Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

Eddie's ceiling fan lets out an obnoxious, high-pitched creak with each spin it performs.

It's your ceiling fan now, he hears in his head, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Eddie. Buck wishes the fan and the voice would both shut up. He's tempted to move the mattress he dropped in here earlier today to the living room, since he still hasn't moved his couch or bed frame over from the loft. He presses his thin pillow over his ears, but the ceiling fan continues to taunt him.

It's Buck's first night in Eddie's house since the move to El Paso. It's your house now, the voice corrects.

His house? No. Too weird to think about. This is Eddie's house. You're coming back, he insists to the Eddie voice.

Eddie's coming back.

Buck gets up and turns the ceiling fan off, but it only makes his discomfort worse. The bedroom feels stifling. It's too still, too quiet. Usually, at this time of night in the Diaz house, Buck and Eddie and Chris would all be snoring lightly. The dishwasher would be running. The ceiling fan would squeak on, and Buck wouldn't notice because the house wouldn't be so goddamn empty. Buck would be lulled into his dreams by the sound of Eddie's sleep mumbling. He'd know with the utmost certainty that upon waking, he'd get to eat breakfast with his favorite people, enjoy the Wikipedia article of the day, and taunt Eddie about his dream mutterings.

Buck turns the ceiling fan on, then shuts it off again after a few seconds. The image of it going in circles and struggling to a stop feels a bit too much like a metaphor for the current state of his life.

His eyes fall on the wall he helped Eddie repair years ago. The memory echoes in his head, his own voice saying, Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm the guy that always wants to fix everything, and Eddie's reply: Hey, comes in handy when you have a bunch of holes in your wall.

A light bulb turns on. Literally, in this case, as Buck heads for his toolkit in the living room. After all, Eddie will be back after he sorts things with Chris. Hopefully, that'll be sooner rather than later. And when he does come back, Buck doesn't want him to have to deal with a squeaky ceiling fan.

He grabs a chair and balances on it precariously as he examines the fan, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. If he just— Aha! He finds the loose screw and twists it back in. A test of the fan confirms the noise is gone. Easy. He wishes he would have thought of this an hour ago.

The chair gets put back, the lights get turned off, and Buck settles back onto his mattress. He locks his hands over his stomach and starts to tap his thumbs, looking up at the ceiling. For ten minutes, he shifts around, trying every sleep trick Maddie ever taught him over the years.

He still can't sleep. It's only 10:47 PM, according to his phone, and he has tomorrow off, but he doesn't know what to do in this abandoned house. He should have brought the couch over. The TV too. It wouldn't help him sleep, but at least he might be able to shut his brain off.

He rolls off the mattress, wincing as he steps on the cold floor, and heads to the kitchen. When Buck had explored the cabinets earlier, he'd found that Eddie had left the sleepy time tea behind. Chris drank it occasionally when he was younger and had nightmares, but he's now in those growing boy teenage years that mean he has no trouble sleeping. Eddie hates tea, but he keeps it around for Buck, along with his favorite honey and favorite mug.

The honey's right beside the box of tea in the cupboard, but Buck's favorite mug is missing. He frowns, grabbing the "World's Best Dad" mug Eddie left behind and sets it on the counter. It's as his tea is steeping that his phone rings.

A Facetime call from Eddie at almost 11 PM. It's basically 1 AM in El Paso.

Buck answers in a panicked rush. "Who died?"

Both of Eddie's eyebrows go up. "Nobody. You just sent me that recipe on Instagram, so I wanted to see if you were up. I can't sleep."

"Oh!" Buck sighs with relief and leans on the counter. "I can keep you company. I couldn't sleep either."

"Restless?" Eddie guesses.

"Yeah," Buck says, because he is, even if that's an oversimplification of the loneliness that closes in on him within these walls. "Nightmare?" he asks in return.

Eddie shakes his head before turning to face something offscreen on the right. "You were right about my fixer-upper. It's terrible. I've been working on it all day. Thought I'd be tired when I went to bed, but no. Instead, all I hear is my mother in my ear telling me all the ways Chris could get hurt in this house. I'm nervous. About seeing him, about bringing him here."

Buck winces. He's never really grateful for his parents, but over the last few years, he's accepted that they're incapable of loving him the way he wants them to. They've looked through him his whole life, and they never cared enough to hide it while he was growing up.

He thinks he prefers knowing how they feel. Eddie loves his mom so much. He's always striving to meet her impossible standards. Buck's just not sure it'll ever be enough. When he looks at Helena Diaz, he sees some of the love she has for her son in her eyes, but he also sees envy, and judgment, and cruelty. It's an ugly love, tainted and selfish. He knows Eddie deserves better. It's getting Eddie to agree that's the hard part.

"I'm sure it's not that bad. But I can stay up with you while I unpack and get some energy out."

Eddie nods, and they putter around their respective houses with each other, discussing everything from the relative lack of traffic in El Paso to the article Buck had been reading when Eddie called (on the James Webb Space Telescope).

"It gave us the deepest and sharpest infrared images of the far universe we've ever captured, Eddie."

He watches as Eddie bites his nail, examining the cabinet in front of him.

"Can I be honest? Those pictures just look like a bunch of smudges to me."

"That's because you spent all our time at the space museum watching the old astronaut documentaries."

"Hey, those guys are heroes."

"Don't make me come over there to have this fight with you again."

"How long would that take?" Eddie asks as he fiddles with a shelf.

"Driving? Anywhere between 11 and a half hours and 14 hours. Depends on the number of stops and whether I leave from your house or not."

"Of course you looked that up." Buck preens at the smile on Eddie's face. "It's your house now, y'know."

"Technically," Buck shrugs. "For now. But you're going to fix things with Chris, and it'll be your house again. I'm just being practical."

Eddie hums and narrows his eyes like he disagrees with something Buck said, but he lets it go.

They lock eyes again. "How long is it if you don't drive?" Eddie asks.

Buck only has to think about it for a second. He's looked it up dozens of times since he learned Eddie was leaving.

"Eighteen hours on a bus. Three to six days cycling. Twelve days of nonstop walking, but hitchhiking could probably help knock some of that time out."

Eddie rubs the bridge of his nose between his fingers onscreen. "Buck, hitchhiking is dangerous."

Buck shrugs. "I did it in my twenties and lived."

"You also got crushed by a fire engine in your twenties and lived. Let's not risk doing either again. Please."

"Okay, fine." The smile that's always on Buck's face whenever he talks with Eddie grows wider. "I'd fly, anyway. If– if I was, y'know, hypothetically, um, going to El Paso."

Eddie graciously ignores his awkward, earnest fumbling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Buck swallows. "There's a two hour nonstop flight from Los Angeles to El Paso every single day at 12:45 PM. Southwest Airlines, I think. I'd be there by 3:45 PM."

"I'd be there by 3:30, waiting for you at baggage claim."

"Yeah?" Buck asks, voice soft.

"Yeah," Eddie says without hesitation. Something charged passes between them. Buck swears he can feel it, even with Eddie so far away. Eddie clears his throat and looks off to the side. "Least I can do, if you travel 800 miles to see me."

"Oh, well, this is awkward," Buck takes the out, a pretend grimace on his face. "I'd obviously be going to see Christopher."

"Right, my mistake." Eddie rolls his eyes and smiles before shifting to unpack a nearby box.

"And it's 810 miles, technically, from your house," Buck corrects.

Eddie pauses with his back to Buck and then tilts his head to face the camera. He's a little too far for Buck to see his expression well, but he must find what he's searching for in Buck's face, because he smiles — a private little twist of his lips. He nods at Buck. "Of course. Eight hundred and ten miles from our house."

Buck flushes at the words, burrowing deeper into his hoodie.

"Can we circle back to something you said earlier?" Buck tries. "About you being nervous to see Chris? Feel how you feel, man, but I thought seeing Chris was kind of the whole point."

Eddie sighs, shifting to another box nearby. "I know. I just don't want to get it wrong again. It's like there's something heavy pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe."

"Like an elephant?" Buck asks.

Eddie genuinely thinks about it. "No. Heavy, but not as heavy as that, at least not anymore. What's an animal that's a little bit lighter than an elephant?"

"A giraffe," Buck says.

"Okay, yeah, so it's like a giraffe on my chest," Eddie confirms.

"Well, the good news is, you're kind of already clawing your way up from rock bottom. So the giraffe clearly can't keep you down."

Eddie throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah, fair enough."

Buck doesn't want to just gloss over Eddie's concerns, though. "Listen– uh, about the whole Chris thing. My advice is pretty much that I don't have advice."

Eddie turns to him, an amused eyebrow quirked up.

Buck laughs sheepishly. "What I mean is that you're his dad. You're a good dad. Trust your instincts. I can promise you, as a person whose parents were absent all the time, that being there and screwing up is a hundred times better than avoiding him."

Eddie turns to him with his big, shiny brown eyes and nods. Buck doesn't push any further. He really does trust Eddie. He just wants Eddie to get out of his own way.

They pass the night that way, talking into the early hours of the morning.

When Buck wakes up, he sees a series of texts from Eddie. The first is an image of him and Chris, followed by "chris says hi." It feels miraculous to see smiles on their faces again after all these months. They're small smiles, but they're real. Sure, nothing's been healed yet, but Buck feels like this is proof that Eddie and Chris are going to be okay. Scrolling down, he sees more messages.

Eddie [7:12 am]:

thanks for last night btw

my mom hasn't stopped
glaring at me and that sucks

but i saw chris this morning
and my chest giraffe just… left

walked off right as i was about
to name him. asshole.

Buck laughs and shakes his head, trying to decide what to respond to first.

