Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tommy kissed him.

Kissed. Him.  

Right on the mouth. No warning, no nervous flutter beforehand, just laid one right on him. There was a sure hand on his chin and a firm press of lips that tasted vaguely like coffee and confidence and then it was over. 

Buck for his part, didn’t pull away. 

He let it happen. 

For a few breathless seconds, he even leaned in. 

He liked it.  

And that’s the part that’s fucking with him now.

He grips his steering wheel with white knuckled fingers, and takes a deep breath. He’s parked wonky at the curb outside Eddie’s house with the engine still running because he hasn’t had the presence of mind to turn it off yet. 

His pulse is loud in his ears, thudding out a beat that sounds suspiciously like kissed him kissed him kissed him. Every time he blinks there is a flash of Tommy’s face, but not in a way that means anything, not in a way that sticks or causes any reaction. 

Because the kiss…it was fine. 

Technically proficient. 

Very unexpected. 

He didn’t hate it. 

And that, that is what’s fucking with him. He didn’t hate it. He liked it. He liked the way Tommy’s fingers curled against his jaw, the rough scratch of stubble catching against his skin, the way his mouth moved. 

Buck has always been up for a little risk, something new, something different. 

It’s practically who he is. 

And yet somehow, up until now, it had never even occurred to him to wonder if he’d like kissing boys.  

Which makes no sense, because why wouldn’t he be romantically interested in men?

Except it does make sense, because he’s been so goddamn wrapped around his own axle about other things. Because he’s spent years pushing this feeling down into the pit of his gut and stamping it into something else. Something safe and easy. Something with boundaries. Something that lets him sit on Eddie’s couch, toss popcorn into his mouth, and pretend like he isn’t stealing glances at the curve of his friend’s neck. At the way Eddie softens when Christopher still cosies up to him. At the way Eddie will move in closer to Buck’s side when parts of the movie get louder. At the shape of his mouth when he laughs and the way his eyes crinkle.

Buck groans into the quiet of the car and slams his head against the steering wheel. 

The horn blares. 

Fuck. He winces, then breathes out a laugh that is as sharp and bitter, as it is giddy and unbelieving. 

Because he is losing it. He’s absolutely losing it.

Because when Tommy walked away, talking about Saturday? Or something? Who knows? Maybe a movie? Maybe dinner? 

Buck wasn’t thinking about Tommy at all. 

His brain had already made the leap, had already hopped, skipped, and jumped, catapulting him somewhere entirely different.

Somewhere warmer. Browner eyes. Softer edges. 

The only image in his mind… is Eddie.

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

Has Eddie ever thought about this?

The question first hit him as he drove to clear his head, somewhere between his apartment and the freeway, and it hasn’t let up since. It’s needling at him like an itch he can’t reach, impossible to ignore, impossible to forget. Has Eddie ever looked at another man and wondered? Has he ever felt that slow, curious burn that’s crawling its way up Buck’s throat right now? Has he ever, holy fuck… has he ever looked at Buck and wondered?

He needs to know.

No.

He needs to show him.

He needs to put all this somewhere. Do something with it before it eats him alive. Because now that the thought has rooted itself, now that he’s crossed this invisible line he didn’t even know existed — he can’t ignore it. 

He doesn’t want to ignore it. Everything is too sharp, too obvious. Like all the years of lowkey obsession and silent unconditional loyalty has suddenly clicked into place, and now he’s vibrating with it. With the possibility. With the truth. 

Is it chaotic and ill advised and probably a bad idea? Sure.

But he’s already halfway out of the car, his feet moving towards Eddie’s house before his brain can veto it.

The path to Eddie’s front door is so familiar to him, he reckons he could walk it blindfolded. He dodges the loose brick, muttering under his breath about how one of them really needs to fix that before Christopher takes a tumble. 

His palms are sweating. His mouth is dry. He feels like he could take off into space at any moment with all the pent up energy rattling about inside of him.  

This is either the best or worst idea he’s ever had and Buck has had plenty of both, so that is not helping at all.

He hesitates for a second once he gets to the front door. His keys in his hand hovers over the lock before pulling back. 

No. 

No, using his key feels wrong, it feels too presumptuous, too intimate. Even if Eddie gave it to him forever ago, even if he’s been letting himself into this little bungalow for years now. He opts for the doorbell instead and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, every nerve ending on high alert.

When the door opens, Eddie’s standing there, bleary eyed, hair sticking up at odd angles, one pant leg rolled up to reveal the bruise and busted up ankle that Buck caused with an ice pack strapped to it. Guilt knocks the wind out of him for a second, fuck, he did that. 

He did that, in a jealous, possessive burst of something he hadn’t let himself name until literally right now.

