encouraging him farther down, encouraging him to grind.

Buck isn't one to be pushed into doing something he doesn't want though. And Eddie knows for a fact what Buck is like when he wants something. He is like this. Shaky and determined. Intense and focused. All in. Chasing and hungry and devouring no matter what obstacles are in the way. So he wants Eddie. The true outlines of that want, the actual meaning and definition might be blurry to Eddie, but the existence of it is so fucking clear and it makes him harder than he thinks he has ever been in his life.

To be wanted by Buck is an extreme thing. Glorious even, if Eddie were prone to waxing poetic about anything. He likes it. He likes it so fucking much and wants more. More more more.

Eddie breaks away from their never ending kiss to breathe, hauling in air like he's drowning and needs to take in as much as he can to survive the next wave that comes down on top of him. When he peers through the lamp's glow and the shadows littering that glow, all he sees is Buck. So large and consuming. His thighs bracket Eddie's waist, strong and bulging.

Eddie puts his hand on one. Moans like a goddamn whore getting paid for it just at the sensation of muscle beneath Buck's jeans, rolling and tensing and straining with the jerkiness of Buck's movements, a sort of sloppy grind that gives as much friction as it takes away. He hooks his hand behind it then and pulls.

Buck's legs widen, knees digging into the sheets and shifting with a sudden slide that plops him more directly onto Eddie's lap.

They both cry out into each other's open, gaping mouths. Buck's cock is thick and hard, jutting into Eddie's with fervent desperation, so warm even through all their clothing. He knows what Buck has down there. He's caught glimpses over the years, each one tempting him more and more until he ran headfirst into a realization that kept him from looking at all when he had the chance.

He was soft all those times. Eddie has never seen him hard. Never felt him hard. Until now. And he's still covered. Kept from Eddie by jeans and underwear, by a zipper and stupid fucking belt. But even without yet knowing how dark or wet he gets, he can feel the hardness and pulse of it, and that knowledge nearly undoes Eddie completely.

Letting go of Buck's thigh is a shame but Eddie does so he can paw at Buck's belt, fingers slipping over leather and metal.

Buck lets out a grunt, muffled by Eddie's lips. Eddie arches his hips up up up and nearly blacks out when Buck meets him, his hips doing this little swivel that drags pressure and friction hard enough against Eddie's cock to rival any bare grip that has stripped him to completion. Christ, he is going to be so fucked and ruined after this.

As one, a unit so completely synced that no words are needed, they get each other's clothes off. It is a frenzy, a blur filled with tangled limbs and digging elbows and enough ungraceful-ness to make Eddie embarrassed enough that his cheeks are hot, filled with their own pulse that beats into his skull viciously.

Buck just laughs through it all, when he's not cursing in frustration that is. So Eddie laughs too, discarding the embarrassment in favor of glee and urgency that gets him more giggles from Buck and then, finally, Buck completely bare to him and him completely bare to Buck.

Buck naked is truly a sight. He is so long and big and strong. Broad swells of muscle and fat. Curly hair between his pecs and legs. Dark lines of ink. Miles and miles of skin, all creamy and pink.

Eddie doesn't get long to appreciate it unfortunately. All he gets is the chance to drags his eyes over Buck from head to toe, overwhelmed and so fucking giddy he might dissolve into insanity, before Buck is wholly on him again, staking claim to the space between Eddie's thighs and settling in like he belongs there and nowhere else.

Opening up like that for someone is—new. Different. Women have been on top of Eddie before. Shannon liked to ride him and Marisol did too. But neither of them got between his legs like this. Neither of them shoved him open with blunt shoulders and hips. So, yeah. Different. Unexpected. And it's as damn good to be on the receiving end of this as it is to be the one doing it.

Eddie hiccups out a strange, manic sound that could maybe be considered a laugh and closes his thighs around the bulge of Buck's waist, tight and then tighter when Buck lets out a wrecked noise and palms over Eddie's thigh and hip.

His fingers wind up in Buck's hair, tugging and twisting, and every breath Buck has flows into Eddie, shared as they kiss and kiss and kiss. It's been so long since Eddie kissed someone like this. With fervor. As if kissing is all they need. As if they are sharing something more than mouths and spit.

It seems insane to him that this is actually happening even as he is experiencing it. And there were so many points where they could have veered off and chosen not to. Several steps got them here, yet, it's still incomprehensible after all this time. After all this want. After all the denial and insistence to himself that he couldn't have any part of this let alone as much as he is getting right now.

Buck's body pressing his down. His blunt nails dragging hot lines down Buck's back. Buck's mouth on his throat, teeth around his collarbone. His cock hard against Buck's own. His arousal flaring bright and hot like a flame and shared with Buck.

Eddie's heartbeat rages and rages, thumping in a furious rhythm right up against Buck's own. Thumpthumpthump. Thumpthumpthump. Thumpthumpthump.

This, he wants this exactly every second for the rest of his life. From what he's heard of Buck's libido and stamina, maybe he could have it.

"Eddie," Buck sobs, the name and his heaving breaths fanning out across Eddie's slick, flushed throat.

It feels like Eddie's ears pop, the sound of Buck's voice saying something to him such a change and shift in environment. And of course it's Buck who speaks. Buck who breaks the silence they imposed on themselves. He can't help himself it seems and it makes Eddie unbearably fond.

"H—How—How do you like it?" Buck asks, breathless and shaky and still tucked into Eddie's neck while he grinds into Eddie, leaking so much that they are both incredibly, shockingly wet.

"Huh?" Eddie gasps out, altering the angle of his hips so that—ah fuck yes, there. Buck's cock head bumps and drags right over Eddie's. He blurts out a tortured sound of pleasure and his cock blurts out precome that quickly gets swept away by the sieve of Buck's own.

Buck lets out a gasp. Props himself up on an elbow. Looks down at Eddie, sweaty and dazed and so fucking beautiful. "How do you like it?" he repeats. He trails two fingers down Eddie's chest, nails scratching at the trail of hair below Eddie's navel, and then taps the base of Eddie's cock. "I wanna—I need—Tell me. How you like to be touched."

"Buck." The name pops out of Eddie's mouth all ragged and full of breath Eddie doesn't have. He laughs. Scrubs a hand over his face. Says, "I don't even know right now, man."

Buck's nose crinkles and his eyes shine. Eddie wants to bite or slap him in retaliation for the amusement coloring his features but it looks so damn good on him that he refrains.

"Okay," Buck muses, sounding far too put together for Eddie's liking, "Then how about—" He takes Eddie's hand in his own and guides it down down down until he can cup Eddie's hand around his own cock. "—you show me."

Eddie blinks. Doesn't breathe. Stays very very still.

Buck squeezes, the pressure and force of his palm digging into Eddie's knuckles and closing his hand around his cock sticking up between them.

A mewl breaks out of Eddie's throat. Buck squeezes again.

"Fuck." Eddie closes his eyes and wishes for something to bang his head against. Then he opens them, compelled to see.

Buck's cock is nestled into the slight groove of Eddie's groin, content to be there it seems, swollen and dark pink and wet enough that Eddie's skin is smeared as if Buck has come already. A few inches to the left is Eddie's dick, once caught on Buck's stomach and now held in their hands.

Eddie's hand is bigger than Buck's, but like this, it doesn't look that way. Buck's thick fingers seem enormous and far too appealing.

Eddie tries to get some saliva into his dry mouth. Fails. Circles his fist around his cock, Buck's hand falling away, and breathes breathes breathes as he meets Buck's eyes again and starts jerking himself off.

The slide is easy, Buck's precome has seen to that. Still, he could use—

Eddie huffs, shifting against the sheets and lets go of himself, offering his open palm to Buck right below his mouth.

"Spit," he tells him.

Buck exhales shakily, head dropping down the slightest bit as if it's too full and heavy for him to keep upright. And then he spits into Eddie's palm, directly obedient. Eddie goes so hot he might melt through the mattress and floorboards and the house's foundation straight into the earth.

When he gets his hand back on himself it's even better. So slick that his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Yeah," Buck murmurs. "Yeah, that's it."

Eddie shows off as best he can, trying to imagine that he's alone and doing what he usually does. Buck is impossible to ignore though, which isn't so different to when Eddie is jerking himself off in private and trying not to think about Buck but doing it anyway. It was always just pieces though. Flimsy imaginings with not a lot of substance or weight.

There's enough substance and weight here and now to last Eddie a lifetime of pure, vivid fantasies.

He keeps his fist loose at first, working himself up, lathering the wetness around until precome and Buck's spit are trailing down to the tight set of his balls. It doesn't take long for that tell-tale crescendo to build. That might have something to do with the fact Eddie has been ready to blow his load since he first got Buck's tongue in his mouth. Regardless, he goes tense and taut as a bowstring.

Flesh scrapes and slaps against flesh. Heat twists and curls deep in Eddie's groin then blooms outward. Arousal cramps and pinches until he's on the knife's edge of pain.

Eddie bites his lip, stifling a gasp, and squirms, fist tightening around his ever thickening, ever wetting cock. Above him, hidden by the tight clasp of Eddie's scrunched eyelids, Buck rumbles out a few words that don't pierce through the static in Eddie's ears, wholly indecipherable, and then he's just everywhere all at once.

His knees and thighs shift more than Eddie is, as if he's the one being pleasured right now even though Eddie isn't touching him beyond the hand he has digging into Buck's bicep and the few times his head jerks enough to collide softly with Buck's chin or the side of his face. The hair on his legs is soft, much softer than Eddie anticipated. It drags over Eddie's skin where they connect, the sensation so heightened that it ratchets Eddie's heart rate and temperature up up up.

And there's Buck's mouth, constantly in contact with some part of Eddie. Hanging open over Eddie's hot cheek. Sucking at the tendon in Eddie's neck. Biting at his sternum and nipples. Shaking fingers come up to trace over each spot, reverent like each place where they've connected is unreal to him.

Eddie speeds up his tempo, losing himself enough that grace or beauty aren't any considerations to him. He just needs—More. More pressure and heat and friction. More of Buck's skin and scent. More touch so that he can come with Buck's eyes on him.

White spots dance in the blackness of Eddie's vision, a bursting kaleidoscope.

"Fuck, Eddie," Buck pants.

He's never heard Buck sound like that. Pleasure twists his tone into something almost unrecognizable, all gutted and raw and rough where he's usually clear and soft. It's similar to what pain does to him, but different enough that Eddie silently begs for Buck to keep talking so he can hear more.

Buck's thumb digs into the divot between Eddie's hip and pelvis, a harsh, slow drag that somehow feels better than the hand Eddie has furiously fisting his cock.

"You're so—" Buck moans and there's a slick sound, then, "Christ, I can't—You're so—"

Eddie's back arches, chest sliding against Buck's, all meat and muscle and sweat. His nipples harden further, tight points that send a coil of pure, delirious, sparkling heat down down down.

Close. He is so close. Without thought, Eddie drops his mouth open, angling his chin up, trying to catch Buck's mouth blindly.