Buck [8:36 am]:

i think joe is a good name for
the giraffe but hopefully he
never comes back

HI CHRIS!!!!

you have to tell him i say hi

with all the enthusiasm i typed

I'll know if you don't

🔪🔪🔪

Eddie [8:39am]:

terrifying

you should really stop saving
my life if you're gonna threaten it

at best you're sending mixed signals

at worst you're failing embarrassingly
at being intimidating

Buck [8:41 am]:

HEY

the knives were for your mom

Eddie [8:42 am]:

oh

Buck worries that he crossed a line. Eddie really does love his mom, even if Buck can't really understand why.

Eddie [8:44 am]:

well she just scolded chris for dropping
some food on the table

as if he can help it

so carry on i guess

Buck [8:45 am]:

😁😁😁

2.

Eddie remembers all the major moments of prayer in his life. He wouldn't categorize himself as religious, really, so they stand out. Most days, he's not sure what he believes in. But his whole life, he was taught to pray to God.

Sundays at church blur together for him. Mostly, he remembers sitting with his hands on his knees, his back ramrod straight. His mom would iron his dark jeans and a blue button up that was too always hot and too tight for the cramped pews. At a young age, he learned not to display his boredom outwardly. Instead, he'd pretend to follow the scripture while he practiced reading music the way Ms. Lozano taught him or count tiles. He'd get down on his knees and back up on autopilot. It got easier, after his sisters were born, to mouth the words and look serious without really saying anything. He'd get up earlier than any teenage boy should on a weekend, slick back his hair, and watch the cars passing by outside while his tias each personally shook the pastor's hand. And then he'd move on with his week, shaking off any guilt for his disconnect from the sermons easily.

But those Sundays linger. He still does the sign of the cross when he drives past a graveyard. He lights a match and prays to Santa Tai when Chris loses his homework. He calls out to anyone listening when his team gets hurt. He prays for his son after Shannon's death. Sometimes, in the aftermath of a difficult call, he'll throw out a plea for a suffering family.

If he prayed for himself when a sniper shot him in Los Angeles, he doesn't remember it. All he recalls is an angel, back-lit by the sun, grabbing his arm and pulling him to safety. Maybe someone prayed for him that day.

So he knows he'll remember this: standing in his bathroom, washing blood off of his hands, praying for Buck. It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last.

The call wasn't complicated. Some kids had gone hiking, and one of them had lost their footing. When the 118 answered the emergency, Buck rushed down to help. A floater from Station 92, just out of his probie year, hadn't properly secured Buck's harness, and they were all in too much of a hurry to notice. Eddie had been getting the gurney out of the ambulance when they'd heard Buck fall the last five feet.

Eddie sighs and splashes water on his face. He's weary down to his bones, but his mind is alert; he knows he won't be sleeping anytime soon. Heading out of the restroom, he checks in on Buck, who lies prone on the bed. He turns and tries to sit up as soon as he hears Eddie's footsteps.

"Hey, are you sure—?"

"You got hurt today," Eddie interrupts. "You're taking the bed. No arguing."

Buck opens his mouth to argue again, like he always does, and Eddie crosses his arm and raises his eyebrows. It's his most strict dad pose. He's pretty proud of it. Even better: Buck recognizes the set of Eddie's shoulders and knows he means business. He slumps back on the bed, defeated.

Eddie relaxes and tries to offer Buck a reassuring smile. He's not sure it's very convincing. From the moment he heard Buck's startled yelp and the sickening thud of his body hitting the rocks, he's felt ants beneath his skin, crawling and restless. He doesn't know why the worry won't pass out of his system. The danger has passed. Maddie had fretted over the phone with them on the way back to Eddie's, but seemed appeased by Buck's mild diagnosis: a concussion and some nasty scrapes along his left arm.

Just another Tuesday for Buck, she had said wryly, and Eddie knows why. He's heard the stories about Buck's propensity for danger as a kid; a concussion and a scraped arm are nothing by comparison. Still, Eddie had held back from saying, it's not like that anymore. Not since the will. Buck knows better.

But he held his tongue. Because Maddie cares about Buck so much and worries after him so fiercely — if there was something to worry about, she'd worry. Hen and Chimney had both said Buck would be fine with some rest after bandaging his arm. Chim had only sent them home because there was an hour left on their shift. Hell, Eddie's a paramedic. He's seen people survive much worse. He's seen Buck survive the impossible.

They know how to heal him from here. Nothing went wrong. They were lucky today. But knowing all of that doesn't help the worry pass. It makes it worse. They got lucky. What if they hadn't?

Over and over, Eddie repeats the facts of the accident in his head, trying to pinpoint what he should've seen or done sooner. When he gets sick of berating himself, he reminds himself of the protocols for technical rope rescues and rigging systems. The biggest enemy of nylon rescue rope is UV rays, with abrasion being a close second. Padding any sharp edge that the rope comes in contact with can prevent abrasion, prolong the life of the rope, and possible prevent a catastrophic failure.

Buck shifts on the bed and lets out a grunt, pulling Eddie out of his head. Focus, Eddie. Buck's going to need rest and water. Eddie will stay nearby for the next 48 hours, searching for any sign of confusion or disorientation. He knows how to watch out for worsening symptoms. Even if he couldn't get to Buck before the accident, he can be here now. He's good in a crisis.

He takes a second to fluff his pillows. Buck grabs his wrist before he can step away.

"Stay?" he asks. Their eyes stay locked, and Eddie can feel the blue wash over him like lapping waves at the beach — like a cooling balm across his skin.

"Okay. Just gotta do the nighttime routine," he says.

Buck hums and settles his head back onto the pillow.

Eddie steps away to grab the tea he'd started heating up for Buck in the kitchen and delivers it. After that, he changes into some sweats, shuts out the lights, double checks the locks on the doors, and does one last check-in on Chris' sleeping form in his room.

"Wait, no, turn on the fan," Buck whines when he comes back and starts to get a knee on the bed. "I'll sweat through your sheets if you don't."

"That fan squeaks to high hell," Eddie replies. "How can you sleep with it on?"

"I fixed the squeaky fan when you were in Texas," Buck mumbles, already on the edge of sleep.

Eddie has to smile at that. "Of course you did."

Sure enough, he turns the fan on and its once-persistent squeak is now gone. Eddie watches it move for a second before climbing onto the bed.

Watch out for worsening headaches, excessive vomiting, confusion, seizure, or fluid from the ears or nose. Weakness, numbness, problems with walking or talking. Unusual behavior, extreme irritability. Difficulty waking up, fever. Make sure he sleeps, but wake him to check in every 6-8 hours, Eddie tells himself, staring at the long patched-over hole in his wall, before starting over. Watch out for worsening headaches, excessive vomiting…

He's running through it all, glancing at Buck's relaxed face every so often between bouts of staring at the ceiling. Buck shifts and his blanket slips down. Eddie rights it silently.

Convinced Buck is already asleep, he startles a few minutes later when he hears, "Eddie?"

He turns and finds Buck blinking at him sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"… I'm glad you were here today."

Eddie can't resist the urge to raise a hand to Buck's curls, trailing smooth paths across his scalp. Buck's eyes shut again, and his breathing slows further.

"Me too, Buck. Nowhere else I'd rather be."

And it's true.

"But I'm going to get hurt sometimes," Buck reminds him gently. Eddie tenses and turns his head away. "And you can't beat yourself up for that."

Tears rise up and threaten to fall from his eyes. He scrunches his face up, still avoiding Buck's gaze. "I…" he croaks. "I just can't stop thinking about Bobby. I hate that there are things I can't stop from happening."

"We all do," Buck says, not unkindly.

"Yeah, but you all got to try," Eddie smiles ruefully. "That day, you were there with him. You got to try, and I didn't. And I'll never know if it could have gone diff—" He sniffs. "I just don't want to– to not be there again, when it counts."

His hands are shaking, but he only realizes it when Buck takes one of them in his own.

"Hey, you're there when it counts! You are," he insists when Eddie scoffs. "Every time you check my harness, every time you walk into a fire with me? That's being there when it counts. It's every day. That's how you've saved our lives over the years, just like we've saved yours. Bobby picked you to be on this team, to be my partner. If you can't trust anything else, at least trust that."

"Okay," Eddie whispers. He finally opens his eyes again and a single tear falls onto his cheek. "I can do that." He doesn't try to wipe the tear away; he just turns to Buck, who squeezes his hand.

After that, they settle into a silence he only has access to when he's with Buck. It isn't long before Buck starts to drool against his pillow. A curl gets pressed against his forehead and starts to make his nose twitch, so Eddie sets his phone down and shifts the curl away with a gentle finger.

Buck settles, but doesn't open his eyes.

Eddie stays up monitoring him until the room turns bright. His body slumps slowly throughout the night, and eventually, when the birds start singing, he falls asleep beside his best friend.

3.

A few months after Eddie gets back, Chim decides they're all in need of a morale boost. He invites the entire station out to a bar called NEON to celebrate his birthday. He knows Maddie's been easing off the breastfeeding to get Robbie on formula, so it's no surprise that by the time they get there, she and Chim are both plastered. It's a rare night without the kids, since May and Harry agreed to watch them for the night, and they seem to be making the most of it.

To Chim's credit, the place is cool. There are neon lights to compliment the darkened dance floor and big booths for parties like theirs. The place is packed, even for a Friday night, and there are plenty of interested glances when Buck and Eddie walk in. They wave to acknowledge their friends but head straight for the line at the bar.

"Do you think those are their only drinks?" Eddie asks, staring at the chalkboard menu dubiously.

Buck eyes the options and realizes they're all fruity cocktails or shots of rum. There's no beer — Eddie's usual drink — in sight.

"Get a Malibu Sunset," he says into Eddie's ear. "It's pretty much just rum and juice."

"I've never really had rum," Eddie admits. "Or any fruit cocktail. Are they good?"

Buck whips his head around. "What? We're fixing that."