He stares, and Eddie stares back, confused, blinking at him like he’s not sure if this is real or just a dream he’s been pulled out of too fast.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice is low, scratchy with sleep, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Of course he’s confused. Buck just rang his doorbell at almost eleven at night, after Eddie had spent the afternoon in the emergency room for a busted ankle that he caused. Eddie probably passed out hours ago when he got home, curled on the couch or tucked in bed, and here Buck is, vibrating on his doorstep like an excited puppy that’s learned a new trick.

His new kiss your buddy trick. 

Suddenly Buck can’t speak.

The words, the messy, half formed speech he’d built in his head during the last two hours of driving in frantic loops around the neighbourhood are all gone. Dissolved. Disappeared. Burnt up in the heat rolling off his skin now that Eddie’s standing in front of him. It feels like his voice box has been crushed, twisted sideways under the weight of something bigger than language, something that’s been swelling inside his chest for the last few hours, or weeks, months, years, maybe.

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Only a breath. Only the realisation that he’s never wanted to kiss someone more in his entire life. It’s not in a curious, speculative way anymore. 

Not just to know. 

But to feel. 

To stake a claim on the truth that’s finally, finally being unburied.

“I just…” he starts, but the words tangle and collapse before they reach any sort of conclusion. 

So he stops trying.

Instead, Buck steps forward. No hesitation, no permission asked, just, I’ll show you. He cups Eddie’s face with both hands, fingers gentle against rough stubble and warm skin. It isn’t Tommy’s one hand on the chin trick, not some calculated manoeuvre. It is Buck grounding himself, bracing for impact. 

And then he pulls Eddie in, and their mouths meet.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s not soft and experimental or unsure.

It’s lightning. It’s tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet causing natural wreckage wherever it can touch.   

Eddie’s lips are warm and plush and fit against his like they were made for it, made for this, for him. Buck doesn’t just feel the kiss against his mouth; he feels it in his chest, in his ribs, in the arch of his spine, all the way down to his damn pinky toes. His knees nearly buckle under the weight of it, the rightness of it, the clarity. 

It isn’t new. This has been there all along. Buck’s been circling this truth for years, and now it’s swallowing him whole.

He knew it.

He fucking knew it.

But then Eddie pulls back, and just like that, the moment stutters. Halts. Eddie’s breath is shallow, their mouths inches apart, both of their eyes wide and searching, and Buck’s still cradling his face, still holding him like he’s afraid he might vanish.

Fuck.

Panic floods his chest, hot and fast, because… oh my fucking god, what did I just do?! 

Maybe Eddie’s not feeling the same thing. Maybe his mind isn’t exploding like a condemned building finally allowed to collapse so something better can rise from the dust. 

Maybe this is a mistake. 

Maybe he’s just blown up his whole goddamn world.

“You kissed me?” Eddie whispers, and Buck watches him wobble slightly.

“Shit,” Buck mutters, one hand instinctively sliding down to support him under the arm, remembering the ankle, the mottled bruise, the stupid collision at the stupid basketball court earlier that day, that was entirely Buck’s fault.

“I did.” 

Because it’s true. He did. He meant it. No take backs. 

“Why?” Eddie breathes, staring at him in disbelief, as if the sky just cracked open and flying pigs have swarmed.

To be fair, it’s a perfectly normal question given the circumstance, and Buck has a somewhat perfectly adequate answer. 

He swallows and shrugs, “Because apparently we can.”

Okay. So it’s a bad answer. Not enough. Too much. He doesn’t know. He does know. He just, there’s too much to say and no time to say it. Every second that passes, his heart kicks harder against his ribs. What if Eddie didn’t want him to kiss him? What if he didn’t like it? What if—

“Eddie—” he tries, only to be cut off.

Because Eddie kisses him.

And this time, it’s a whole different animal.

Eddie tilts his head and brings a hand to Buck’s jaw, familiar, hungry… hot. There’s no hesitance now, no pause. He leans in with purpose and Buck folds into it like a man who’s been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

The kiss is heat and gravity, mouths slotting together with the kind of desperation born from too long of unspoken things. Eddie exhales into it, a quiet little ragged thing, and Buck feels his whole body pull forward, like there’s no air except in the space between their lips. He’s aware of every single detail, the rasp of Eddie’s unshaven jaw, the way their noses bump, the groan that escapes his own throat unbidden. His hand shifts from Eddie’s cheek to the back of his neck, holding tight in the soft strand there, grounding himself before he floats off the planet entirely.

Because this is it.

This is it.

This kiss is Buck’s world shifting. His mind catching fire. Fireworks and butterflies and every other cliche all tied up in a neat little bow. Every past kiss, every maybe, every what if, every girl, every fling, is just background noise compared to this. 

Compared to Eddie. 

This is earth shattering. It doesn’t just feel good, it feels true, it feels right, written in the stars. 

It feels like finding home in someone's mouth.

His best friends mouth.