Buck pushes in between Eddie's legs, his neglected cock slapping against Eddie's skin, his broad hands cupping Eddie's waist like book ends, like the world begins and ends where Buck holds him.

"O—Open your eyes, Eddie." It's a plea. Couldn't be considered an order in any stretch of the imagination. "Eddie. Open your eyes. Look at—Look at me."

For half a second, Eddie is afraid to. There's no one other than Buck he'd rather see, especially like this, but—

God, he's underneath Buck. Naked. Touching himself. Utterly debauched and depraved and flaunting it because Buck asked. It's too much. Far too much. Well-known, all too familiar shame tries to creep in, cold and slimy, a complete contrast to every other sensation he's been indulging in so far.

Eddie has craved this reality for longer than he really knows. And it's here. And there will be an after. Consequences. So yeah, that scares him.

Not enough to keep looking away though. Not enough to not see Buck.

Hovering over him, so close and so tightly entwined with Eddie's body, Buck is a vision. The entirety of Eddie's world and senses. Golden and flushed. Pink from his throat down to the curly hair surround his cock. His birthmark is the darkest it's ever been, ruddy and bright like the crown of Buck's dick poking into Eddie's lower belly. He's all sweat slick and shining.

And those eyes—a blaze in the dark. Blue fire. Burning with lust, a thing Eddie never thought to imagine aimed at him.

That can be enough, surely.

Eddie gets a hand on the back of Buck's neck and hauls him down into a kiss that is frenzied at first, full of demand and filth. Then it softens, turning gentle and tender and curious. Saturated in the ache that always sits heavy in Eddie's chest.

Buck's tongue dances with his own and he whines, high-pitched and devastated. The sound batters against Eddie's teeth and makes his kiss ever softer.

He has to break away from Buck's mouth though because the rest of his weight descends on Eddie's chest, a strangely pleasant pressure that forces air out of him.

Eddie squeezes Buck's nape, fingernails scratching at tiny, damp curls. "Buck. Y're kinda crushing me."

"Sorry. I just—" And then Eddie sees true stars as Buck tears Eddie's hand away from his cock and replaces it with his own.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck," Eddie cries, hips pistoning upward into Buck's fucking perfect grip. He was really paying attention, taking note of what Eddie did to himself and liked best. He copies it all to the exact angle and speed, bringing Eddie closer and closer to sweet oblivion, an edge he's more than happy to be thrown off of.

Buck laughs, a quick breathless thing. Too much is happening to Eddie, too much sensation and pleasure, for him to give Buck any grief or admonition for laughing at him. It feels kind of nice anyway, to get that sound out of Buck, even more than the moans and sobs he's been given tonight. That laugh was pure satisfaction. Giddiness. Directed at Eddie, yes, but also because of him. With him.

"C'mon," Buck urges, mouthing over Eddie's chin, his tongue flicking out and catching against the barest hint of Eddie's stubble. "Give it to me. I'm—I'm doing good, yeah?"

Breath punches out of Eddie and he's sure his heart is about to follow. "Yeah," he manages. He pets at the back of Buck's skull and plants kisses on what he can reach—Buck's cheek, his eyebrow, the hinge of his jaw. "So good. So damn good. You're a—" A laugh catapults out of Eddie. "—a real good student."

Buck snickers and his mouth spreads into a giant smile. If Eddie had any strength he would lean up and suck at that smile. Bite it. Taste it. Take it into himself.

"Good," Buck breathes, sounding so happy Eddie could cry if every bit of fluid and blood weren't entirely pooled elsewhere right now. "Then give it to me. Let me see you come." Buck's thumbnail presses just below the crown of Eddie's cock, then that pad swirls around and around, all while knuckles nudge up underneath Eddie's balls, pressing pressing pressing.

Eddie shatters, his release visceral and almost violent like it's been yanked from him, stolen instead of happily given. He comes over Buck's knuckles, making them both messier and stickier. He comes so fucking hard that he feels it in his knees and then he goes so suddenly boneless that it's like he briefly flickers out of existence before softly falling back into his well-used, satisfied body.

His cock, still held in Buck's grip, twitches again and again as his orgasm abates. Eddie grimaces but does nothing to pull away. He just sighs, knees squeezing weakly around Buck's waist, and pats his palm against Buck's cheek. "A plus," he murmurs.

Buck hums, slack mouth pressed to the underside of Eddie's chin. Eddie luxuriates for a moment, so pleasantly settled, his hand idly trailing up and down the column of Buck's spine. At first, he thinks the shaking is him, the result of a comedown so intense that his nervous system can't quite cope, but the trembling is Buck.

Eddie murmurs soothing, sweet nothings to him then gathers all his determination into steely strength and flips them.

Buck lands on his back with a grunt, eyes wide and lashes fluttering.

A grin bites into Eddie's cheeks and stays there. "Okay." He takes a big breath, smile unfaltering. "My turn."

"Ed—Eddie—" Whatever Buck was going to say gets lost as Eddie turns his whole attention on him, licking over the sweaty hollow of his throat, tasking salt and the musky remnants of Buck's favorite cologne. He doesn't let up or give Buck a chance to say much of anything else, knowing exactly where he wants to go and how he wants this to end.

He catches stray tastes of Buck as he descends, wandering quickly from the bulk of his chest over to the thick ladder of his ribs then down to the swell of his belly and further down still to the slick heat of his groin where his cock stands upright, so dark a pink it is almost red, filled with blood and desire and leaking so steadily that his pubic hair is soaked.

Eddie leans in, stuffing his face into the curve of Buck's pelvis, breathing in the pure, sex scent of him.

"Shit," Buck breathes out, one hand coming down to clench around Eddie's shoulder.

This whole situation, with a dick this close to his face, is another new thing for Eddie. It's a little intimidating. He knows what he wants, so fucking badly he can hardly breathe, but Buck is big and he's experienced and Eddie knows very little about what he is doing beyond the few seconds to minutes of gay porn he's managed to make himself watch. The women he's been with have never complained though. Shannon, Ana, Marisol—they all loved his mouth and Eddie loved that in equal measure. Eating someone out is a thing of pure enjoyment and he's missed it.

Still, the dick makes him pause. He takes stabilizing breaths full of Buck's scent, tongues over the base where Buck is thickest, and smiles some more when Buck shakes so hard the bed rattles a bit.

"You're so wet," Eddie says. He strokes a hand up and down Buck's thigh—and even that is a little bit damp Christ—and eyes the glistening of Buck's cock. "You always get this wet?"

From what he can see beneath his lashes, Buck's face turns to pure flame, all red and ruddy and splotchy.

It takes a few breathless tries for Buck to answer. "Some of that is you, y'know. You came all over me." It's muttered low, under his breath. And it's cute. Really cute, this little war of embarrassment and pleasure playing out for Eddie to enjoy.

"I came in your hand, Buck."

"Semantics," Buck gasps.

Eddie runs the pad of his thumb over Buck's weeping head. He's stickier than Eddie. The precome clings to Eddie's skin and stretches thin between finger and slit as Eddie pulls away then comes right back to do that swirling thing Buck did to him.

Buck shouts, legs scrambling enough that Eddie has to use the lower half of his body to pin then down.

"Please," Buck whimpers.

Eddie hums, playing a little bit more with Buck's wetness. "It's like a girl," he muses, extremely caught up in the thought. "A giant, wet clit." He's giddy he thinks and stupid and incredibly turned on even with having come so recently. If he were younger, he'd be hard again and so close enough to coming that it would be embarrassing.

Buck's hand releases Eddie's shoulder and flies up to his face, his spine indenting into a pretty curve. "Eddie. Fuck. You're killing me."

"Dramatic," Eddie throws back. Then, "I'm gonna blow you."

Buck squeaks. "O—Okay."

"I, uh, don't really know what I'm doing. I'm gonna make it as good as I can but if it's not good, I'm sorry." Then before he can get too nervous or psyched out, Eddie takes Buck's cock into his mouth.

Eagerness has never typically been a downfall of Eddie's. This time, it is.

He wants all of Buck. Wants him in his mouth. Wants to show how much he can take. Wants to please Buck so damn good that he never thinks about anyone else ever again.

There's a lot of eagerness in all of that and he takes too much. He is so full so suddenly and Buck's cock brushes up against all his seams, having him fit to burst. Water blurs his sight and clings to his lashes and then there's a wet, clicking tap against something way too far back and Eddie chokes.

Gagging, he slips off Buck's cock, eyes squeezing shut from a faint, stinging pain and also from the humiliation burning a hole in the center of him.

Buck curls inward a bit, reaching out to Eddie with soothing sounds, hands brushing over Eddie's forehead, pushing back damp, floppy strands of hair from his brow and touching touching touching. All over Eddie's face and jaw and shoulders.

Eddie coughs and then coughs some more, slumping forward to rest his forehead against Buck's meaty hip.

"Goddamn," he grunts. "There's a lot of you, bud."

Buck lets out a noise that's a cross between an amused scoff and the whine of a hurt dog. "Yeah. Yeah, well—" He keeps combing his fingers through Eddie's hair, gentle gentle gentle. "You, uh, can't do that. T—Take it all at once."

"Gathered that."

Buck snorts. Eddie pinches his thigh, smiling at Buck's yelp and then burrowing down to suck a kiss over the spot of hurt.

"Okay." Eddie slaps the red mark now carved into Buck's flesh. "Take two."

"You really don't have to."

Eddie gathers enough courage to glance up at Buck. It's striking every time, how beautiful he is. How large and wonderful and soft. Splayed out in Eddie's bed. Being given this exact same sight every day for ten years wouldn't make Eddie any more accustomed to it or any less awed of it.

"I really do," Eddie insists. "So just—" He flicks his hand at Buck in a gesture meant to communicate that he can simply lay back and enjoy what Eddie does from here on out. "I got this."

Buck laughs. "You got this."

That agreement, that surety—even though coated in a laugh—warms Eddie far more than it should.

He goes slower this time, fingers of one hand curling around the base to hold Buck steady as he laps at the head, still ruddy and soaked, the slit flooded with enough precome that it sticks to Eddie's teeth.

Buck curses, his hand clenching into a fist in Eddie's hair, not pulling or pushing, just remaining there.

The texture is a little different than Eddie is used to, but it's—nice. Soft. Hot. He curls his tongue around the crown, heart leaping at the way Buck shivers and moans and strains in response. His head starts to swim, all full and fuzzy and dizzy. It's the power of it he thinks, hidden in an act that could seem to hold no power at all if you aren't paying enough attention.

"Like that," Buck pants, the words coming out fast and breathless between clenched teeth. "That's—yeah."

Emboldened, Eddie pops the head fully into his mouth, mindful of his teeth, and sucks.

The howl Buck lets out shakes the damn walls and could probably break some glass if repeated frequently. He's a little sorry to his neighbors, but not enough to feel no pride.

Slowly, gently, Eddie goes down down down until the hot, clutch of his mouth meets where his fingers encircle Buck. Buck sucks in a breath and then doesn't let it out, as if he can't or he's saving it, fearing he won't have the ability to breathe at all much longer.