He orders a Malibu Sunset for Eddie and a Blue Lagoon for himself, along with two (significantly cheaper) shots of rum. The bartender is pretty, and she flutters her eyelashes at Eddie, but Eddie's too focused on the bright drink he receives. He eyes it curiously before lifting it to his mouth, and Buck tries not to focus on how obscene the bright pink straw looks between his lips. Eddie takes a small sip then looks down at the drink in shock.

"This is really good!" he yells over the music.

Buck laughs. "Of course it's good. It's all sugar. You've seriously never had a fruity cocktail before?"

Eddie shrugs, casting his eyes down on his next sip, and Buck softens. He motions for them to knock their shots back and Eddie joins him.

"Come on," he says, pulling Eddie toward the dance floor. "Don't make me dance on my own."

Eddie follows, a happier tilt to his lips as he gets back to sucking on the straw. After a few minutes, Buck valiantly looks away from the slip of tongue there to see the drink is almost finished. Above, Whitney Houston's voice rings out. When the night falls, my lonely heart calls. He leans into Eddie, right next to his ear. "You really like this stuff, huh?"

"I like juice," Eddie says back. "It makes me—" Buck pulls back a little, and Eddie's glassy eyes lock on him. "You make me happy."

Buck stills. "I…?"

Eddie's eyes widen. "JUICE. Juice makes me happy."

Buck has no idea what they're talking about anymore. "…I'm glad?"

Eddie nods. His eyes flit around. "I'm gonna— I'm just gonna go get another one of these," he tells Buck.

Buck nods back, puzzled. He watches Eddie all the way up to the bar. When he turns away, he realizes a pretty girl is staring at him, flirting with her eyes. Buck gives her a small smile but turns away, disinterested, to find Maddie and dance with her instead.

He loses track of Eddie for a while after that, only catching glimpses of where he's getting progressively more drunk with Hen and Karen. It's only when he's standing back at their booth that Eddie comes up from behind and drapes himself over Buck's back.

Buck has to brace himself so that Eddie doesn't topple them over, since he's loose and heavy against Buck's shoulders.

"Whoa, hey!" he says, turning just enough so that Eddie can slot in against his side. "You good?"

Eddie's eyes twinkle at him when he nods. "Mhmm. Soooooo good."

"I'm glad," Buck says. He guides them into the booth, grateful for the relative clarity of his three drinks against Eddie's five. "Here," he says, trading his glass of water for Eddie's fifth piña colada.

Eddie nods enthusiastically, eyes alight. "Thank you," he practically shouts, lifting the glass up to his flushed cheeks. Buck laughs and moves to grip the glass before the ice water spills everywhere. His fingers drape over Eddie's with one hand while his other comes to Eddie's shoulder, holding him steady. When Eddie starts to pout, Buck just lifts their joined hands to help tilt the water into his mouth. Eddie seems to realize how thirsty he is, and his grip on the glass turns firm.

Buck lets go and sits back, watching Eddie's throat bob as he swallows. He's so pretty like this, all pink cheeks and glowing skin. A drop of sweat trails from Eddie's hairline down to his jaw, lower, all the way down the column of his throat. Buck watches it disappear beneath Eddie's collar and aches to follow it all the way — or even better, to trace its path backwards with his tongue.

He throws back Eddie's drink instead, desperate to meet Eddie in the easy headspace he's in.

"Come dance with me," Eddie says once he's finished his water, turning his big brown eyes to plead with Buck. As if Buck would ever deny him anything.

Instead of answering, he rolls his eyes, pretending to be put out, before crowding into Eddie's space so that they can spill out of the booth. But Eddie doesn't budge. It leaves their faces inches from each other. Buck can smell pineapple and rum above sweat and cologne. Eddie licks his lips, and Buck's eyes fall, drawn to them like magnets.

"Uh, what's up?" he asks, dazed by this sudden proximity.

Eddie doesn't notice, grabbing Buck's hand. "None of your white boy dancing tonight, okay? Come on."

And who is Buck to say no? He lets Eddie drag him onto the dance floor, even as he halfheartedly protests, "What does 'white boy dancing' even mean?"

Eddie turns to him with a glare. "You know," he says. "Like this!" And then he does a series of sharp movements with his shoulders and elbows, stiff and ridiculous. He puts his hands on his hips and swirls them robotically, in a move that's mortifyingly accurate to Buck's usual dancing.

Buck throws his head back, laughing. "Okay, okay, so– so what are we doing instead?"

He expects Eddie to say something like follow my lead. That's not what happens.

Instead, Eddie pulls him in by their still-held hands until they're chest to chest. Their hands stay laced together, and Eddie's other arm wraps around to drape over Buck's shoulders. It puts them impossibly close.

"Like this," Eddie says, swaying his hips until Buck's forced to move as well.

Buck's never been a good dancer, but it's easy to let Eddie guide his hips. Trusting Eddie with his body is part of his job description. It's easier, in some ways, to give into his natural instinct to follow Eddie's lead than to think about how to move. And, okay, maybe he's never seen friends dance like this, but if this is how Eddie wants to have fun, he's not going to say no.

He lets his other hand fall to Eddie's lower back and presses down. Eddie lets out a warm hum, and Buck feels it in his chest more than he hears it.

A voice cuts in just as Eddie leans forward to press his forehead against Buck's.

"God, you guys are hot. Are you looking for a third?"

Buck rolls his head to the side to look at the man interrupting them. He's not unattractive — tall and lean, with dark skin and a bright grin. He's clearly as drunk as they are, but he has kind eyes. If this were any other moment, Buck probably wouldn't hate the attention. He opens his mouth to apologize, to say something like, it's actually not like that, but Eddie beats him to a response.

"No, we're not," he says, confident and unbothered. He doesn't even look at the guy. His eyes stay locked on Buck. The guy throws his hands up, surrendering, and says something like had to try before disappearing back into the crowd of bodies.

Buck raises an eyebrow at Eddie. "Maybe you weren't interested, but I could have been."

"Were you?" Eddie asks, going back to guiding their hips together. It makes it a little hard to concentrate.

"…No," Buck admits, because it's the truth.

"Didn't think so," Eddie says, smirking. It's unreasonably hot. That fourth drink is really starting to hit. Buck feels two steps behind.

"Eddie… what's—?" he starts to ask.

"Can we go home?" Eddie asks suddenly, slumping his head against Buck's shoulder. There's a sleepy crease between his brows and a pout on his lips. It takes nearly everything Buck has not to lift his hand and brush away the hair sweat-stuck to Eddie's forehead.

Home. Buck expects it to ache. He waits for the pang of intrusion that usually comes when he hears the word, but he searches within himself and only finds acceptance. Eddie doesn't mean it the way Buck wants him to, but it's okay, because it's Buck's home anyway. His sandals live beneath the coffee table; the coffee table is littered with stains from his nighttime cups of tea; his tea lives on a shelf in the kitchen beside the organic honey Eddie bought him at the farmer's market; his mornings off-duty are spent shuttling the two of them around town to run errands. His fingerprints are all over Eddie's place, and he's starting to feel like it's deeper than that — that he really does have a permanent place in Eddie's life, even if platonically. Eddie came back, after all.

"Yeah," Buck smiles, unable to control whatever dumb thing his face is probably doing at the moment. "Let's go home."

So they wait on a bench outside, and Eddie's head comes back to rest on his shoulder. The street light above them is dimmed, and Buck's leg starts shaking restlessly as they wait for their Lyft. He freezes when Eddie puts his hand on Buck's thigh. His hand is big, Buck thinks to himself, warm and content, before shaking the thought out. It's the liquor pulsing through his veins, he's sure.

He turns his head, a question written across the slope of his brow, but Eddie's not even looking at him. Instead, he's rubbing his thumb back and forth across the outside of Buck's thigh while staring across the street. Buck follows his gaze and finds the street fairly empty, with one exception: a gay couple flirting and holding hands as they walk, paying little attention to their surroundings. They look happy. It makes something complicated stir in Buck's chest — joy, he thinks, laced with something a bit like loneliness and a bit like envy.

Why is Eddie staring? Buck searches for the answer in his best friend's face, but he only finds a drunk haziness, like Eddie's daydreaming. He turns back to watch the two men in time to see the shorter one back the other against a lamp post for a kiss. It only takes a few seconds for it to turn hungry and passionate. Eddie's hand tightens against his thigh.

A question starts to climb up his throat. He opens his mouth, turning to Eddie—

And the Lyft pulls up.

So, Buck lets it go, guiding Eddie into the backseat. It's a quiet ride. Eddie's head doesn't come back to his shoulder, but their pinkies link over the middle seat, and Eddie hooks them together so that there's no chance they'll slide apart.

When they get home, Buck pulls out his keys and lets Eddie lean against him for support. Slowly, he guides Eddie down the hall and sets him down on the bed. Aware that Eddie's prone to nasty hangovers, he grabs some Advil from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen.

Eddie waves to get his attention when he comes back and sets them down on the bedside table. Buck raises an eyebrow to signal he's listening, but Eddie doesn't say anything, just motions him closer. He sighs and leans in, amused by Drunk Eddie's bossiness.

"Don't want you to sleep with Tommy again," Eddie slurs when he gets close enough.

Buck startles, unsure where that came from, and gives him an offended look before shaking his head, laughing. He ignores the voice in his head saying now that the competition's out of the way. "You backslide one time and your friends never let you forget it. I do have some dignity, you know."

"No, no, 's not that," Eddie protests. "Don't want you sleeping with any of your exes. Anyone. Well, one person would be fine."

"One person, huh?" Buck asks, amused. "And who would that be?"

Eddie shrugs. "I'm right here. I'm very" — he hiccups— "v'ry flexible, y'know. I stretch every morning."