When they finally pull apart he doesn’t let go, and neither does Eddie. There is silence, and the sound of their panting breathes mingling as one. A storm of possibility crackling in the space between them. And Buck, both dizzy and breathless, already knows that there is no going back.

“I kissed you,” Eddie breathes, his voice low and rough.

Buck doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, yeah, we should keep doing that,” he whispers, and then he’s leaning in again, mouth crashing against Eddie’s on instinct. His lips find Eddie’s again and again, and it’s already dizzying how much better it gets each time, as if his mouth is learning him, mapping every curve and bend. 

He moans softly, chasing the taste of Eddie’s mouth as he angles his head, deepening the kiss, fingers twitching with the urge to hold on tighter. His heart is tap dancing inside his chest, but none of it compares to the heat pouring through him when Eddie murmurs between kisses, “What made you kiss me?”

Buck doesn’t answer right away, instead he drags his lips down the strong line of Eddie’s jaw, trailing heat and need, breath catching when he gets close to that spot just beneath his ear. His tongue darts out, then he sucks there, hard enough to leave a mark behind.

“Tommy kissed me,” he says finally, his voice gravelly against Eddie’s skin.

“Wait?” Eddie sucks in a breath, “Tommy is gay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking care,” Buck dismisses, punctuating each word with another kiss, messier now, less about finesse and more about hunger. His hands slide up Eddie’s shirt, fingertips skating over the warm skin of his stomach, and he shudders, overwhelmed by just touching parts of Eddie he never dared to before. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

And it’s so fucking true. He can barely remember Tommy’s lips, but he can’t stop memorising Eddie’s. Everything is blurring now, their mouths and bodies pressed too close, heat building in layers both unbearable and perfect. Buck kisses him again and again, lips parted, tongues clashing, breath mixing. Eddie tastes like peppermint and nerves and the sharp edge of something long denied, and Buck needs it all.

“Shit, shit—” Eddie suddenly winces, pulling back a fraction. “Fuck, Buck. My ankle.”

“I got you,” Buck breathes, already moving before the thought is finished. His arms slide down Eddie’s back and over his ass, and oh shit he needs to return to that after. He ducks and lifts, hands cupping the backs of Eddie’s thighs, and Eddie lets out a startled breath as Buck hoists him up like he weighs nothing. His legs lock around Buck’s waist, chest heaving against Buck’s own, and something about the way Eddie clings to him has Buck swallowing a moan.

He didn’t think it would feel this good, this right, this absolute. Holding Eddie like this, his body pressed tight against him, his breath stuttering against Buck’s cheek, fingers fisting in his shirt. They’re both strong, of course they are, but Eddie fits in his arms like a missing puzzle piece finally snapped into place. It’s seamless in a way that catches him off guard, smoother than he ever imagined. It’s easy. And it’s that ease, that terrifying, beautiful ease, that threatens to completely undo him.

“Oh my god,” Eddie gasps, and Buck feels the way his body arches forward, so desperate, like he’s chasing the next kiss before the last one’s even ended. He grins, feeling wild and breathless, and lets Eddie crash their mouths together again as he turns, slamming the door shut with his shoulder. Then he presses Eddie up against it, crowding into him, kissing him like he’ll never get another chance. 

He rolls his hips against Eddie, heavy and slow, and the friction pulls matching moans from deep in both of their throats — raw, helpless sounds fill the space between them, a spark catching fire in the woods that they’ve been hunting each other down in for years, wildfires taking on a life of their own. Eddie’s head tips back against the door, his hands tangled in Buck’s hair, as his eyes flutter shut, and Buck kisses his neck and watches him with something close to awe, his breath catching in his chest like he’s witnessing something sacred.

Eddie’s rough voice cuts through the haze, the words scraping out of him like they cost something. “Chris is with Marisol,” he says, barely more than a croak. It lands somewhere between a warning and permission, like he’s handing Buck the key to a locked door but he is still hovering near the handle, unsure whether to turn it himself.

Buck’s heart stutters, and he pulls back just an inch, barely enough space to see Eddie’s face, so he can register what he just said. And it hits him like cold water.

Marisol.

Eddie has a girlfriend.

Fuck.

He stares at Eddie, panting like he’s run a mile, his eyes hazy, his lips swollen, Buck’s fingers dig into the backs of his thighs holding him up. His whole body is screaming yes while his brain claws for a foothold. He wants to say something, anything, but it all jams up in his throat.

“I—” he starts, but he doesn’t know what he’s even trying to say. 

Sorry? We shouldn’t? Do you want to stop?

Please don’t. 

“I don’t care,” Eddie murmurs, his eyes dip to Buck’s lips, gaze dark and intent, and when he leans in, just enough for their mouths to almost touch, his voice has shifted. It sinks into something deeper, rougher, a seductive note Buck’s never heard from him before. A sound that curls around his spine and takes root in his chest, a melody he wants to hear again and again on repeat. “Don’t stop now,” Eddie breathes. 