Eddie runs a palm up and down Buck's side, soothing and calming. His lips try to smile when Buck sighs but it's a little difficult so not much happens. Buck reacts to their twitch though, his stomach tensing and jumping, his heart beating a furious rhythm like it's trying to punch out of his ribs.

Eddie acclimates. The cock in his mouth becomes less strange and more—real. Good. The stretch and heat and fullness. The center of Buck's desire and arousal sitting on his tongue. The dark, salty, slightly bitter taste of him. Eddie's head gets even more full and fuzzy. Sparkling warmth seeps into him from head to toe. It's like he's been a numb, cut off nerve that's finally had blood flow restored, waking up with aching prickles and coming fully to life.

A moan ripples in Eddie's throat, and he gets into motion, bobbing his head up and down, using his hand for what he can't quite reach. He tries to take note of what Buck likes best, cataloging the pitch and frequency of his moans and what gets his fingers to tighten even more in Eddie's hair. His scalp stings and his jaw starts to ache but it's so—fuck, it's so good.

Every inch of Buck is terribly sensitive and he responds so loudly, so boldly, free of inhibition or shame. That only spurs Eddie on and heightens the low-level arousal that's been building back up steadily since he came. It's not really something Eddie wants to do anything about, it's just a pleasant simmer, a bite taken out of what was sated, a sort of connection with the entirety of his body that Eddie has rarely experienced.

He quickens his pace as much as he can, saliva and Buck's precome trickling out of the corners of his mouth and pooling along his chin and the dip in his throat. He feels messy, stained, filthy. Used and sticky and warm. Intoxicated. Like he's swimming with the fucking stars up in space.

"Eddie." Buck slides his hand to the back of Eddie's head, the other one coming up to weakly brush over Eddie's bulging cheek. "'M gonna—Gonna come."

Eddie hums in approval.

Buck spasms then taps his cheek several times in quick succession. "Ed—Eddie." His voice sounds like he's been stripped to the bone. All raw and wet.

Eddie places a hand over the one Buck has on his head, guiding him to push and press and stay.

"Oh god," Buck chokes out.

His thighs close around Eddie's face, soft and strong. His nails dig into where Eddie's hair line tapers off on his neck. He turns warmer, harder. The rush of his blood is in Eddie's ears. His scent thickens and the skin of his cock pulls taut. Eddie keeps going, farther and harder and faster.

Buck comes the way he kisses, with his entire body. He curls in on himself, every muscle flexing as he holds Eddie in a vice of skin and strength. He comes with pulses, staggering waves that send thick lines of spend down Eddie's throat and into the soft, inner curve of his cheeks. Eddie swallows as much as he can, too out of it to really register any kind of taste, but soon it is too much and he has to pull off, wet and gasping and shuddering as if he just came too.

A litany of sounds come out of Buck, matching the messy crest and rhythm of his orgasm and he collapses back onto the bed, uncurling like a flower in bloom, his long body stretching out, glistening and golden and flushed like some kind of pleasure god.

Eddie sucks in breath after breath then forces his useless, slack body into motion, crawling up Buck's body, mouth dropping down to leave come-stained kisses on random patches of skin.

When they are face to face again, Eddie drops his head into the crook of Buck's neck, unable to bear the expression on Buck's face, and everything just escapes from him, leaving him a worn out rag doll with no strength or muscle control. His body flops onto Buck with a wet smack. He bends his knees, curving into Buck as best as he can. Buck's arms come up around his waist, their hold loose and shaky.

They breathe together, coming down slowly and jaggedly, for how long Eddie has no idea. But eventually his skin cools. His heartbeat retreats from his skull and mouth and throat, returning peacefully to his chest. Sound breaks through the barrier of exhausted ecstasy and he's able to open his eyes, not exactly ready to see the world again but needing to see Buck.

Buck shifts a little, turning himself into Eddie. His eyes are darker than Eddie has ever seen them and his face is splotched with red and shiny with sweat. He has an urge to lick Buck's cheek. He doesn't. They've crossed over a line Eddie didn't even know they could and are at the end now. They've kissed and come and Eddie has been ruined and he doesn't know what happens now.

A frown settles on Buck's mouth.

Eddie clears his throat, tasting nothing but Buck Buck Buck, and asks, "What?" feeling more scared than he has in a long time.

"I just—" Buck searches him, his pause full of a weight it seems neither of them know how to hold. Then his features rearrange into something less complicated and thoughtful. "You did better than me when I first, y'know." He gestures down to their soft cocks then carefully, hesitantly traces a thumb around the corner of Eddie's mouth, still frowning.

"Is that a complaint?"

Buck pouts. "No." He tilts his head a little, thinking. "Well—I don't know. Seems unfair is all."

"Jesus Christ, Buck." Eddie laughs, breathless and with little substance, some of that fear fading away. "You're welcome."

Sheepishness turns Buck softer, younger. More pink too.

Eddie's heart swells and aches and rises. He wants to admonish it. Lecture it. Ask it, Really? Haven't you had enough?

Buck shifts again and his features twist ever so slightly. Eddie falls off him a little bit and Buck's hands dig into his back, holding him close close close, and then suddenly they are gone. Pulled away as if burned. He watches Buck's eyes drop, taking in the sight and state of them. Everywhere they still touch. Everywhere they are covered in come. All the sweat and small bruises and bright skin.

"We should, um—" Buck bites his lip. Laughs. Reaches out as if to get his hands back on Eddie but then pulls away again. "Shower. Right? We're kinda gross." His nose crinkles as he laughs again, but there's something—empty about it. It doesn't touch his eyes. Doesn't lighten their color. Doesn't bring life to the lines that live in the corners.

Mouth dry, Eddie replies, "Yeah. Yeah, we can—"

"You can take the first one," Buck offers with a smile like he's being sweet and generous.

And, yeah, okay. It's not like Eddie's shower is really designed for two grown men. It would probably be uncomfortable, filled with jabbing elbows and blunt knees and shoving and complaining and laughter.

Even so, he would have liked to experience that, but—it's better to not risk anything. God knows, Eddie isn't capable of much right now. Standing up straight and cleaning himself will be a challenge in and of itself so—yeah, alone is best.

"Okay," Eddie says. "Let me—" He places a hand on Buck's chest not because he really needs to but because he can, because he wants to, and pushes himself up. Beneath his palm, Buck's heart beats and beats and beats and those sea glass eyes stick to him with intent and shine, as if not really wanting to let him go.

It takes some doing, but Eddie gets off the bed with Buck right behind him. He glances over his shoulder, skin prickling and stomach swooping. It's just—odd. The sensation overtaking him. The jitteriness of Buck's movements as he starts collecting their clothes, that blue gaze having left Eddie and not returning.

Eddie strides into the bathroom naked, his skin pebbling with a chill he doesn't understand. Some aches make themselves known, this particular type of abuse not one Eddie's indulged in for a while. He stretches and tries to enjoy it, but that chill remains even when he's under hot water and scrubbing himself clean and then furiously drying himself off.

When he comes out of the bathroom, scrubbing hard at his hair with a towel, he's trying to think. His mind is still full but also empty, buzzing and writhing, and he's trying to pin it down, clear it out, figure out what to say and do now. There has to be something to say and do, something right. And Eddie doesn't want to mess anything up or make a misstep, more than he may already have.

Nothing comes to mind though. It's all blank. Empty.

Like the bedroom.

Buck isn't there. Eddie skids to a stop. Calculates. Changes trajectory. Calls out Buck's name only to receive no response.

Hallway. Kitchen. Living room. Chris' room.

Buck isn't there. He isn't anywhere.

He's gone and Eddie is alone.

Plus One: I love you.

Cowardice is one of the few things Buck can say he doesn't flirt with constantly. He's not one to back down or dodge and weave in great pains to avoid something. Buck likes to attack things head on, likes to be solid and direct and beat at whatever dead thing is at his feet long past its expiration date. Sometimes he may take an indirect route, but he'll be poking and prodding and persisting no matter what.

Maybe he can be considered brave. He likes to think so. Fear is something he tries not to give too much control.

Occasionally, though, fear will surprise him. Strikes hard and fast. Wins the fight before Buck even realized there was one in the first place.

Nothing terrifies him like Eddie does. Like what they did last night. Like what it all could mean and not mean.

There was just—too much possibility as Buck stood in Eddie's bedroom, naked with his clothes clutched to his chest, marks of Eddie all over his body, images of Eddie's mouth and bare skin and pleasure already replaying in his head like a movie reel with no end or beginning.

He listened to Eddie in the bathroom, puttering around and turning on the shower. The soft, almost rain-fall like quality of it echoed in Buck's eardrums. The room turned cold. His heart was caught in his throat. A dozen scenarios played out before his eyes like they were all actually happening at once.

Eddie coming back and kicking him out of the room, done with Buck now and ready to return to some solitary peace. Eddie wanting more from him, more kisses and touching and sex, but nothing else. Eddie sheepish and afraid to look Buck in the eye, regretting what they did so much that he'll never be able to address it let alone repeat it. Eddie getting a taste of something new and wondering what someone else could give him. And, quieter and dimmer than all the others, Eddie actually wanting all of Buck, wanting the way Buck wants, loving the way Buck loves.

The last possibility scared Buck the most.

Because he can love Eddie and stick to him like glue and get awful and jealous when Eddie shows anyone else some attention and piss and moan to himself about Eddie not feeling the same way, but actually having Eddie? That's—That is so far outside the realm of reality. And even if it weren't, surely Buck couldn't be capable of keeping Eddie. He could barely do it as a friend but as more? No chance. It's just—not an option.

So Buck ran. He put a definite end to every single one of those possibilities, changing the course of whatever path they stupidly charged down together, and drifted away.

When he got to Maddie's—clothes wrinkled and hastily thrown on, his heart racing so badly he thought the damn thing would tear through bone and flesh—all it took was one look at him, pathetic and ruined with his chin tucked close to his chest and shoulders hunched inward to offer some protective barrier to that awful, sensitive heart of his trying to get hurt even more, for her to smile gently, somehow knowing everything without knowing anything, and let him in.

She let him use her as a distraction for a while. But it wasn't long before she cut to the chase and battered him enough that he told her everything.

The worst part is she wasn't surprised. Not even a bit. And she said some things, things that were meant to be helpful and encouraging after she called him a jackass for leaving, but Buck barely processed any of it.

Her and Chim's lumpy couch hasn't offered much comfort in the hours since then. Buck rearranges himself every fifteen minutes or so, finding new ways to twist and bend his body so he can fit on the damn thing.

Still, time crawls by. Still, he's plagued by that goddamn incessant fear, which is curdling and souring and turning into something so awful and inescapable that Buck wants to throw up until it exits him. Still, he can't get Eddie out of his head.

How he sounds when he comes. How much he laughs during sex. The startling fierce and gentle way he touched Buck. The dark velvet of his eyes. All the heat and softness in his mouth. It's all in Buck like blood. Like poison.

Buck flips over onto his stomach, sighing into a cushion that still reeks of Jee's fruity-scented markers from where she used it as a canvas last week.