Buck freezes. His hands stop near Eddie's ribs, where he'd been tucking Eddie in. He suddenly feels like they're in dangerous territory.

"Eddie, you're drunk. You're not making sense."

Eddie scowls. It's cute. Buck needs to get out of here right now.

"I'm making perfect sense."

Buck laughs, a deranged and panicked sound. "You're really not."

Eddie huffs, shoving his head further against the pillow. "I'm kind of in love with you," he mumbles. It takes Buck five seconds to reboot his brain. Eddie's asleep by the time he opens his mouth to respond.

He shuts his jaw with an audible click and backs away from Eddie's sleeping form. A black hole seems to rip open inside his chest, making him feel heavy, like he's about to collapse in on himself. He manages to close the door quietly, and he thanks his past self for applying WD-40 to the hinges that first restless week after he moved in. It's muscle memory more than anything that gets him to the couch, where he falls heavily. His head ends up between his knees.

I'm hyperventilating, he thinks distantly. He can see his breath pushing away specks of dust against the hardwood. Frozen like this, he practices calming techniques Dr. Copeland taught him once. When box breathing doesn't work, he moves onto naming.

Five things he can see: the succulent he'd gotten Eddie, promising they'd work together to keep it from dying; the pen markings along the corner wall where they've been tracking Chris' growth spurts; his bike mounted against the wall; the wicker basket full of baking tools left on the dining room table; Eddie's slippers, tucked beside his sandals beneath the coffee table.

Four things he can touch: the soft fabric of the couch; his once rough jeans, worn down by time; the socks he stole from Eddie's drawer this morning when he realized all of his were dirty; the hair on his arm, still raised with goosebumps from the moment Eddie had given his drunken confession.

Three things he can hear: the now familiar traffic outside, harder to hear than it was in the loft, but still present; his breath slowing down, escaping in full sighs; Eddie's light snore from down the hall.

Two things he can smell: the faint sweat clinging to his clothes; chocolate lingering in the air from cookies he'd baked earlier.

One thing he can taste: pineapple from Eddie's drink. He wishes he'd gotten it from Eddie's mouth instead of his glass.

I'm home, he reminds himself. I'm home, and Eddie said he's in love with me.

It should feel like a good thing. He's not sure why it feels like his senses have been overwhelmed. It's just that— It wouldn't be so crazy was supposed to be about him. Because Maddie was right, and Buck had known it ever since Eddie arrived to save him from the building collapse. It's not crazy at all to think that Buck loves Eddie, because he does. But Eddie loving him back? That was never supposed to be in the cards.

He'd resigned himself to it. In some ways, it's been easy to feel like a martyr — he's used to being the pining idiot, the person left behind. He'd never even allowed himself to hope for this. No matter what anyone said, he knows Eddie, and… Eddie was just drunk, right? Because Eddie's— he's straight, Buck thinks frantically, before all of Eddie's dancing and clinging and words tonight rush back to him.

Oh.

Eddie's… not straight?

He tosses the idea around in his mind, finally pulling back from between his knees and sitting back to stare at the ceiling.

Buck's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to find a text from Karen. It's a photo from earlier in the night. Buck is dancing with Maddie a few feet away from them, having a blast. And Karen captured Eddie watching them with a soft smile on his face while Hen rolled her eyes and pointed her thumb at him, as if to say, can you believe this lovesick idiot?

Buck stares at the photo until his eyes start to hurt. When that happens, he moves on to gazing around the living room, running his eyes back over the fingerprints he's left on this house. Finally, when the sky brightens from pitch black to a dark blue, his eyes fall shut.

He still wakes up before Eddie, somehow. So, he does what he does best. He bakes. And bakes. And bakes.

And by the time Eddie wakes up, there are pancakes and waffles on the counter, beside fresh cookies, two loaves of banana bread, and the batter for a sheet cake.

"Um," Eddie says, staring wide-eyed from the kitchen's entryway.

Buck jumps. "Oh, um, hey. There's breakfast if you want some," he says, turning to wash a bowl in the sink. He's not sure if Eddie remembers what he said last night, and despite having most of the night and morning to plan this out, he finds that the words escape him. There's dread pooling in his stomach. What if he misunderstood everything? What if Eddie doesn't even remember? What if he does remember, and he wants to pretend it never happened? What if—?

"Buck," Eddie calls from his seat at the counter. "You've been scrubbing at that same bowl for two minutes."

Has he? He looks down and realizes Eddie's right. He puts the bowl down, caught, and turns to face the music.

Eddie's looking at him, concerned. When Buck meets his gaze, his shoulders drop, and he sighs before looking away.

"Look," Eddie starts, "I'm sorry about how I acted last night, and, y'know, about what I said." The words stumble out of his mouth in awkward starts and stops. It's completely at odds with the confidence Eddie displayed yesterday.

His face falls. Right. So that's how they're playing this. He lets out a sigh of his own. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. We both got carried away…"

Eddie starts to nod, but then his eyes catch on something to Buck's right. He turns and sees that Eddie's staring at the photos they've got stuck to the refrigerator — a whole slew of memories with their family at the center. When he turns back, Eddie shakes his head.

"No, that's not true. I… I'm not sorry about what I said," Eddie corrects, a crease forming in his brow as he looks away from Buck. "I'm sorry if you're not comfortable with it, but it's the truth."

"What if I don't feel the same?" Buck asks, like an asshole, because it feels easier to question and prod Eddie's feelings than to grasp at the love he's feeling again. Because he knows if he and Eddie really do this, and if it spins out the way every relationship in his life always has, he won't survive it.

Eddie's strong. He knows how to take a punch. The devastation on his face only lasts a second. "That… that would be okay. You'll just– you'll have to give me time. To get over it. I'm new to the whole," he gestures around himself, "gay thing."

A smile teases the corner of Buck's mouth. His throat feels parched as he croaks, "And– and what if I do? Feel the same, I mean?"

Eddie's eyes snap up to his.

Sometimes, Buck knows he'll remember a moment for the rest of his life as it's happening: that first time he fell off a bike; Maddie handing him the keys to the Jeep; his first loss on the job; shaking Eddie's hand just before a bomb went off; the ladder truck; Eddie's face when they both thought Chris was gone; watching Chris on his redesigned skateboard; the shooting; seeing Bobby after he woke up from his coma; Maddie's wedding. This moment, right here, in the quiet morning light of their kitchen, with a songbird chirping a gentle melody in the backyard.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it," Eddie says, chin wobbling. He looks just like he did that day in the living room: You really did that for me?

It takes every ounce of courage he's learned on the field to answer honestly. "I mean it."

Eddie's out of his chair and pressing Buck up against the counter a few seconds later. It's an echo of how they were the night before, except now they're completely alone. No interruptions, no drunk excuses, no hiding within a dark, crowded dance floor.

Their foreheads press together, and Buck breathes Eddie in again. He catches hints of the toothpaste they share and the light scent of Buck's expensive face wash.

"Say it back, then," Eddie says, eyes closed.

"I love you," Buck says, never taking his gaze off Eddie, before making his own request. "Say it sober," he pleads.

"I'm so fucking in love with you," Eddie tells him, before bringing their lips together.

Kissing Eddie is a lot like that first handshake between them. All the insecurities that haunted Buck before this moment fall away at the smile Eddie gives him. They hold onto each other as firmly as they did then, with an awareness that their lives are shifting beneath their feet.

Buck lets Eddie explore at his own pace, aware that this must be Eddie's first kiss with a man. Closed mouth kisses start easing into more when Eddie bites his bottom lip. When Buck gasps, delighted, Eddie takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth.

It gets messier from there. Buck grabs hold of Eddie's hips and shoves him against the island. Eddie tears his mouth away for air and Buck takes the opportunity to start kissing down his neck. He sucks against Eddie's sensitive skin just to feel him dig his fingers deeper within Buck's curls. Once he adds a slight nip of teeth, Eddie speaks up again.

"Let me…" he pants. "Let me take you out."

Buck raises his brow, pulling back. "You gonna woo me, Diaz?"

"Maybe," Eddie says. "Are you woo-able?"

He leans back in, grinning against Eddie's lips, "I'm pretty easy, yeah—"

Eddie smiles back, laughing, "Well, everyone knows that—"

"—when it comes to you."

The laugh catches in Eddie's throat, but the upturned tilt of his mouth stays. Buck's close enough to see his eyes turn dark and serious. He pulls back after a moment, sliding out of the pocket Buck had him in, even as he keeps a strong grasp on his wrist.

Buck lets him, watching as Eddie looks him over fondly. A thumb comes up to brush against Buck's now sensitive bottom lip. Eddie's eyes stay glued to his mouth as it parts against the digit. He laughs beneath his breath and smiles wryly.

"We're always doing things out of order," Eddie says.

Buck shrugs. "I like how we do things."

That gets Eddie's eyes back on his. "Yeah," he says fondly, "I do too. But I'm taking you on a date later. And you're getting wooed."

A nervous fluttering starts in Buck's chest. "Our date's tonight?"

Eddie smirks and nods before backing away. He grabs his keys off the counter before he turns. "Wear the light blue sweatshirt," he throws over his shoulder, and then whistles all the way to the front door. Buck watches his ass the whole way, since he can do that now.

It's only when Eddie shuts the door behind him that Buck realizes he only has the afternoon to prepare for their date.

"Oh, fuck," he yelps, scrambling to the shower to wash an ungodly layer of flour off his body.

4.

There's a giddy anticipation as they walk up to the door. How could there not be? It's one of the few times in their lives that everything's gone perfectly. Eddie didn't know he could feel like this with someone else — like every step forward is rife with possibility. He feels like he can see his entire future when he catches Buck staring at his ass in the aisles of the grocery store, when he links Buck's hand with his on top of the picnic blanket and gets a beaming grin in return. Buck takes the keys from Eddie's front pocket at the end of the date and takes the driver's seat, and he thinks, Yeah, I could do this forever.