It’s not just a plea. It’s a surrender. A promise. 

And Buck never wants to stop hearing him like this.

It’s Eddie who drags him back in, hand curling around the nape of Buck’s neck, pulling him back up into a kiss that wrecks the last piece of restraint Buck was pretty much pretending to hold onto. It’s desperate, almost angry with want, and Buck gives in to it completely. His hips rock forward again, grinding them together in one long, shameless slide that has both of them gasping into each other’s mouths.

Buck doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t know how to stop. All he knows is Eddie tastes like surrender, like a secret he’s been aching to uncover, and Buck’s never wanted anything more in his life.

It gets messy, uncoordinated, too much too fast, and somehow still not fast enough. Eddie’s hands are everywhere, gripping Buck’s shoulders, skating down his back, fisting his shirt like he wants to tear him open and crawl inside.

Buck laughs against Eddie’s lips breathlessly, “We not going fast enough for you?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh that ends in a gasp as Buck shifts his weight. “Shut up.”

“Trying,” Buck says, grinning, and with more grace than either of them usually manages, he somehow gets them to the couch, hands holding Eddie tight, steps stumbling, kisses still landing half cocked and hot. They knock into a side table on the way, Buck blindly catching a picture frame mid fall and tossing it onto the coffee table without looking, all while still holding Eddie.  

“Smooth,” Eddie mutters, his eyes warm and glittering.

“Just you wait,” Buck replies, and then carefully lowers him down onto the couch.

Eddie lets him, lets Buck arrange him, even though he could do it himself. He stretches out with a little wince, and Buck freezes, concern snapping back into place like instinct.

“Shit,” Buck breathes, his eyes widening. “Your ankle… I wasn’t—”

Eddie shakes his head before Buck can spiral. “It’s fine, Buck. Just a twinge, come here.”

But Buck still pauses, kneeling beside the couch, hands braced on either side of Eddie, trying not to touch him and failing spectacularly. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just, God Eddie — I was so jealous.”

Eddie blinks, that soft fondness flickering behind his eyes and he sits up a little. “Jealous?” he repeats, his voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Buck looks away for a second, then meets his gaze as the honesty slips out. “Tommy. You and him, you just — you have so much in common and… and I-I just felt like you were replacing me or something.”

Eddie stares at him, his lips parted, like maybe the air just shifted. “Buck,” he says, voice gone low and steady again. “You’re my best friend, there was nothing to be jealous of… ever.”

Buck searches his face,“Thought I was trying to get his attention for a second and then I realised, it’s you… I always want your attention.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You always have it.”

Buck huffs a breath, something between a laugh and a groan. “Are we fucking idiots?”

“Probably,” Eddie says, soft and fond. “But, maybe we should keep going and figure it out.”

Buck can’t help the the smile the tugs in to his lips, a little lopsided, a little stunned. How did he get so lucky? “Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

He climbs up over Eddie slowly, careful of his leg, one hand bracing beside his head, the other ghosting along his side like a question.

They breathe each other in for a second, Buck’s nose bumps against Eddie’s and Eddie’s hand slides up the back of Buck’s thigh, a possessive and grounding touch.

“You sure it doesn’t hurt?” Buck asks, brushing a kiss over Eddie’s jaw, then another along his neck, his collarbone, his hands dragging up Eddie’s shirt.  

“I’m sure,” Eddie whispers. “But you better keep being gentle.”

Buck chuckles, a spark of something in his throat. “I can be gentle.”

Eddie arches a brow. “You can also be a fucking bull in a china shop.”

Buck grins, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t you see how I caught that picture frame?”

”I did, very impressive.” They take a beat to stare at each other and then Eddie leans up and ghost his lips against Buck’s. “You should know any other day, I don’t mind being the china,” Eddie breathes, as he drags Buck down into another kiss that scorches them both.

It’s heat, and hunger, and something gentler too, deep affection curling through it all, so tangled now it’s impossible to pull apart, like trying to separate colours once they’ve bled into the same storm streaked sky.

“Wait…” Eddie pulls back slightly, breathless. “So Tommy kissed you, and that made you kiss me?”

“Tommy kissed me, and I realised it felt good, you know… kissing a guy. So then I wanted to kiss you.”

Eddie blinks at him. “I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t know it was something I wanted until I tried it,” Buck says, with a small shrug. “So I had to show you, too.” He leans in, pressing another soft kiss to Eddie’s mouth.

“How generous of you,” Eddie mumbles against his lips.

“I’m a good friend like that.”

“The best,” Eddie breathes, his fingers trailing down Buck’s body.

“Never want you to miss out.” Buck grins and grinds against him. Fuck.

“Good,” Eddie moans, “‘cause you know I get FOMO.”

“I always have your back.” Buck promises.

“And I always have yours.”