The thing is, Buck still wants Eddie. Wants him even more actually which is fucking insane. But he does.

Buck thought he knew the dimensions of this thing inside him, the tangled mess of his love and desire. He thought he knew every edge and understood its meaning and depth. But Buck didn't know a goddamn thing. Eddie awoke something in him last night. Gave life to what was a minuscule thing compared to how it's grown in mere hours.

He didn't expect being with Eddie to be like that. Honestly, Buck didn't expect much of anything at all when it came to Eddie and sex. For years, he spent a lot of time simply not considering it or thinking about it at all and then later pointedly, consciously not thinking about it for a whole host of different and similar reasons as to before.

Buck didn't let thoughts of Eddie like that take place if he could help it. It wouldn't have done him any good, and despite what many people may think, Buck is done chasing hurt for himself. He didn't think about it and he didn't want it, not actively, not like what he's experiencing now where he feels it in every bone, muscle, vein.

Fuck, he was so good at controlling it, not just the physical craving but all of it, especially after what happened with fucking balloon Elliot. But now Buck has a had a taste of Eddie, a pretty extensive taste, and you would think he hasn't had anything at all, that there was nothing but absence last night to widen the barriers and size of what he feels for Eddie.

A dam has been broke, one shoddily constructed but serving its purpose for the most part. Until now. Now there's nothing between Buck and what he wants from Eddie. There's just skin and moans and come.

The old, stale scent of Jee's markers flares and sharpens as Buck shoves his face into the cushion. Suffocating himself might cause a few problems, but it sure as shit would fix a few too.

Because Buck can't rebuild that dam. He can't. It would be like trying to fix a crack in the foundation of a home with stitches. This crack, this opening, cannot be closed up. No amount of patient or meticulous work will save him. Buck is drowning, filled to the brim of the sticky contents of his heart, and it is overflowing, bursting, making a damn mess.

That's why he really ran. He felt it all crumbling down around him and he knew there wasn't time to cover any of it up before Eddie came back to him in whatever capacity he came back. Buck would have revealed it all if he stayed and—and he couldn't. He can't. He wasn't and isn't ready.

Eddie might have been able to take it all even if he didn't want it. He is good at that. But, God, he's taken so much from Buck already. Put up with so much shit. He takes and takes what Buck throws at him and he gives some back too, because he's kind and sweet down to his bones, but there has to be a limit to all of that even if Eddie doesn't know it or won't acknowledge. There has to be a limit. A limit that Buck will and probably already has found just to stomp all over it.

Enough people have done that to Eddie, how can Buck do it?

A very sharp, pointed fingernail digs into Buck's back, tucking right up beneath his shoulder blade. It sends a spasm through his muscle and pulls a yelp out of his throat.

"What the fuck?" he screeches, hauling himself upright and glaring at Maddie who stands before him with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

It reminds him of Eddie.

Buck groans and wipes his hands over his face. He's so fucking pathetic.

"Buck," Maddie says. Just that. Nothing else. Like his name is all the explanation needed.

Unfortunately, it is.

"Don't," he begs through his fingers.

Maddie sighs. "Buck."

"Look, I'm—It's fine. Everything is fine. Grand even." He tosses her his biggest, brightest smile.

Her expression is dryer than the L.A. heat. "So you running away from your home and the man you're in love with because the two of you had sex last night and you're making it my problem and wallowing on my couch because of it—is fine in your book?"

"Um. Yeah?"

Maddie's eyes roll so hard he fears they may get stuck in the back of her head. Unfortunately for him, they do not.

Buck deflates, misery crunching him up into a tiny ball.

"Oh, Buck," Maddie murmurs. She sits beside him, shoving and bullying until he makes room for her. "You need to fix this. You can't just run from it. And it's not like you can easily avoid him. I mean, it's Eddie."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

Maddie tilts her head, eyes softening. "What do you mean?"

"He's—"Buck throws his hands out, exhaling so shakily it rattles his ribs. "He's Eddie. He's—everything. And I—I've messed it all up. I took too much and I'll keep doing that and—and—" He stops, unable to say anything more.

Maddie's hand curves over his shoulder. Buck wishes so suddenly and viscerally that he was a kid again, something he has rarely ever wished for, just so he could be small enough to tuck himself into her body and let her shield him from everything.

"Pretty sure it takes two to tango, Buckaroo," Chimney pipes up as he enters the room, sauntering and smiling like this is the best day ever.

Buck glares at his traitorous sister. "You told him?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Chimney beams at her.

Buck frowns hard enough it hurts. "Well, yeah. Sibling confidentiality!"

"Not a thing," Maddie and Chim say in unison. Then Maddie adds, "Write a contract for me to sign next time."

Buck laughs against his will. Maddie grins like that was exactly what she wanted.

Chimney sits down on the coffee table across from them, bent forward with his elbows on his knees, and even though amusement colors the entirety of his expression, Buck knows that if he needed Chim to be serious, if he needs anything from him at all right now, he'll be that. Chim is dependable like that. Solid. Good. It would be frustrating if Buck wasn't so damn grateful for it.

"I don't know what to do," he whispers and he means for it to come out more frustrated than anything but it sounds pitiful even to him. He hurls himself forward and hides his face in his hands again.

"Here's a thought," Chim says. "Talk to Eddie maybe. Would be a good start anyway."

"You're incredibly unhelpful. Go away."

"Chim's right," Maddie says gently with a little shove to Buck's shoulder. "I know it's probably…awkward. Or frightening, but you don't scare off easily. And you love fixing things. So fix it."

Buck shrugs, something in him flinching and falling so far he doesn't think he'll find it ever again.

"That wasn't a jab, Buck. It's one of the best and sweetest things about you." Her hand moves to cup his jaw and turn his head toward him, forcing him to give up his hiding place and look at her, all determined and sure and confident. "When you don't get too caught up in your own head and ideas anyway."

A broken chuckle exits Buck. Maddie runs a thumb over his cheek, smiling so gently it kind of breaks Buck's heart. Her good opinion means something, means everything, and some days he isn't sure what he did to deserve it and other days he knows he'll fight like hell to never lose it.

He feels the same way about Eddie.

"Look, Buck," Chim interjects. "Coming from an entirely uninterested and unbiased third party perspective here—"

Buck scoffs and opens his mouth to argue but Chim holds up a hand and carries on. "I know you guys. Been with you for years. You and Eddie are solid. A team in pretty much everything, that isn't hard to see. And I know you can make it through anything together, through most things other people couldn't even if they had the entire world on their side."

"So I—What do I do?"

Chim blows a raspberry. "Work it out. Hell if I know how, I can't do all the work for you."

Maddie clips Chim on the knee, but she's laughing a little. Buck might laugh too if he didn't feel so lost.

"What if I can't do that?"

"Do you really not want to try?" Maddie asks.

And, well, there's his answer. It's Eddie so Buck has to try. He has to deal with this, he has to face it. Maybe things won't be as bad as they are in his head and maybe they will be worse, but Buck has to do something. He can't leave Eddie alone and behind.

Because something like this will only rot and fester if not addressed. Perhaps it'll be easy for Eddie to let go of, but not Buck. Never Buck. And he can't take the risk of that happening and it tearing them apart even more than they have been in the past. Because the limit is out there and Buck has no intentions of finding it any time soon.

Buck knows what it's like to lose pieces of Eddie. He knows what it's like to be apart from him. When Eddie came back Buck made a vow to himself to not let it happen again. So whatever he has broken, he will fix.

"Okay." He nods, aggressive and wild, and slaps his hands on his thighs before standing up so fast that he gets a little dizzy. "Yeah, alright. I'm gonna—" He throws this thumb over his shoulder toward the door and starts stumbling his way toward it.

"Whoop! Get your man, Buckley," Chim cheers.

Maddie comes after him and catches Buck by the elbow, halting his shaky progress. Her face is stern and set in stone when he turns to face her. She lays a hand over his heart, expression cracked and so serious Buck's breath halts in his chest.

"Whatever happens with Eddie, just—" She pats his heart once, twice. "—protect this, okay? And if he hurts you I will fuck him up."

Buck shares a wide-eyed look with Chim. "Um. Okay."

"I'm serious, Buck."

"About my heart or fucking Eddie up?"

"Both."

"Gotcha. That's—Okay." He starts to twist away but pauses then ducks in close to kiss Maddie's cheek. "Thank you."

"Anytime," she replies with a grin.

"No kiss for me," Chim squawks in outrage.

"Not if my life depended on it," Buck throws over his shoulder and then he is out the door heading toward Eddie. Toward home.

…

The air is thick and dead silent in the house.

It scrapes over Buck's skin when he enters and settles heavily onto his shoulders, in his lungs. There's so much pointed nothing that it clogs Buck's nostrils and pauses the confident, not entirely graceful stride he hit after leaving Maddie and Chim.

It's rarely ever quiet here. Sometimes at night and sometimes when neither Buck nor Eddie can bear to talk, but even then, there isn't this—absence. The unmistakable lack of something. Buck felt that when Eddie left. It chased him everywhere, filled every corner and suffocated him any moment he let himself be still. To have it back, to have the taste of it on his tongue and the weight of it pulling on his skin, nearly makes him turn tail and run again.

But no. No. Eddie is here, Buck knows he is. There's no shift today. His car sits in the driveway. Chris doesn't need to be picked up until later this afternoon. He didn't mention any kind of plan or errand or activity that needed to be done today. And Buck saw the curtains shift, ruffled by human movement when he pulled into the driveway and shoved the vehicle into park.

Carefully, feeling like a little kid sneaking back inside after being out past his curfew, Buck tiptoes into the kitchen, following the tiny, dull sounds coming from that direction. A thud here. The gentle click of a cabinet door there. Footsteps Buck would recognize in sleep, in the dark, in death.

Eddie is the quietest whirlwind, pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other, putting away dishes and wiping at spots that don't exist and not turning to look at Buck even a little when Buck knocks his knuckles against the entry way. Buck even smiles, wobbly and weak but real, cause usually Eddie looks at him when he smiles, like he knows when the expression will be on Buck's face.

No reaction. No turn of the head. Not even a hint of a stutter in Eddie's movements. Buck might as well not be there. He might as well not exist.

His chest turns tight and pressure pushes in in in, like a slab of concrete placed on top of him, pulled by gravity and crushing him in slow motion.

He rubs sore knuckles up and down his sternum. Clears his throat. Says, "H—Hey, Eddie."

Eddie's spine goes straight, locked tight and firm. A tense, proper stance he often falls into when he thinks he needs some kind of stabilization. Or protection. Then he rolls his shoulders, flicks his fingers in Buck's direction, and continues scrubbing the counter with a damp rag that's seen better days.

Okay, that's fair. Buck wouldn't want to deal with himself either. He doesn't want to deal with himself at all to be honest.

Still, the flippant gesture, the dismissal, burns—a corrosive thing that breaks Buck down into smaller pieces.

He inhales a too hot breath and wishes the window over the sink was open so he could breathe in some cooler, fresh air.

But Buck won't go so easily. He won't let Eddie push him. If that's what he's doing. It's hard to tell but it feels that way.