He waits for a burst of panic, but it doesn't come. There's only joy.

Eddie turns to Buck and leans against the wall just outside their door, pulling him in. Buck follows willingly, and a crackle of electricity lights up with every inch he nudges forward. Eddie waits patiently. They have time.

Buck presses their foreheads together again and laughs. "Okay, I'm gonna kiss you," he says.

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but Buck's already swooped in. Neither one of them can stop smiling, so their mouths keep breaking apart. Over and over again, they trade cotton candy kisses: sweet and soft and gone in an instant. When Eddie licks his lips and slips his tongue into Buck's mouth, he swears he can almost taste sugar.

Buck's hand runs down his arm, and Eddie links their fingers together. It would be nice, he supposes, to get Buck's hand on his skin, but he's feeling floaty and unmoored, and Buck's calloused hand helps ground him. Palm to palm, Buck raises their joined hands next to Eddie's head, pinning him in place, and Eddie moans. He gets a hand in Buck's hair while Buck lets his other hand wander to Eddie's lower back, pressing them together.

When Eddie breaks the kiss apart to open the door, Buck stays glued to his back, pressing light kisses against his neck. Eddie turns and pushes Buck against the door once they're inside, crowding him in.

"Come to bed with me," he says, moving to kiss Buck's jaw, his throat, the sensitive area beneath his ear.

Buck cants his hips up and grinds against him. Eddie's hand travels up Buck's chest to cup his neck, and Buck slides his own hands down to Eddie's ass, squeezing in time with their hips.

He shifts to give Eddie more access to his throat, head tilted toward the ceiling. "I want to," he says.

Eddie pauses his ministrations. He knows Buck so well; he can hear the unspoken statement trailing at the end.

"But you won't," he guesses, though he doesn't move.

"Not tonight," Buck says apologetically.

Eddie swallows, wondering if he'd been wrong, if tonight hadn't gone as well as he'd thought. Doubt creeps into those plans for forever too quickly for him to stop. He opens his mouth, trying to gather the levity to laugh the rejection away.

Buck must see it in his eyes. He presses his head to Eddie's temple and rushes to say, "Can– can I tell you why?"

Eddie nods.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we have really terrible luck," Buck says. "There are so many situations we end up in that are just… disastrous."

Eddie's lips twitch up. "Understatement of the century," he says, thinking back to the emergency they'd dealt with last month where a woman had fallen into her self-developed piranha pond — and they weren't even on the job that day; they'd just been taking a walk and had seen her through an open fence. "And you think… this… is going to end up 'disastrous'?"

The pressure in his chest abates a bit when Buck shakes his head frantically.

"No. No, the opposite. This has been one of the best nights of my life. It was perfect… Right?"

"Right," Eddie says, finally able to take a deep breath. He thinks he knows where Buck's going with this. He runs his hands up into Buck's curls and strokes his scalp fondly.

Buck looks relieved too. "And if we stop now, then we both get to keep this one perfect night. Maybe we'll even get to extend it — to tomorrow, and the day after…."

"…and the day after that."

"Exactly," Buck says. "And Bobby taught me not to sleep with people you care about on the first date," he says somberly.

Eddie's so fond of him, and grateful for the lamp they left on before they left, since it lets him swim in Buck's blue eyes. It almost hurts to look into them, to see all that love and admiration leveled his way. He wouldn't have believed it a year ago, or even yesterday — that everything he wants could be laid out before him like this.

He nods against Buck's skin. "Okay," he surrenders. "That's a good plan." He can't help but lean back in for a few more soft kisses before pulling away. Buck stretches his arm out to stay connected to Eddie for as long as he can at his perch against the door. Their eyes stay on each other with every backwards step Eddie takes toward his bedroom. When his left shoulder hits the corner of the hallway, he can tell they're both seconds away from saying fuck it and coming back together.

It would probably be fine. But he knows this matters to Buck. So he breaks the tension instead.

"I'm totally jerking off once I get in there, though," he jokes, laughing at the half-annoyed, half-fond look thrown at him. Buck dives toward the couch and grabs the small basketball-shaped pillow they keep there. He lobs it at Eddie's head, but it's so light it soars through the air slowly — more like a paper ball than a basketball. Eddie catches it easily and winks at him, then presses a kiss to it and tosses it back. He watches Buck catch it and curl it up against his chest before stepping around the corner towards his room.

"Goodnight, Buck," he calls over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Eddie," he hears — quiet, but carrying easily through the silent hallway.

He finds that he can't stop smiling as he gets ready for bed. Indulging himself, he throws on one of Buck's sleep shirts instead of his own. When he lifts the collar to his nose, he can almost feel the pressure of Buck's lips against his again, fresh as the memory is.

There's a giddiness stomping around in his chest, demanding attention. His mouth is tingling, and his fingertips feel electrified. He runs his thumb over his lips and realizes his heart hasn't slowed despite the distance he put between them. Carefully cataloging his elevated heart rate, the heat in his cheeks, and the breathlessness in his lungs, he briefly wonders if he's panicking. It doesn't feel like panic, not as urgent, but—

It takes him a few minutes, laying there, to realize that it's excitement stirring inside him. Butterflies, maybe, if not an entire hornet's nest in his stomach. Maybe this is what he's supposed to feel after a date.

He's swallowing around a rare, private swell of pride that's lodged in his throat when his phone starts buzzing. It goes down easily once he sees the caller ID.

"Don't tell me you already changed your mind," Eddie teases.

"Nah," Buck says. A loud clank comes through the connection, followed by the slam of a cabinet door.

Eddie rolls his eyes affectionately. "Your clattering is worse than my abuela's on a Saturday morning. And she was trying to wake us up to get started on chores."

"It's not my fault," Buck responds. If Eddie closes his eyes, he can picture the exact pout he's probably sporting. "It's these stupid cupboards. We need to remodel the kitchen."

Warmth spreads through Eddie at how easily Buck inserts himself into his plans. "Did you forget I'm renting?"

Buck pauses on the other end. "Okay, fine, we won't intentionally make this place nicer. But one day, we're going to have the best cupboards ever. And those drawers that stop before they can slam closed!"

Eddie nods agreeably. "Sure. Whatever you want. Are you going to keep your hands to yourself if I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth?"

Buck sighs dramatically. "But you're so hot when you floss," he says sarcastically. "I guess I can stay in the kitchen making my tea, though."

Eddie rolls over the edge of the bed and heads to the bathroom, taking the phone with him.

"You're so brave," he says, reaching for the blue toothbrush tucked between Buck and Chris' own. Mint coats his mouth, but he mumbles into the mic anyway. He tries to say, "So why are you calling?" but it comes out more like "O, why ahhh oo ca'ing?"

Buck understands him anyway, though he pauses before answering. Eddie waits patiently, brushing diligently. "I just missed you already," Buck admits softly, right as Eddie finishes rinsing his mouth and spits into the sink. He feels the buzzing in his stomach again.

"I miss you already too," he replies — because Buck deserves to know. He then clears his throat. "So, uh, what's the Wikipedia deep dive of the night?"

A second later, he sets the speaker on and sets the phone on the counter, taking the extra time tonight to use Buck's fancy face wash. He lathers it into his cheeks while he listens to Buck's research on third molar agenesis. They mute at the same time so that Eddie can pee and Buck can rigorously stir his expensive honey into tonight's mug of chamomile tea.

Eddie washes his hands and steps out of the bathroom to find a mug of hot chocolate in front of his bedroom door. He can hear movement from the kitchen, so Buck must have snuck up while they were muted to drop the tea off. He picks the mug up gently and steps back into his room before taking a sip. Buck made it extra hot and added extra chocolate — just the way he likes it.

Eddie unmutes the phone. "Thank you," he says, doing nothing to mask the affection he feels.

"Y-yeah, uh, no problem," Buck says. And Eddie can tell that it isn't, that Buck was just operating on instinct.

"So why don't Mexicans have wisdom teeth?" Eddie asks, picking up where Buck left off.

There are footsteps through the line, and then a slight creak as Buck falls onto the couch. "Well, to be clear, the research says that pretty much 100% of indigenous Mexicans don't grow wisdom teeth…"

He listens as Buck lists out facts about indigenous crops and gene selection.

"I guess that makes sense," Eddie muses. "I read once that it's pretty rare for animals to have crooked teeth like ours. Scientists think that our jaws are too big for the modern diet. Before agriculture, our food was harder to chew, so we ended up with big jaws with all these straight teeth. And then our food got softer and our teeth started crowding in our mouths as our jaws got smaller from chewing less."

"Huh," Buck says, genuinely fascinated. A moment later, he says, "Whoa."

"Hmm?" Eddie asks, switching to speakerphone and playing the LA Times crossword on his phone. He listens thoughtfully as Buck talks about inherited genes but has to interrupt him at one point to ask, "Hey, what's a cookie with a blueberry pie flavor? Four letters, the second one is 'r.'"

"Oreo," Buck replies happily.

So the topic of wisdom teeth takes them to Oreos to childhood sleepovers and then to Eddie realizing he might have had a crush on Rocky Balboa as a teenager. It would explain a lot. "I think it was his shoulders," he tells Buck as the conversation slows.

"Oh, that makes sense," Buck says.

"Why?"

"Because you're always staring at mine," he responds, and then laughs while Eddie blushes and sputters. "Enough about your big gay crush on Rocky. What are you wearing?" Buck asks, cheeky and impatient as ever and clearly trying to rile him up.

"Put some respect on his name, Buckley. And that loose white t-shirt from the bar you worked at in Peru," he answers honestly, before deciding to stretch the truth, "but nothing else."