For the first time in a long, long time, Buck feels like he doesn't really know Eddie. And maybe that's not a surprise. A lot of things have happened lately, new things that have made him take a step back and consider Eddie through a different lens, study him a little harder and more thoroughly so he can get the answers he lacks, but—Right now, it seems worse.

Buck has no idea what Eddie might be thinking. What he wants. What reaction he'll get when he starts breaking down what happened last night instead of leaving it and letting it lie. It's scary. So fucking scary. After all, there's only so much Buck can bear. There's only so many scenarios he can actually live with if they come to be true. And Buck doesn't have a good track record of making something like this work, but he wants it to work with Eddie so badly he can barely stand it.

Whether he keeps making it work with them as friends or something more, that's what he's got to find out. That's the subject, the topic, the question he needs to dig into until he's satisfied and can move on.

"Eddie," Buck tries again, lingering over the threshold. "Can we—Can we talk?"

Eddie's scrubbing stops. His knuckles bend, clenched so tightly the bone flashes bright white beneath his skin. The scrubbing picks up again. "Sure," he chirps, sounding so falsely bright it makes Buck's stomach churn. "About what?"

Back and forth his shoulder moves, rolling beneath his shirt. Buck watches the movement, all the power and fury behind it, and wonders what it would feel like if Eddie hit him. Eddie wouldn't. He's pretty sure there's very little he could do to get that kind of reaction. Still, he wonders all the same. And aches for it in a way he can't explain and doesn't want to examine.

One foot crosses the threshold. Buck can't make himself move more than that. Encroaching on Eddie's space will only make him feel trapped and lock up and force him to retreat from Buck further. "You know," Buck says as softly as possible, though there's no disguising the tension in his tone. "Last night. We—"

"No." Eddie shakes his head, a rough, final movement as if this topic deserves nothing more than that.

"No," Buck repeats dully.

"We don't need to do that." Slowly, Eddie peers over at him, dark, rich eyes hidden beneath dark, rich lashes. His mouth contorts into some kind of shape Buck can't figure out. "It's all good. Nothing—" A quiver runs through his voice and his mouth twists into a tiny knot. "It's nothing."

That churning in Buck's stomach gets worse. Louder and more forceful. He might hurl up the entirety of his guts onto the kitchen floor if he isn't careful.

Maybe that wouldn't even make Eddie blink. Maybe he'd just sigh and accept it, because what else can you expect when dealing with Buck, then start scrubbing the floor with the same dedication and attention he is giving to the counter that gleams in the sunlight barreling through the room.

That sunshine, so at odds with what twists and tangles in the air between them, aggressively and violently lights everything up. A stark contrast to last night, full of shadows and dimness and enough cover to cower behind.

No turning back here in this light. No hiding.

Again. He can try again. As many times as it takes. Eddie can be ruthless with his denial and avoidance, but Buck can be ruthless too. It's almost nice, the vague sensation of sinking his teeth into something that's trying to leave but can't get away from him.

"Look, I'm sorry," Buck says in a rush, throwing his body fully into the kitchen. He leans against the island between them, closing his fingers around the edge and holding on. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."

Eddie sighs. Drops his head. Curls the rag he's holding into his fist. "Buck."

"I mean it."

Eddie nods, lips pursing then he tosses the rag aside and faces Buck fully, shoulders braced, spine deathly vertical, arms crossed. "Okay. What are you sorry for?"

That stops Buck short. He kinda figured it was obvious.

"Kissing me?" Eddie asks, eyebrow rising high high high. The muscles in his forearms flex. "Having sex with me? Letting me suck your cock?"

Buck's throat closes up tight, sealed seamlessly from heat and no air and the dozens of things he could say that don't have enough substance for him to give voice to.

Eddie's other eyebrow joins the raised one. "Well? Since you wanna talk about it so bad, Buck, tell me. Which is it? What about last night has you so apologetic that you've come back here like a dog with its tail between its legs?"

"That's not fair," Buck pushes out.

"I'm just asking a question."

"You're not—"

"I'm not what?"

"Goddammit, Eddie." Buck pushes against the counter, letting go and twisting around to give himself a break from locked door of Eddie's expression, keeping him completely closed out. His face is hot when he drags a palm over it. The crunch of his frustration and agony remain, unwilling to be wiped away.

Fabric rustles and Eddie shifts behind him. Buck wants so fiercely to turn around and toss the island between them out the fucking window. Tear everything between them up until it's all in tatters and can't keep Eddie from him.

"We can forget about it," Eddie says tightly, a valiant offer tossed Buck's way as if he is some reluctant hero trying desperately to save something that's probably already lost. "I know you don't—" Breath whooshes out of him. "I told you, we don't have to do this."

"No." Buck turns back to him and edges around the counter until they are face to face. Fuck distance and fuck all the obstacles, tangible and intangible. He points at Eddie. "No, we're doing this."

"I don't want to."

"Well I do."

A muscle in Eddie's jaw jumps once, twice, three times. It has its own pulse and rhythm. Buck bets it would be hot against his tongue.

"No," Eddie grits out.

Buck groans and rolls his eyes, sagging sideways to rest his hip against the too clean counter before pushing himself upright again. "What, just because you've decided there's nothing to be discussed that's it? You don't get to do that. You always do that, try and make decisions for everyone else. Not this time."

Eddie flinches. It's small, barely visible, just a tiny crack in his features that ripples from his eyelashes down to the awful shape of his mouth. Buck sees it clearly and it makes him want to rip his own heart out for being the cause of it, but he wants Eddie's composure to break more than anything else. He wants the real Eddie, not this cardboard cutout version that's trying too hard and pretending when he doesn't need to.

"Just listen to me," Buck pleads. "Then you can be mad at me or fuck off and act like everything is fine. I'll do the same. I'll follow your lead the way I always do. Just—Let me—" He halts. Sighs. "Let me."

Let me. He asked that of Eddie last night too. Asked to be let inside. He was able to cover up the desperate need those words revealed, played it off as him wanting to get the two of them in the house, but—It meant more to him. It meant too much. It does now too.

Pink stains Eddie's cheeks and he looks away, his crossed arms cutting into his torso tighter, harder.

"Eddie—"

"Alright," he says sharply. Then, quieter, "Alright." He waves a hand beckoning Buck onward.

Buck has a feeling he should fall to his knees for this. He'd like to. But he's not sure he would be able to get up afterward, so he stays standing. "I'm sorry," he says again, purposefully enunciating every syllable. "Not about…any of what you mentioned." Eddie's hot mouth and blazing eyes. Long, bold stretches of golden skin. His large hands and soft tongue. "I probably should be, but I'm not. I—I shouldn't have left. After."

All Buck gets is a shrug. But he knows Eddie. The smallest, most controlled reactions mean more than anything else ever could. It took him a while to figure it out, the language Eddie's body speaks, the tiny ways it betrays him, how convincing he can be even with those betrayals.

Buck takes a step closer, minding the barrier of Eddie's crossed arms. He doesn't touch him, but he gets close. Breathes the same hot air. Sees the varying shades of brown in his irises. Notes the tiny moles and freckles that go unnoticed if you aren't this close.

"Ditching like I did—" Buck grimaces and his features fold into something sheepish. "It wasn't…cool."

A dry laugh kicks out of Eddie, stopping as soon as it started. "Not cool, huh?"

Buck ducks his head and wipes his palms as discreetly as he can on his jeans. "Yeah, uh, I mean what kind of asshole just splits like that?"

Eddie's gaze zeroes in on him, cool and dark and loudly communicating, You. You are the kind of asshole that does that.

A wince contorts Buck's face. "Right. Yeah." He licks his lips, wondering what he would have to do to get Eddie to give him a glass of water because everything in him feels strung too tight and shaky enough that he can't be trusted with fragile, breakable glass right now. "I am sorry. I didn't want to—It wasn't about you." A pause. "Entirely."

Eddie blows out a breath, and his arms fall to his sides, body curling forward as he places his weight on the counter like he can't hold it up anymore, like all his strength is gone. Tired. He looks—tired.

"I can't—" Eddie stops, frowning at himself, and shoves a hand in his hair. "Let's not, okay? You—I accept your apology." That sentence sounds like it doesn't belong to him, like he's quoting something that's been thrown at him over and over. Like it's forced even if he might mean it. "It's fine now, right? So let's move on."

"I don't want to move on," Buck argues. "That's the point."

"Buck, you quite literally ran out of the place where you live to get away from this. From me."

"That was last night. This is now."

"Oh my God," Eddie groans, face screwing up as he gazes upward like he can't believe what he's having to deal with and needs divine help.

"I was scared," Buck hurries to explain, arms thrown out wide as if to say that's it, this is it, this is me, the fucking coward, take a good look. "I was scared and freaking out and—and—"

Eddie's mouth trembles. Blankness bleeds into his expression. He shifts so that the counter digs into the small of his back. "And?"

"And you weren't! Why weren't you freaking out?" It made no sense to Buck then and it makes no sense to him now. A Eddie that is freaking out he can understand and handle, but this? Whatever was happening with him last night and right now, Buck's fucking lost and clueless here.

"I got all my freaking out done before I put your dick in my mouth. After that it was easy for the most part."

He says it so casually. Like—Like it's just a regular, normal thing to say. A regular, normal thing to say to Buck.

"Shit, Eddie." Buck tugs at the hem of his shirt. Shifts from foot to foot. Thinks about begging Eddie to look at him again but knowing that if he does he'll crumble to pieces underneath the weight of it.

Neither of them say anything after that, not until Buck decides to pluck at something he should probably leave alone, but he said they were doing this and he wants them to. He wants clarity after this, not more questions. He wants to leave this conversation, whether it's with something gained or something lost, knowing where they each stand.

"It was your first time," he says. "With a guy, I mean." It sounds pointed coming out of his mouth and he's not sure if that's how he meant it or not. Still, it's important.

Tommy said—Firsts aren't lasts. If that's how this works then—What chance does Buck have?

That sharp, distracting incisor of Eddie's digs into his lip then releases it. "Is that relevant?" he asks after a minute, mouth downturned with an aggravation Buck knows well.

Buck laughs but it is entirely devoid of any humor. "Yeah, Eddie, I think it is."

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing long and loud. "Why, Buck?"

"Because! You're—And I'm—If you—Fuck." He wipes his fingers over his mouth, wishing he could curl them inside and straighten out his tongue. "It matters. And I didn't—I didn't know."

"You never asked."

"Oh, c'mon, how could I have?"

"I don't think I've been very subtle, Buck," Eddie says with a pained laugh. "When I look at you I—it has to be revealing. It feels like it is." He sounds incredibly upset about that, almost mortified, and frowns so hard Buck has the urge to stick his fingers into the corners of his mouth and force them upward.

But Buck is—confused. "You look at me the way you always look at me."

"Christ," Eddie mutters wetly. "Guess that's the problem then. I didn't know. And then I did and—Maybe I was waiting for you to notice. I couldn't cop to it any other way. Usually I wouldn't have to wait long, but you—" He trails off, squinting at Buck. "You didn't notice," he murmurs. "Even after all that bullshit with Elliot you didn't say anything."

"That doesn't make sense," Buck protests. The world is unraveling in front of him. Shifting around and rearranging so fast he can't keep up. "I mean I know you—Okay, yeah, with Elliot I know you said you enjoyed—But I thought you just meant the attention in general. Not the…man part."

Eddie laughs hard, all belly deep, and his eyes shine.

It's nice to be reminded that it's not just Buck, Eddie is a fucking asshole too.

"You're being mean," Buck pouts.

"Buck," Eddie says, gasping and wiping at his eyes. "How—Fuck, okay. You really didn't think to ask after that? You thought I was bad off enough that I was happy to take attention from another guy even though I'm straight?"

"Aren't you?"

"Buck. I don't know what I am and I don't really wanna look too closely at it, but I'm pretty sure fucking you disqualifies the straight option. At least a little bit." His head tilts to the side, expression torn between thoughtful and something like unease.

"You didn't exactly fuck me—"

"Dios mio, I'm gonna strangle you."

Eddie doesn't. He just shoves a soft, gentle fist into the meat of Buck's bicep, mouth curled with that crooked smile Buck loves so much. It makes the world center itself again, everything put back in place.

It's a relief, one that cuts a hole in the tension that's been swelling up inside Buck and pressing against his skin with enough force to bruise. He breathes, unencumbered, and his whole body stretches with it, sore but settled.

Still, that unease in Eddie's face lingers. Sticks to the forefront of Buck's mind. Refuses to let him go, like it's a bone and he's the dog. Or maybe he'd be the bone in this scenario. Either way, his relief only brings him so much peace.

"Sorry," he mumbles to Eddie, eyes stuck to the spot of the floor between his feet.

Eddie sighs. "I think I'm getting sick of hearing that."

Buck tries to laugh. Fails.

"What for this time?" Eddie asks, nudging Buck with his elbow.

"For—" He wiggles a couple fingers between them. Eddie angles himself to catch Buck's eyes, drawing his gaze back up up up with nothing but pure intent. Buck shrugs. Makes the same gesture again. "For, y'know."

"Really don't, bud."

Exasperation punches out of Buck with a heavy breath. "For you being, like, attracted to me?"

"Buck." Eddie's eyes fall closed like he's in pain and everything about him loosens, softens. "Don't—Do not be sorry for that."

"Is it—Is it just me or—I mean, do you want other—" There's no delicate way to ask if Buck was just something to try. If he's an only or simply the beginning. If Eddie feels inconvenienced by this is any way, no matter whether he wants Buck to be sorry or not.

He isn't really prepared for however Eddie feels. He knows what he wants. What he wishes and hopes. He knows what he stupidly placed on a shooting star that may or may not have existed last night as he and Eddie sat under the dark sky. But if he got it, really got it, he's not real sure what to do with it.

That could not matter. He could make it not matter. Work so fucking hard to be so damn good to Eddie. Buck could be good for him, to him, he's been practicing it for years now. Whether Eddie wants him to or will let him is really that only thing standing in his way.

"No," Eddie answers after a moment. "Or—I don't know. Maybe. I…haven't thought much about it to be honest. It's…confusing." He lets out a strange, manic sound and then closes his lips tight around it.

Buck opens his mouth and Eddie's eyes cut to him so quickly, dark dark dark and knowing.

"Buck, if you say sorry one more time—" He lets the threat hang in the air.

Buck holds up his hands in defeat, not uttering a sound.

Eddie studies him. "It's not inconvenient, y'know."

"What?" Buck asks breathlessly.

A charge fills the air, crackling in between them, glimmering like sunlight and so hot Buck feels as flushed as he did last night when Eddie tossed him onto his back and made straight for his cock. It's that possibility again. The stuff that swirled around Buck after Eddie left him to shower, when he was standing alone and pummeled by the force of everything that could happen. It's lighter now. Brighter. Hopeful, because Buck can so rarely keep himself from injecting that hope into every moment when he wants something.

Eddie's throat bobs. The rise and fall of it takes an eternity and sticks Buck so firmly to the spot that nothing and no one other than Eddie could move him.

"Wanting you," Eddie whispers.

"Oh."

Something fizzes in his gut, a shock of sizzling sensation that bubbles up up up and eats right into the center of his heart which beats beats beats with agony, with fury, with love. "And do you—" He drops his voice low, scared of shattering this possibility between them, and steps more fully into Eddie's space until they are toe to toe. "Do you want anyone else? Cause if—if it was just something to try, I'd understand."

He wouldn't. He would rage and rot and ruin. It would break all the hope in his heart. But Buck is nothing if not good at putting on a show and he can do that for Eddie if he needs to.

"Sometimes I think you make it a point to deliberately misunderstand me," Eddie says with a scoff or a laugh. Buck really tries to make out which one it is, because one means Eddie is serious and the other means Eddie is mocking him. If he could just clear his head—But that's impossible with Eddie around. With his bright, midnight eyes taking in every inch of him. With all his strength and softness right there for Buck to touch.

"I'm not—"

"And other times," Eddie continues as if Buck said nothing at all. Buck bites down hard on his tongue. "I think maybe I'm just awful. At all of this. At being true and real."

"No," Buck argues but Eddie ignores him, shaking his head and reaching out to wrap his fingers around Buck's wrist, thumb pressing down over his pulse.

"You're not something to try, Buck." It's firm. Almost like an order. Ultimate truth that invites no protestation. "There's a lot I don't know, a lot I'm not sure about, but—You are the clearest, most sure thing. It's just—" Eddie shrugs, visibly searching for words that Buck thinks might be meant to sear straight into Buck's skull. "You. It's just you. And it's not that I want you, I mean I do, of course I do, but I—" He breaks off with a laugh this time, as bright and gleaming as sunlight. "It's that I love you. And that's never been a problem or an inconvenience."

The words are a fist, clutching at all the air in Buck's lungs and tearing it out, encasing the messy meat of his heart and keeping it contained, sinking into his belly like a blade that cuts and sticks and lodges allowing Buck the excuse of bleeding out.

There's a slight pain in Buck's eyes and the bridge of his nose, Eddie and all his colors turning watery. "It's—It's not?" Buck asks, hushed like they are somewhere much more sacred than their kitchen.

"Nope," Eddie replies, popping the p with a sideways, boyish grin. "Not to me. To me it's easy. Even when it's been difficult. And I thought that I didn't know how or that it would be harder or take something from me I'm not willing to give, but it's never been that. I've just been doing it. Loving you. The same way I wake up in the morning and breathe and move from one place to another."

Over and over, Eddie's thumb presses into Buck's pulse. He has to feel how it rages and sings beneath his touch. He has to know the frenzy overtaking Buck now, heating him up so much he has to be pink all over.

"So you get it then," Buck says. "Why I…ran."

"Yeah, I do. It was shitty, you being gone after—But I get it. You pulled one of my moves."

Buck smiles but it feels sad. "You're not as much of a runner as you think." He brushes his knuckles over Eddie's cheek, going dizzy over Eddie's quick intake of breath. Then, softly, he says, "I didn't know. That you were an option. I didn't know."

"I am," Eddie promises. "For you, I am."

"Fuck, Eddie." Buck drops his forehead to Eddie's, vision completely obscured now and humiliatingly wet. His lashes are soon soaked but no tears fall. He just—sinks into Eddie, breathing him in and trembling as he gets his arms around him.

They fit really well together. Buck didn't let himself appreciate it last night. Now, it's all he can think about.

"I love you," he breathes, mouth hovering over Eddie's. "So badly I think it's going to suffocate me sometimes."

"That's nice," Eddie says breathlessly.

Buck bursts out laughing, his mouth pulled so wide that his teeth and gums drag over Eddie's chin as he droops with the force of all his mirth and amusement and endless fucking love.

"Romantic comeback," Buck eventually coughs out once the laughter subsides.

Eddie pinches his side then kisses his cheek. "I'll show you romantic," he grumbles, pushing Buck back back back until he collides with the island and then he's kissing Buck, sweet and tender and ferocious.

The kiss is a whirlwind, and it is the softest thing Buck has experienced. His knees go weak and start to buckle. Only Eddie keeps him upright. Eddie, with all his strength and large hands. Eddie, with his broad chest for Buck to brace against. Eddie, with his hot, heavy mouth.

Buck gasps out Eddie's name, letting it trip off his tongue and fall onto Eddie's.

Eddie hums, a deep rumble of delight that fully awakens the arousal sitting low in Buck's gut, always there, always ready.

Energy combusts within Buck, a great tidal wave of sensation that makes him shake and shiver and breathe messily into Eddie's mouth. Eddie is here. Real and kissing him. Real and loving him. The largeness of that, the newness of it, breaks Buck apart and he's more than happy to be pieces in Eddie's hands.

Eddie seems frantic too, bustling with a matching energy, overtaken by depth-less sensations and willing to be, letting himself get messy and lost in a way he usually doesn't.

Buck pulls back a little, wanting to see. The lavish darkness of Eddie's eyes takes up everything, drowning Buck, rooting him to the spot. He wishes he could touch that darkness, all rich and warm and velvety. Get the shape and color of Eddie's irises stained to his fingerprints or anywhere else on his body like additional birthmarks.

"This—" Eddie pants, mouth sliding over the corner of Buck's, body swaying backward and forward. His Adam's apple bobs and his breath sticks audibly to his throat as he tries to breathe. "—is that suffocating thing you were talking about, huh?" A wild, bright sound pops out of him and his heart echoes the rhythm of it, fluttering through the muscles of Eddie's chest and knocking at Buck's.

And, yeah. Buck can't breathe. Can barely move. Certainly can't speak to confirm. The force of this thing is too great for his body to hold. So he just nods.

Somehow Eddie's expression pinches and softens at the same time and there's such raw emotion in the lines of his face and the color of his eyes and the corners of his mouth that Buck has to kiss Eddie again immediately, fast and quick, little pecks that have no finesse or control, only need, and he trails them from the center of that beautiful, wet mouth to Eddie's cheek, chin, underneath his jaw.

The vibrations of Eddie's moan tickles Buck's tongue. He chases after it, laughing under his breath, the salty taste of Eddie's skin touched with a hint of sweet lavender making his head spin.

"What—What do you want?" Buck asks, hands jumping from Eddie's chest to his waist to his ass and then back again. "Tell me. Tell me what you—I'll do anything."

"Buck," Eddie says like it's a curse.

"Anything," Buck repeats. His teeth sink into a piece of skin behind Eddie's ear. It's soft there. Malleable. And very sensitive based on the whine Eddie emits as his hips jerk forward, pistoning into Buck with feverish ferocity.

Strings of precome blurt out of Buck's cock, soaking him up already. He has known for a long time how easy he is, but with Eddie he's even more so. Buck supposes he can expect a lot of embarrassment in his future, responding too much and coming too quick, yeah, it's gonna be a problem. He's too in love to care.

"I don't know," Eddie replies with a gasp, hands clenching and unclenching in Buck's shirt. "I'm not—I don't know."