Buck chokes on his tea across the line, loud enough that Eddie can hear him coughing through the walls. Once the noise dies down and he's sure Buck isn't actively dying on his couch, he starts laughing.

"… You're such a dick," Buck says, joining in.

Eddie shrugs, trusting that even though they can't see each other, Buck will know he did. "Sue me for testing your resolve to stay out there on that rickety couch."

"The couch is not rickety," Buck insists, voice rising. "It's a good couch. Take that back right now!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I want you in my bed," he says simply.

Buck's breath hitches. "Eddie…" he says, voice low.

"I know, I know," he responds, rolling around until he's diagonal across the bed, body angled towards where Buck must be laying on the couch. He means it, too. It's nice to slow down. He's just unused to the hum of desire that's made a home below his skin, aching to be beside Buck again. The fact that there's really only a door separating them doesn't make it any easier.

"Soon," Buck promises.

"Soon," Eddie repeats, knowing there's no one he trusts more to keep a promise to him.

They go on like that late into the night, or maybe early into the morning. ("Is there a set time when 'late at night' becomes 'early morning'?" Buck asks at one point, already looking up the answer but waiting for Eddie's opinion before he shares his findings.) There are charged moments where they definitely could move into a more suggestive conversation, but they always step back. Eddie thinks they both know there will be other nights for that. Instead, tonight, he's reminded over and over again that Buck is his best friend, the person he always wants to talk to.

For the first time in his life, Eddie feels secure without being stuck. It's like he's a kite soaring through the air, and Buck is the person holding him steady on the ground. He's dancing with the wind and knows he won't float away.

"Sun's starting to come up," Buck murmurs near the end.

Eddie's eyes are half shut. He hums in affirmation, smiling against his pillow. "It's tomorrow now," he says, helpless with joy.

"Yeah, it's tomorrow now," Buck responds. His voice sighs with relief. "Soon. And forever," he promises.

"Soon and forever," Eddie mumbles back.

His eyes fall shut. He dreams in ocean blue waves.

5.

Not for the first time in his life, Buck wants to fight the universe.

Soon, he'd promised Eddie. They would get more privacy, more intimacy, more of their mouths on each other's skin.

Their date happens on the last day of their 96 off. Buck is actually impressed by how composed they stay around each other at work the next day, only occasionally exchanging tender, heated smiles. Hen side eyes them but doesn't comment. At the end of the shift, they fight a big apartment fire into the early morning and shower at the station. Buck cooks up Bobby's egg scramble for everyone on autopilot, and Eddie locks their hands together on the way home. They fall asleep like that on the couch, waking later with cricks in their necks and their hands still linked between them.

"Five more minutes," Buck mumbles, rubbing his face into Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie's alarm — a stupid, obnoxiously cheery chime that gets progressively louder until he solves five math equations — shut off, and Buck whines pathetically as Eddie's warmth leaves his side. He lingers in that drowsiness until he feels lips against his left temple, right on his birthmark.

"Where're you going?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

Eddie grins apologetically. "We slept the whole day. It's time to pick up Christopher from school."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

He cringes as soon as he asks the question, unsure about this new space they've waded into. Before their date, Buck would have never had to ask. He would have just hopped up, invited himself along, and talked Eddie's ear off while the other man hummed along to the local oldies rock station.

Eddie also seems puzzled by the question, though he recovers quickly, shaking his head and offering Buck a soft, tentative half smile. "What do you think?"

And just like that, the awkward wrinkle in their rhythm is smoothed out. They pick Christopher up, and they go through their usual routine of TV and dinner and games before going to bed. Buck's paranoid about Christopher catching on before Eddie's ready, so he insists on taking the couch, and they get right back to the station the next morning.

As crazy as Buck thinks they are for each other, he knows they both take exactly two things seriously: work and family. He gets an irrational thrill out of holding back, like he's the heroine in a 19th century romance; even the brush of Eddie's hand at the station is enough to make his skin warm pleasantly, even though hardly anything has changed. Their bodies still knock together as if compelled by gravity — at the shoulders when they walk, at the knees in the engine, at the ankles when they sit across from each other for family dinner. The only difference now is that each touch ripples across Buck's skin like a capillary wave, lighting up his nerves.

Still, when their shift ends and Christopher wants Buck's help on his history paper, or Eddie needs to sit with Tia Pepa at her neurologist's office, or Maddie gets overwhelmed with the newborn, they shuffle their time around for the people they love. Soon and forever was the promise, after all.

But it's been more than a week of stolen pecks and whispered promises, and Buck's starting to go crazy.

He's gotten everything perfectly aligned. They have the weekend off, and Chris had been begging all week for permission to go to a DnD marathon weekend at Owen's house ("My druid's on the brink of death, Dad, and there are like twelve rooms left in the dungeon.") Eddie had talked it over with Owen's mom, and she'd agreed to pick both boys up from school on Friday, so they have the house to themselves for the next few days. Everything should have worked out.

Unfortunately, there's no "should" that ever survives their line of work. Once again, they respond to a routine call — a black kitten stuck on the door canopy above the entrance to a coffee shop called Brujas. They’ve dealt with earthquakes and tsunamis and snipers and lightning strikes, but somehow, it’s Beans the Kitten who nearly drives them to the brink of insanity.

“She’s usually such a sweet girl,” the owner tells them, wringing her hands. “She’s the neighborhood cat — always jumping on people’s shoulders and rubbing up on our legs. I don’t even know how she got up there.”

Buck thinks she must have climbed up the tree on the sidewalk and followed the bark all the way up to the area where the branches hover over the rooftop. It should be a simple retrieval. But after they get their ladder set up, Beans darts away every time they get close to grabbing her. One by one, the members of the 118 go up, trying to coax the cat into their arms, and they each climb back down the ladder exhausted — or, like Buck, scratched to bits.

Panting beside the ladder, they gaze up at Beans, who licks her paw, looking like the pinnacle of innocence. Buck swears her eyes flash red, but it might just be a trick of the light.

Chim sighs beside them and begins to climb up. He lets the ladder creak beneath his feet and Beans tilts her head curiously at him. Three steps from the top, Chim offers her the back of his hand. They all tense when, a few seconds later, she sniffs at his knuckles and lifts her paw.

By some miracle, she seems to like Chim. Or maybe she’s just tired of playing tag with them. She nuzzles her face into his knuckles and he chuckles, giving her chin a small scratch. He looks down at them with raised eyebrows, clearly smug at being Beans’ favorite.

He only shifts his focus for a second, but it’s a second too long for Beans, who jumps and latches her claws into Chim's chest. He jolts, and Buck watches in horror as he loses his balance on the ladder. He darts forward on instinct, and Eddie does too, and suddenly they’re flattened beneath Chim's bulk.

Honestly, they're lucky. They break Chim's fall, so Buck pulls a muscle in his back trying to brace for impact, and Eddie has nasty bruising down his right leg, but Hen says they'll be fine as long as they take it easy the next few days.

Which is why Buck and Eddie are home alone, but they aren't having sex, no matter how much they both want to. Buck set a chair down and sorted the junk drawer in the kitchen earlier, just to keep his hands off of Eddie busy.

But the house is clean, the bills are done, and there's nothing interesting on TV, so they are making out on the couch as soon as they've eaten dinner and washed the dishes together. The TV is muted, but it gives the otherwise dark room a soft glow. Eddie's flat on his back, supporting most of Buck's weight while his right leg dangles off the side of the couch. The position thankfully stops them both from putting pressure on their injuries. He feels a little bad at first for crushing Eddie beneath his bulk, but Eddie doesn't seem to mind.

Buck knows he shouldn't have even let it get this far, knows that it'll be nearly impossible to move his tongue out of the home it's made in Eddie's mouth, but they'd both needed to be pressed as close together as possible. He doubts they could do anything more rigorous than their current make out, but it scratches the itch he's had since their date to forget where he ends and Eddie begins.

They've been at it for hours at this point, alternating between kissing and sucking on each other's skin. Buck's just starting to think that they should go to bed when Eddie starts to slide his hands up his thighs, and he can't help but moan. He knows his thighs are big. He's not even bragging; it's just a fact of how he's bulked up as a firefighter. He's never minded seeing them fill out, because he knows his training helps him save lives. But there's something so hot about the size and strength of Eddie's hands as he grips Buck's thighs and presses just hard enough to make Buck's cock grind against his hip.

Buck is frantic, then, as he takes Eddie's elbow and lifts his left hand to his mouth. Almost immediately, he closes his eyes and starts to drool on two of Eddie's fingers. The realization hits him all at once: he really does get to have Eddie's hands on him from now on. His hold on Eddie's wrist gets tighter, and he sucks a third finger — Eddie's ring finger, fuck — inside. Heat pulses through him just at the thought of marrying Eddie, and he feels his dick leaking through his shorts. He loses himself in that suckling headspace and only opens his eyes when he realizes his drool has slipped all the way down Eddie's hand to wet Buck's own.

Embarrassed by how sloppy and eager he's gotten, he finally meets Eddie's eyes. He doesn't know what he expected to see, but it's not the intense, open desire Eddie's watching him with. Slowly, Eddie pulls his wrist back, and Buck lets him. When Eddie beckons him closer, he follows. And when Eddie hooks his thumb into Buck's mouth and (a bit hesitant, despite how clearly he wants this) sticks his pretty little tongue out, Buck gives him what he needs. He cups Eddie's jaw and spits — slowly, so that Eddie can watch the string of saliva fall, and so that Buck can watch Eddie's eager mouth strain against his grasp to get a taste.

After he swallows, they both breathe more heavily and stare at each other with dark eyes.

"We could just…" Eddie nudges his head toward the bedroom.