"Use your imagination," Buck coos in Eddie's ear.

Eddie's laugh is more of a wheeze than anything. "Alright, cowboy." Those gigantic, meaty paws of his with surprisingly lean fingers Buck will be getting inside himself one day, perhaps today if he is good enough, move to Buck's shoulders, pressing down gently. "Get on your knees."

Buck drops so fast his kneecaps crack against the floor. He barely feels it—though certainly he will be feeling it very intensely later on because has become too old and battered for this kind of shit—because Eddie makes a strangled noise, eyes wide where they rest on Buck, and he breathes, "Oh. Wow."

Awe looks good on him. Transforms him into someone younger, brand new to the world and to Buck, shining and bright and so lovely Buck could die.

Eddie—sweet, polite Eddie—waits there, patient and still. His hands ball into fists at his sides then loosen, over and over again. Clench, release. Clench, release. All this threaded tension visibly unspooling out of him, all for Buck to see, to witness. All because of Buck too. Because Buck is on his knees and so hungry and ready and willing.

Plain, naked want shines in Eddie's expression and his attention never wavers, never shudders closed or gets covered up or tossed to the side. It is bare. He is bare, even with every stitch of clothing still on his body.

Buck slides his hands up Eddie's calves and the backs of his thighs. Tension and trembling fill his palms. Buck caresses a single finger over the beauty mark hidden from his eyes, but he knows exactly where it is, exactly where to find it. One day he'll get his mouth on it and trace its shape until he can draw it with his eyes closed.

A hitch breaks apart Eddie's next breath when Buck bends down, nosing at the hem of his shorts. Up he goes until the pink, ragged scar left by a bullet greets him. Buck kisses it. Eddie shakes and murmurs something too low to here. Buck continues, moving to Eddie's left knee. The scar from his childhood is bright and thin. He bites it and nearly gets brained because apparently Eddie is very ticklish there, releasing a high-pitched, garbled sound that is brand new to Buck and reflexively jolting his knee forward then back.

Buck files the ticklish information away for later and laughs away Eddie's sheepish apology and concern.

The floor digs harshly into his knees, biting at the bone, but Buck pays it no mind, shuffling forward through the strain until he's situated perfectly, shouldered in between Eddie's legs. They aren't spread wide enough to accommodate all of him, Eddie would have an issue standing if that were the case, but it's enough. Snug. Strangely sweet. Enough pressure and closeness that Buck starts to blissfully drift away already even without his mouth being full.

"Buck," Eddie murmurs with a sweet sound. Spit and breath stick audibly in the back of his throat.

Buck bites back a pleased smile. Glances up through his lashes. Sees the closest thing to God he has ever known—Eddie, back-lit by sunshine, lip caught between his teeth, decadence dancing in his eyes, expression torn and soft and so goddamn beautiful.

Keeping eye contact, Buck leans in, mouth held open, and shoves his face into Eddie's crotch. The basketball shorts he is wearing are soft with plenty of give, barely any constraint to them, so there's no hiding Eddie's hardening arousal. His cock is fat and heavy under the fabric, and his scent is thick with sex, the faint notes of his lemongrass body wash turning darker and muskier.

Buck inhales, eyes fluttering closed, hands clutching harder at the meat of Eddie's thighs. He tongues at the fabric, making it damp and sucking in Eddie's taste as best as he can with the barriers in his way.

One of Eddie's hands slides into his hair and the other cups the back of Buck's neck as he grunts and bends, torso curving in and over Buck, the meaty, concave shape of his stomach pressing into Buck's forehead. It makes it rather difficult for Buck to breathe but he does nothing to dissuade Eddie from riding the sensation of Buck's mouth roving hot over his needy cock. It's too good of a thing to pass up for something as simple and unnecessary as oxygen.

The tip presses up hungrily through the fabric. Buck closes his mouth around it and gently digs the bottom row of his teeth in.

Eddie squeaks, rising up on his toes, then laughs. A great big, breathless laugh that's less from humor and more from helplessness and delight. Buck loves that laugh. It's his favorite sound in the world. And he swears to himself, here on his knees in the kitchen while sucking at Eddie's clothed cock, that he'll do every damn thing he can to make Eddie laugh like that every day from here on out.

"Buck, please," Eddie groans. His body is loose and pliant, hanging over Buck like he's boneless, but his need is rigid and hard right where Buck has pressed himself and is being invited farther in by the push of Eddie's hand on the back of his neck.

Buck slides a hand up Eddie's chest, helping him right himself, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of Eddie's shorts. They go down with little resistance, revealing Eddie, all bare and flushed.

"No underwear?" Buck croaks. Jesus Christ, they did all that talking and dancing around one another while Eddie was going commando? "You were really hoping I'd come back, huh."

"Shut up. A man is allowed to free ball it in the comfort and safety of his own home. It's, uh, in the Constitution."

Buck nearly chokes. "I'm sorry, what?" he asks, glancing up at Eddie. "The fucking Constitution? Which article?"

Eddie winces. "Don't make fun of me. I can't think right now."

"You're able to say constitution so some brain cells have to be working. And I'm definitely going to make fun of you. Later."

He swallows Eddie's dick before he can come up with a rebuttal, throat relaxed and welcoming Eddie in tenderly. A hot, vicious sort of satisfaction washes over him as Eddie's pout turns to pure bliss—mouth going slack, dark lashes falling over darker eyes, head tossed back to expose the long, gorgeous line of his throat.

It's a smooth, slick glide, aided by Buck's dedication and commitment to learning to best ways to take dick as deep as he can. He's incredibly proud and grateful for his learned abilities and others' tutelage because it has Eddie squirming under his tongue, shouting bitten off curses, unraveling like a knot suddenly pulled loose and free.

Wet, clucking sounds echo around them, a drumbeat in Buck's ears along with his own pulse. Spit coats Eddie's cock and Buck's chin, mixing in with Eddie's precome and turning the blowjob all filthy and sloppy. The taste sticks to Buck's inner cheeks and throat. The texture of Eddie's skin and each ribbed vein make a mark he can feel down to his bones.

Oblivion creeps in, this warm, heavy darkness that's like Eddie's eyes, so sweet and comforting and taking Buck high high high.

He pulls off for just a moment, ignoring Eddie's cry of protest, to duck down and lick of each of Eddie's balls.

"Oh God," Eddie murmurs. "I'm going to die."

"Hmm," Buck hums, wrapping his fingers around Eddie's fat, wet dick so he can keep him on edge while he says, "I seem to remember someone calling me dramatic for saying something similar last night."

Eddie's brow scrunches and he opens his eyes. "What a dick."

They both laugh, and it's both beautiful and idiotic enough that Buck feels insane, so infused with massive emotion that he can hardly bear to exist with it.

"Get me back in your mouth," Eddie says then, his own hand coming around the base of his cock so he can direct it where he wants it to go.

Buck holds his mouth open for him, flushed so hot and tight by this single act that he could come in his jeans right here and now.

He takes Eddie in slower this time, his own cock twitching heavily at Eddie's happy sigh. Then he gets furious with it, establishing a brutal rhythm that has the head hitting the back of his throat and has his jaw splitting with a deep ache that'll probably last for days if he's lucky.

Eddie pats Buck's cheek, a sweet touch or encouragement or some other kind of communication. Buck can't really parse it out, he's too lost in Eddie Eddie Eddie, all his power and the force of his arousal, being split open by this intrusion and filled in a way that brings him to the height of ecstasy.

Another pat has Buck peering up through wet lashes.

"Gonna—fuck—come," Eddie mumbles.

"Great," Buck replies but it's drowned out by Eddie's cock and is nothing more than a rumbling hum that makes Eddie hiss and his hips stutter.

When he comes, it is sticky and obscene, filling Buck past his limits, and accompanied by this little hiccup sound popping out of his throat which sounds more abused than Buck's.

There's hunger in Buck, always has been always will be, cutting out of him and taking center stage, but for now it's as close to being sated as it has ever been no matter the aching jealousy of his neglected dick. Because he made Eddie come. Because Eddie is no more than a rag doll above him, utterly spent and satisfied and glowing. Because Eddie's come is filling up his belly, there to stay until it's broken down and Buck has to get more to take its place.

Buck is used and full and he did good. He could die happy like this.

Eddie tugs him upward, unwilling to leave Buck down where he's nearly approached what must be nirvana. Buck goes, pushing through the strain in his knee that Eddie frowns at. He kisses that frown away, mumbling nonsense that's meant to assure Eddie he is fine.

"Next time," Eddie says onto Buck's tongue, "'M gonna make you come first."

Buck snorts, feeding Eddie tastes of himself and twisting his hips to tuck his demanding cock into the sweaty divot of Eddie's hip. Ah yes. Friction. Not enough, but it's good, so good. Good enough that it takes him several seconds to respond. "You keeping score?"

"Goddamn right I am." Another kiss, firm and sweet. Then, "Now. How do you want me?"

Buck circles a thumb over Eddie's hipbone. "You don't—have to. It's not a transaction."

"Hm. So you don't want to come?" Eddie asks with a playful little frown.

A whine bursts out of Buck alongside a pout he can't control.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. C'mere."

Eddie tugs tugs tugs, walking backwards until Buck has him pressed against the opposite counter. Buck lets himself be guided, happy to give Eddie the lead, his head all swollen and staticky and incapable of any kind of higher functioning. He made Eddie come. He had his mouth on Eddie's cock. Eddie laughed and teased and came inside Buck. Wow. A day for the history books. He wonders how who all he can tell without Eddie pitching a fit.

Abruptly, Eddie gets a hold of Buck's jaw and angles his face down. A kiss gets placed between his eyes. At the corner of each. Then—his eyelashes. It's a very sweet and gentle thing, if not a bit strange. Buck doesn't think anyone has kissed his lashes before. He rumbles out a hum.

Buck's chin gets pinched between Eddie's thumb and forefinger and then there's something wet against Buck's lashes. Wet and tapered to a point and—and that's Eddie's tongue, Buck would know it anywhere.

Some kind of sound bubbles out of Buck. "Eddie. Did you just…lick my eyelashes?"

Eddie goes still. No movement, no sound, no breath. Then, "No," like he's offended Buck even asked only he leans back in, all hot breath, and licks over the lashes of the other eye.

Buck's stomach clenches and somehow, he gets even harder. He's fucking turned on and hot and squirmy because Eddie is licking his fucking eyelashes what the fuck. His lashes have never been an erogenous zone before. They sure as shit are now though.

Eddie eventually deems himself done because he moves on, chuckling a bit a Buck's quiet protest which is cut off quick because Eddie's hands go up Buck's shirt, tracing muscles and fat. When he gets to Buck's nipples he lingers, plucking and pinching. Buck about howls, his whole body pitching into Eddie's. Their noses knock together. Brilliant white dots dance at the edges of Buck's vision.

"Could you come from this?" Eddie asks, all warm and amused like he's teasing.

Buck answers truthfully. "Dunno. Maybe. Probably."

Eddie makes a choking noise and leans down to get his mouth around one pebbled nipple, sucking and licking then taking a bite.

Coiled hear spears straight down Buck's spine and it's intense and clarifying enough that he knows exactly what he wants and has to take. He has to.

Clumsily, Buck gets a grip on that fucking slutty, ridiculous waist of Eddie's and spins him around. A muffle yelp escapes Eddie and he looks over his shoulder at Buck with one raised eyebrow.

Buck shrugs and grins without shame or remorse. "This is how I want you." Then he pushes Eddie's shorts farther down, exposing all the great beauty of that ass, and quickly undoes his jeans, fingers tripping over the belt and buttons. Once he's freed himself, he shuffles forward, bullying his way right where Eddie is softest and sweetest.

Eddie gasps and his back arches, knuckles going bright white where he's holding onto the counter's edge.

Buck's cock nestles perfectly in between Eddie's thighs, the sticky, soaked head nudging Eddie's perineum until Buck readjusts and ah there there there. Eddie's hole is warm. Covered in fine hairs that scratch pleasantly. It spasms, little quakes of his muscles pushing at the crown and begging for all of Buck to sink in in in.

"Holy shit," Eddie bites out.

A grunt of agreement breaks past Buck's teeth.

"Stay still," he says, hands braced in the perfect position so that Buck can sweep his thumbs over the dimples right above Eddie's ass.

"Yup," Eddie croaks, throwing Buck a thumbs up. "I can do that."

Buck fucks that tight spot between Eddie's thighs, sometimes nudging against Eddie's hole and sometimes not. There's no ability in him to control himself enough that he could hit the same spot over and over, so his cock just drags sloppily over where Eddie's exposed, making a mess of his thighs and ass and taint.

"God," Buck chokes, "you're so soft here." He fuses his body more firmly to Eddie's, nearly every part of them aligned and sticking together, cock tap tap tapping near Eddie's rim. The sensation is overwhelming and he fears he very well might have a heart attack and die when he gets a chance to actually, properly fuck Eddie.

Buck drops forward, his body and all his need too heavy, mouth coming to rest between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

A shiver runs down Eddie's spine. Buck feels it everywhere. In his chest. His mouth. Wrapping around his cock. Digging into his knees and shooting down to his feet.

"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie," he chants, mouth full of the tendon in Eddie's neck and the collar of his shirt. Cotton and sweat-slick skin stick to his tongue. The world around him shimmers, turning insubstantial and glittery like fairy dust. Every sensation is heightened, raw, and he knows he'll never be the same.

Eddie shifts, his chest heaving against the arm Buck has banded around it, which, he doesn't even know when that happened, and he pulls his thighs together, creating a tighter channel for Buck to fuck into.

"Right there," Eddie murmurs. "That's it. Just like that."

Buck whines. Bites. Thrusts wildly, his cock slapping over Eddie's thighs and slipping through the crack of his ass. Everything is wet and warm and soft and tight. The most perfect conditions.

"Y're a fucking genius," Buck says, the words all raw and cracked. He licks over the pulse in Eddie's throat, beating fiercely, hot and alive and aching like Buck's cock. Like his heart.

Eddie laughs a little. Leans back. Pets at the parts of Buck he can reach—hip, cheek, the back of his skull.

"Gonna come all over me?" Eddie asks. "Gonna fuck me like this and come all over me?"

Buck has heard a lot of filth in his life, things incredibly sexy and nasty that got him closer to the edge than any touch. Eddie's words are tame compared to what has been said to Buck and what Buck has said back during sex. But coming from Eddie they are hot. Depraved. Dripping with sweet lust and approval and enough to send a stutter through Buck's heart and make his balls draw in tight.

His thrusting turns manic then. Graceless and brutal. The pit of his stomach goes tight. His thighs shake. Heat and pleasure coil and expand, cramping his pelvis and then obliterating every nerve as they expand outward. And then he's coming, spilling all over Eddie's pretty, soft skin. Making his mark, one he would show to everyone if he could, if it didn't drive him mad thinking about anyone else seeing Eddie this way.

Buck's orgasm becomes its own living entity, vicious and sweet. It croons in his ears. Claws at his thighs. Chews through his belly. Such pure, exquisite agony and Buck knows he will chase after this very feeling for the rest of his life no matter how much it might wear him down.

Once he's empty, he slumps over Eddie's back, exhausted and thin. Warmth prickles at his skin and a near painful shudder works through him as he weakly pushes his cock back and forth a few more times, drawing more out of himself than he thought he had until his vision blackens and any more movement might make him pass out.

Eddie rubs the arm Buck still has across his chest, soothing. Buck focuses on that point of contact. Breathes. Slackens. Slowly comes back to Earth and his body. It's all easy with Eddie touching him. His touch, his attention, has always tethered Buck, kept him here and real. Eddie is his gravity, Buck's own personal gravity. Ever since he got so caught up in Eddie when he first joined the 118.

Buck was caught then and he's never gotten free. Doesn't ever want to get free.

Buck gets his other arm around Eddie's chest, squeezing tightly enough Eddie wheezes. He just—needs to confirm Eddie's solidity. Prove this wasn't an exhilarating dream that he's gonna wake up from, surrounded by damp sheets and trying to figure out how he'll face Eddie afterward.

Everything slows and calms, like those moments when you're awake enough to be part of the sunrise, washed clean with new light, so very still it's as if there is nothing outside of yourself. And the crazy thing is, Buck still wants Eddie. Still loves him. Badly. As badly as if he hasn't ever had him at all and never has any hope of having him. It's only increased and he thinks that's the only thing his love knows how to do. Grow. Consume.

Buck's love is an ouroborus, devoured tale meeting hungry head again and again. Circular and unending.

He wants Eddie in the morning sunshine. He wants a home with Eddie and Chris. He wants Eddie's body attached to his own. He wants to share breath first thing when they wake up and last thing before they fall asleep. Eddie grumbling at him about the towels he leaves on the floor. Him snapping at Eddie over his abysmal organization methods in the kitchen. Bumping elbows and knees wherever they sit. Sharing everything they can and even sometimes the things they can't. Clothes all mixed together. A single calendar for them both. Being silly and laughing. Being vulnerable and exposed to the point of pain. Griping at each other over any little thing because it's safe for them to be annoyed or angry. Breathing easier with every confirmation that the other is whole and okay after time spent apart.

A life. A whole life. They have it, is the thing. They have a life together. And Buck wants more of it, so much more, enough that it'll strangle him. That's such a large thing. Simple but large and it would knock Buck on his ass even though he's known this for longer than he can admit, but—

Right now there is nothing but Buck's heartbeat, swollen and quick, pounding against Eddie's back, trying to dig through his skin and crawl past his spine. Eddie's heart races too through the come down, beating a tempo into Buck's skin that turns the world rosy and makes his own pulse even more frenzied.

This moment won't last forever. There will be an after, one that is immediate and several more that stretch on into the future. That life they have together will come and keep coming. And maybe Buck has no idea what to do with it now that it's acknowledged and real. He still fears how colossally he can ruin everything, fumbling with this fragile beginning and dropping it onto the ground so hard it shatters.

But he's been living it all this time. And he can picture it continuing. A future that is murky but taking clearer shape the longer Buck has Eddie in his arms.

Warmth starts to recede. A chill brushes over Buck, reminding him that his pants are still undone and his cock is still out, soft and no longer held between Eddie's wet thighs. All the come covering them will start drying soon. Exposure will gnaw at Eddie. So will the fact that they did this in the kitchen.

Yet all Buck can think about is what happens now. What's next. That ouroboros in him winding around and around. It fills him with such hope and terror.

He listens to Eddie's heartbeat. Nuzzles into his neck. Asks, "Are you scared?"

Softly, Eddie replies, "Terrified. You?"

"Out of my mind," he answers with a laugh.

Eddie smiles. Buck can't see it but he can feel it. Hear it.

"I'm happy too though," Buck murmurs, his palm brushing over Eddie's heart again and again. "You make me happy."

That makes Eddie turn toward him, shifting the stillness and serenity of the moment. His body follows his gaze, moving with a sensuous grace Buck is kinda jealous of. Then his eyes drop to their exposed cocks and he snorts, reaching down to tuck them both back in their pants, something so confident and competent about the gesture that Buck could just about get hard again.

"I make you happy," Eddie says to himself, all hushed and pleased. Red stains his cheeks. Damp strands of hair brush over his brow. Buck aches and loves so bad it hurts.

"Yeah." It's unnecessary confirmation but Buck gives it all the same.

Eddie's smile rivals sunshine. It is bright bright bright, even in its small shape. Small but genuine and broadened by the emotion he carries in his lips the way most people do solely in their eyes. He looks so sweet and young like this, satisfied and in love. In love. Buck has never really gotten to see Eddie that way except—he has. For a while now. How extraordinary.

Buck kisses that smile and licks over it, desperate to memorize the shape and taste of it.

"You make me happy too," Eddie says, his nose digging into Buck's cheek and palm cupping Buck's face like he's precious.

Hearing that might be better than I love you. Or maybe that's exactly what I love you means. Maybe it means I'm scared and happy. Maybe it means I am everything because of you, for you, with you.

"When you're not driving me batshit insane that is," Eddie adds cheekily, biting into Buck's jaw.

Buck yelps and snaps his teeth at Eddie who draws back with a wicked grin, chuckling like the bastard he is.

"You're one to talk," Buck mutters.

Eddie shrugs like he agrees. Then he winces, nose curling, and glaces back behind himself. "Okay this has gotten—" He shakes his head then sticks out his tongue and makes a yuck sound that communicates how gross it is without words.

"What, you don't like having an ass full of my come?" Buck leers and reaches around Eddie to get two good handfuls of that ass, hauling Eddie up onto his tiptoes and shoving his cheeks together just to be a little shit. "I think it suits you."

Eddie glares, brown eyes deep and hot, but its belied by how much redder his face gets, the vibrant color flowing down his throat and settling in the hollow at the bottom, glinting with remnants of sweat.

"Fuck you."

"Next time for sure."

"Christ, what am I gonna do with you?"

"A lot, ideally."

"Buck."

"Eddie."

Eddie's mouth twitches and his ass settles more firmly in Buck's hands. His expression darkens, wholly arresting and full of something that tells Buck he is in trouble, and he throws his arms around Buck's neck, coming close close close. "I was thinking you could clean me up, y'know. However you want. Don't you want to clean up your mess, Buck?" He blows in Buck's ear then nips at the lobe.

A shiver cracks Buck open from skull to kneecaps. "Y—Yeah. Uh huh. Whatever, uh, whatever you want. I can do that."

"You can," Eddie agrees. "Because you're so good."

Buck exhales shakily. "Oh, fuck you."

Eddie chuckles then hauls himself out of Buck's embrace, reaching around to give Buck's ass a stinging slap, then dashes out of the room, yelling, "Race ya!" over his shoulder.

"My legs are longer than yours!" Buck calls out, already tripping over said legs in his haste to follow Eddie.

When Buck catches him, Eddie laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

And Buck—He is in love and he's not alone. So he laughs too.