Buck whimpers and repeats the thrust from earlier on his own, but it sets his back on fire. He leans down to kiss Eddie gently. "Nice try," he mumbles between pecks and bites and kitten licks, "but I'm not risking it." It takes every ounce of strength he has, but he manages to pull away, lifting himself up and awkwardly adjusting the half-hard bulge in his pants. "I'm gonna take a shower," he says.

Eddie sighs and leans back on the couch cushions, eyeing him up and down slowly. Buck starts shifting towards the hallway when Eddie does nothing to hide how he lingers on Buck's crotch, eyes dark. It's been so long since Buck's felt flustered about sex. It doesn't make sense. (Except for how it makes complete sense, because now it's sex with Eddie.)

He's ready for it, then — for Eddie to say something outrageously hot that crumples all his willpower and dooms them to some kind of sex injury. Instead, he just drags his eyes back up to Buck's and says, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," Eddie shrugs. "I'm going to take a nap," he says, standing up and heading to his room. He's whistling again. It shouldn't make Buck harder that he's a good whistler, but it does. He's just so confident, so cocky when he looks over his shoulder and catches Buck staring at his ass. Buck rolls his eyes at Eddie's bright grin and follows him down the hallway, shutting the door to the bathroom with a firm click.

He sets down the shower stool they keep for when any of them have a bad pain day and lets the cool water clear his mind. The shower helps with the ache in his back, once he increases the heat, and knowing Eddie's in the next room napping also quiets his fantasies. Maybe Buck can rearrange the cupboards while Eddie gets his rest. He starts assembling a plan for the items he's determined to regroup, and he has a pretty achievable list of changes on the docket by the time he shuts the water off.

As soon as he turns the shower off and starts to dry himself with his towel, though, his phone starts ringing.

"Eddie?" he asks, having no idea why Eddie wouldn't just knock on the door or wait for him to come out.

"I didn't — hngg — nap. I lied," Eddie says, sounding slightly out of breath.

It only takes him a second to catch up to what Eddie's doing. Buck's had enough phone sex to know when someone's got those desperate pauses tucked between their sentences. He bites his lip. He shouldn't ask, but…

"Oh? What did you do, then?"

"I came to my room and started to jerk off."

Buck's mouth goes dry, and he cups himself. "Yeah? What— what were you thinking about?"

"Fucking you, mostly," he replies, sending a thrill through Buck's spine. "Pulling on your curls and biting your neck and getting you to bounce on my dick. You were leaking so much earlier. I want to see if I can get you to come untouched. Bet you'd love that."

His hole clenches from his spot on the stool. Buck's never really thought about riding someone; he likes being ridden, but he's suddenly stuck on the image of Eddie beneath him, keeping a tight grip on Buck's hips. Eddie's strong enough to throw Buck around, strong enough to handle Buck's weight and plant his feet and pound into him if he wants to.

That's all it takes for him to start leaking. God, it's not fair. He wants to go in there and let Eddie do everything he's describing, but as he leans back against the wall of the shower, he can tell it would be terrible with his back so messed up.

But if Eddie called him, it's because he wants to share this with Buck, even if they can't actually perform right now. So he gets comfortable and strokes himself more firmly, letting Eddie hear how affected he is.

"Eddie, I— you're— yes, fuck, I want that so bad," he whimpers. He already feels so fucking close.

"Shh, it's okay, Buck, I know you do. You gonna be a good boy for me? Gonna take what I give you?"

"Yeah, whatever you want, anything, I'm yours."

"Always been mine," Eddie grunts, "and I've always been yours. Right?"

"R– right," he confirms, squeezing the base of his cock. He's just on the edge of coming.

He doesn't know how Eddie still manages to surprise him after all these years, but he does, because he's so matter of fact. Once he gets out of his own head, he always says the right thing — the thing that cuts to where Buck's most tender and patches him up. The small part of him that always worries he's in deeper than his partner dulls and warms beneath Eddie's claim. They have always belonged to each other. There's no small amount of relief in hearing that they both know that now.

"I, uh, grabbed one of your shirts from the hamper," Eddie admits. "The bed stopped smelling like you. Wanted it back."

"That's so fucking hot," he moans. "What else did you do?"

There's a pause. "I also, um, grabbed your boxers. I want– I want to try. I want you to fuck my mouth, wanna taste you."

Buck's hips shove forward of their own accord, and he almost slips off the stool as he tips over the edge. Strips of cum fall onto his thighs and the shower floor. He can't help but picture what they'd look like on Eddie's face. "Fuck, Eddie, warn a guy before you say something like that."

"I feel so empty," Eddie whines. His words are followed by a gasp, and it snags on the last active brain cells Buck has. There's something he's leaving out. Buck can hear it in his voice.

"Are you…?" He clears his throat and licks his lips. "Are you fucking yourself?" He's still panting and overstimulated, but he has to ask.

"On my fingers, yeah," Eddie says, sounding smug. "You wanna come see?"

Yes, he thinks, before reminding himself why that would be a bad idea. So, instead, he says, "Put the underwear in your mouth." He needs at least a few minutes to recover before he can go again, and Eddie's not helping.

Eddie whines, but seems to follow the instruction.

"Make sure you're using a lot of lube," he adds. "Don't worry, I'll make sure your hole gets what it deserves, baby. I don't need to be in the room. I know what you need, and I can talk you through it. You trust me, yeah?"

There's a muffled moan from Eddie.

"Perfect, Eddie. Now speed up a little bit. You're going to need it a little rough, aren't you? You like an edge of pain?" He doesn't wait for a response. "Pinch your nipple for me, hard."

He hears a muffled yell through the boxers, and then Eddie must spit them out of his mouth, because he says, "Come in here."

"C-can't," he replies.

"Why not?" Eddie whines. "I need you."

Buck can't remember. He shudders and has to grip the base of his dick just to have a thought that isn't Eddie — needs it — needs me — fuck —

"Just come in," Eddie says. "We don't have to do anything, just want you in here with me, want you to see."

He groans, louder than he means to, and his head falls back against the tile. Eddie echoes the noise. It's subtle, but Buck can feel the slight thump as Eddie's own head hits the wall. He wants to go in there so badly he thinks he might die.

"Eddie," he pants. "If I go in there, I'm not going to be able to keep my hands off you."

"Oh no, that would be terrible," Eddie deadpans. Buck hears an obscene moan through the line a few seconds later and stops stroking entirely. "You've already made me wait so long," Eddie whines, desperate in a way Buck's never heard him. "Are you really going to keep me waiting?"

He watches his own cock twitch and leak, picturing Eddie splayed out beneath him, cresting higher and higher until he's crying and overwhelmed with pleasure. Buck will make it so good for him. He'll ruin Eddie for anyone else, and let Eddie ruin him, and he'll drag it on for as long as he needs to so Eddie understands what forever feels like — so that he understands the pleasure that crashes through Buck every time they make their promise.

"Yes. I mean, no, but I– I want—"

Eddie latches onto the words eagerly. "What? What do you want?"

He starts to stroke his cock again, biting his lip to anchor him against the hunger in Eddie's voice.

"I want it to be perfect," he says, slowing his hand.

"No pressure," Eddie jokes.

"Not like that," Buck says. "Just, like, I want to take my time, and I don't want to worry about hurting your leg, or straining my back even more. It'll be your first time with a guy, and I just want us both to be, y'know, present. Does that sound stupid?"

When Eddie responds, he doesn't sound any less turned on, but it's mixed with a heavy affection that makes Buck's blood pulse stronger, somehow. "No, Buck. That doesn't sound stupid."

Buck relaxes. With his understanding, the rest of it comes easily. "Good. Because I want to hear every little noise you make, memorize the look on your face when you're fucking me," he pauses, "and when I get inside you."

Eddie curses.

"How many fingers are you at now?" Buck asks.

"None," Eddie says. "It's a dildo now. I bought it a few months ago."

There's no hope of him getting hard again this soon, but the image is too delicious to pass up. "Yeah? How long have you been fucking yourself open while thinking about me?"

"A really long time," Eddie admits. "I started in Texas, a few days after our first long-distance call. Been wanting you so badly."

"You were so eager to get my spit in your mouth earlier, weren't you?" he asks. Eddie doesn't answer directly, but the sharp breath on the line is answer enough.

"Yeah, I could tell," Buck tests, pleased to hear a quiet, grunted "oh fuck" escape Eddie's mouth. "You think that toy feels good? You're going to lose your mind when I get my tongue in you."

"Ye— fuck, um, I— "

He tries to move Eddie past the slight embarrassment in his voice. "Shh, it's okay, baby. It's okay that you like it, that you want it. You deserve it. You're so perfect for me," he tries next. A muffled cry reaches his ears, even through the walls, and he smiles, stroking himself faster.

"You've got such a great ass, Eddie. I'm so lucky. I'm gonna spend so much time worshiping it, playing with it, spanking it pink. Is that what you want?"

"Y-yes, yeah, yes—"

"Good, Eddie. Perfect. Just like that. Keep taking it deeper. One day, I'm g'nna tie you down and spit on your pretty little hole, over and over again, just to watch you try to clench and suck it in. Are you desperate enough to let me do that to you?"

"God, yes," Eddie sobs, "please."

"Of course you would love that," Buck smiles. "Come on, Eddie. Come for me. I want to hear you. I know you can be good, Eddie. Please? Let me hear you," he coaxes.

There's a moment of silence that makes Buck worry the call's been dropped. A second later, Buck realizes he's on speakerphone. Eddie, it seems, has placed the phone right next to his ass, and Buck can hear the filtered clicks as Eddie fucks the dildo inside himself. His moans are far past being comprehensible. Instead, Buck can just hear hitches of breath and abandoned grunts and whines — ah, ah, ah, fuuuuck, oh fuck, ahh, shit, Buck —

"How big is it?" Buck interrupts, once it's clear that Eddie's pleasure is starting to plateau.

It takes Eddie a few seconds to process the question. "Not– not huge," he says, "but it still feels good."

"Can you stretch yourself a little more, tuck one of your fingers in beside it?" he asks, looking down. "Mine's a little thick. You'll need some practice if you want to take me."

"Fuck," Eddie moans. The slick sounds slow while he tries to add a finger, and then he lets out a keen unlike anything Buck's ever heard. His cock makes a valiant twitch against his thigh, but he's spent, content to just sit there and listen as Eddie falls apart, finally coming on his dildo.

"Can't wait to mark you up, Eddie. Gonna fill you up and watch my cum leak out. Gonna make sure you never feel empty again."

"D'tto," Eddie slurs. Buck can still hear him fucking himself slowly, like he doesn't want to pull the toy out yet. "b'cause I'm yours."

"And I'm yours," Buck says, grinning.

"Damn right," Eddie says.

Buck rinses off and gets dressed, giving Eddie some time to clean up. And if he ends up in Eddie's room that night, lying face down for his back with a bunch of pillows between them, it's worth it for the way they once again talk all night — and wake up hand in hand.

+1

When they finally get a moment alone, a few days later, they're both mostly healed up, and they've had a relatively peaceful night. A few guys from B Shift take over around 7:30 AM, so they get to head home early. Eddie knows they've got plenty of errands and chores to do, that they should be tired after a 24 hour shift, that it would be perfectly reasonable to keep delaying.

But they're both wide awake, alert with the knowledge that the house is empty since Chris is off at school. So when Buck keeps licking his lips and giving him interested looks, Eddie slides a firm hand to the inside of Buck's thigh from the passenger seat; the heat in the truck bed and Eddie's hand both rise a little bit with each passing minute of the ride home.

Once Eddie unlocks the door and steps inside, it's no surprise that Buck immediately shoves him up against the entrance and kisses him. He keeps waiting for the novelty to fade, for the moment he'll kiss Buck and not feel completely enamored when they pull apart, but it hasn't happened yet.

This time, Buck's the one to palm Eddie's ass and drag his hips forward. They both groan at the friction, and he follows his body's instinct to start rocking against the muscular leg Buck has between his thighs. He feels needy and frantic and hot all over.

"I don't—" he pants between kisses, slowing his hips, "I mean, I want to respect that you want to wait until we're more healed up—"

"Fuck that," Buck interrupts, dropping to his knees. "I need your dick in my mouth right now."

He groans and tries to help get his belt open, but Buck just shoves his hands away. It's a heady thing, to watch Buck shift into his element here. Even though he's the one on his knees, he moves with a steady confidence that pins Eddie in place.

My dick's about to be in Buck's mouth, he thinks, and an incredulous laugh bubbles out of him.

Buck, to his credit, doesn't get offended. He just grins up at Eddie and asks, "What?"

It's better than it has any right to be. Buck looks downright obscene; his lips are stretched wide around Eddie's cock, and he's got a blissed out expression on his face, like he's the one being pleasured. 

So cock dumb and pretty, he thinks, and only realizes he's said it aloud when Buck moans around him. The vibrations make his hips twitch, and he accidentally shoves the last inch or so down Buck's throat. He tries to back up and apologize, but Buck just moans louder. Their eyes meet again, and Buck gets two strong hands on his ass, encouraging him to press forward.

He lets Buck take the lead, watching him drool and gag in a haze of pleasure. "Such a good boy. Always take such good care of me," he praises, stroking Buck's hollowed cheek and delighting in how his eyes roll back. Eddie moves a hand up into Buck's curls and pulls, taking control and fucking his face.

Buck whimpers and drops a hand to his crotch, rubbing at his own cock frantically. The image makes Eddie speed up, taking his mouth faster and harder. Slick sounds fill up the room, and drool spills out past Buck's lips, falling down to join the mess where he's already pulled his leaking cock out.

Eddie can't help but grind into his soft throat, shaking when he tries to pull out and let Buck breathe, only to be stopped by a firm arm wrapped around his hips. A small spit bubble starts to form next to Buck's mouth, and his hips seem to twitch forward with every choking noise he makes. Eddie's head finally falls back against the door, whining. A tear falls down his cheek.

Buck finally pops his mouth away to take a breath, and a trail of saliva follows him and breaks down his chin before he pants, "You're so hot, Eddie, such good fucking noises. You're perfect."

"Fuck, stop," he pleads, and Buck immediately backs off.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Eddie says, because he is. "Just—"

And with that, he pulls Buck towards the bedroom, kissing and tearing clothes off as they go. It's uncoordinated, and they keep hitting the walls of the hallway, but they're also smiling and laughing into each other's mouths, and Eddie can taste himself a little bit on Buck's tongue, so it is pretty much perfect.

When they get to the room, Buck lets him shove his naked body exactly how he wants onto the bed. He feels almost drunk with power, standing here above him; Eddie's been desired before, of course, but he's never been looked at like this — like Buck might do anything for the sake of Eddie's pleasure.

He takes a chance and straddles Buck. It's not a position he's ever been in before, but he likes it — likes how far his legs have to split open to frame Buck's broad stomach, how he gets to stare down at Buck's naked chest and adoring face, how much power and control Buck hands over to him in this position.

Buck watches him patiently, and Eddie starts with an experimental roll of his hips. They both gasp at the friction as their cocks drag against one another. Buck's tip keeps leaking, which makes each pass smoother and smoother. He leans forward and grips Buck's strong biceps for leverage, and it helps press their stomachs up against their cocks, adding to the pressure.

Beneath him, Buck's chest rises and falls heavily. Eddie feels a visceral urge to thumb at one of his pert nipples, so he does, and when that makes Buck's eyelashes flutter, he leans down and starts sucking and biting until his nipples are wet and shining — until there are marks, Eddie's marks, all over his thick chest. When he finally lifts his head, he finds Buck watching him with a soft smile and dark eyes.

Eddie slows beneath the tenderness, the sheer gravity of Buck's attention. He leans down for a kiss, and Buck opens up eagerly.

He pulls away and presses their foreheads together, pretending his limbs are tiring as he collapses his full weight onto Buck. "I'm getting tired," he murmurs, eyes drifting shut. "Can you help?"

He opens his eyes and Buck nods, eager and ready. He doesn't have the same amount of bulk, but he's not small, so it's fun to watch Buck's muscles flex as he somehow gets his arms around Eddie's back and takes over, tightening the space between them and manhandling his body easily. Eddie goes pliant and dizzy, happy to let Buck take care of him, happy to be shown how good Buck can be for him.

He nuzzles against Buck's neck and lets him hear the embarrassing noises he usually holds back. When they get unbearably pitiful, he redirects. "It's never — hnng — I've never felt so good, Buck. No one's ever — made me — just you —"

Luckily, Buck understands his rambling, and he groans in Eddie's ear.

Eddie takes the chance to lean down between them and wet his fingers, a heady mix of saliva and precome that he brings down and around to Buck's hole. It's an awkward angle that strains his arm and pulls him away from Buck's mouth, but it's worth it for the way it only takes one, two, three strokes around the rim to get Buck pumping his hips faster. A few seconds later, he's coming all over both of their torsos. He kisses Buck through his orgasm and pulls away when the other man starts to twitch.

Buck, however, seems to have other ideas.

"Wait, please, keep — keep going, use me, I can be good," he begs.

"I don't want to hurt you," Eddie replies.

"Doesn't hurt, feels good. Trust me, please. Use me."

Eddie thinks for a second and double checks. "You're sure?"

Buck nods, eyes lighting up. "I'll say 'red' if I need to stop," he promises.

A "good boy" slips out of his mouth before Eddie can even control it, and he stretches to kiss Buck again and raise a hand back into his curls. He threads his fingers through and gets a firm hold of them. "This okay?" he asks, only a little surprised at how raspy his voice has gotten.

Buck nods urgently. "Do it. Please."

So Eddie pulls on his hair, hard, yanking his head against the pillow. With his other hand, he reaches forward and taps Buck's lips. Buck, ever so obedient, opens his mouth. Eddie spits into it, watching how Buck stays still and doesn't swallow until Eddie nudges his mouth shut and tells him to. He watches the bob of Buck's throat hungrily.

"You're such a good boy, aren't you, Buck? You'll take anything I give you?"

"Yes, please, whatever you need, whatever you want, fuck," he babbles.

What Eddie wants is to move further up Buck's chest and feel his thick cock between his cheeks, so that's what he does, allowing his ass to get coated with the mess Buck left behind as his cock twitches uselessly beneath him. What he wants is to get Buck's cum in his mouth, so he does, coating his fingers with it again and laving at his own digits.

He alternates between the two actions, taking his time, content with finally having Buck where he wants him. Eventually, enough time passes that he feels Buck getting hard again beneath him. A minute or two after that, Eddie's hips have hit a perfect angle, and his hole catches against the tip of Buck's cock. It's just a small pull against his rim, but it's enough to make his toes curl.

It doesn't take long after that. He and Buck go back to grinding in equal measure, and when Buck reaches behind him to nudge at his hole with his thick fingers, Eddie comes untouched. It moves through him so suddenly and so violently that his cum ends up shooting up as high as Buck's face. Buck moans and rocks against his ass and comes again soon after.

Eddie collapses beside his best friend, and they both start laughing as they catch their breath. Buck's the first to get up, grabbing them some glasses of water. Eddie moves to the bathroom and wets a few washcloths to clean them up a bit. They meet back in bed and end up on their sides with their legs entangled, unwilling to look away from each other.

As Eddie's eyes start to drift shut, it occurs to him that he's not going to wake up alone for a long time. He waits for the burst of panic, but it doesn't come. He can see his future laid out so clearly before him, and for the first time in his life, letting himself have it is easy. It's as simple as breathing. It's as easy as falling asleep.