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It's dark out by the time they leave the venue, caught up in the bright chatter of the crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk, Buck's shoulder bumping him when they're jostled together. It's not that late, though, and the night is warm, so Eddie doesn't mind when Buck chooses a meandering route back to where they parked the car.
"That was better than I thought it would be, actually," he says, as they round the corner and the crowd starts to disperse. His shoulder bumps Eddie's again. Eddie doesn't move away, although they have space now. He feels suffused with warmth, more from the company than the music, which was some Icelandic indie group that isn't really his style or Buck's. The tickets were supposed to be for Buck's date tonight, originally. Eddie's only here because they turned out to be non-refundable when she canceled at the last minute.
"Yeah," he agrees.
"Still can't believe she ditched me," Buck adds. He seems lighter about it than he did when he called Eddie earlier, petulantly embarrassed and a little bit wounded, to ask if Eddie was free this evening.
Eddie said yes. Of course he did. Christopher is currently on week two of summer camp, so it's nice to have something to do with his time that's not stress cleaning or watching TV by himself. And nights out with Buck are always a good time, regardless of what they end up doing. There's an easy rhythm to them, like the steps to a dance that Eddie has known long enough now that he can just have fun with it.
Back when he first started imagining a future for himself after Shannon, he kind of thought that would be the best thing about dating. More than romance or even the possibility of sex, what he really wanted was this: someone to wander unhurriedly down a summer street with, shoulders bumping, at ease.
So far, it's failed to manifest. He's trying not to worry about it too much. Meaningful connections take time, and it's not like he can expect to feel as immediately comfortable with some woman from a Tinder date as he does with his best friend.
At least Buck is more or less in the same boat. Every date he's been on since he split with Natalia has crashed and burned—or, in this case, never even got off the ground in the first place. It's selfish that this makes Eddie feel better.
"She give you a reason?" he asks.
"Yeah, uh, not really." Buck makes a face, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean, yes, but it was one of those, you know, oh, sorry, I forgot I had to get my carpet steam-cleaned at 7:30 on a Friday night kinda deals, so, no, not really. I don't know. Maybe she met someone better."
"She's an idiot," Eddie says immediately. "You can do better."
Buck huffs. "Thanks."
"I mean it."
Buck ducks his head. He's smiling a little, though, as he tilts just close enough to collide gently with Eddie. Their knuckles brush, and Eddie has the oddest impulse, just for a moment, to reach for his hand.
Instead, he bumps their shoulders together again, and warms himself in the way Buck leans into him and smiles.
There's a peaceful calm that lingers all the way back to the loft. Eddie follows Buck in, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light inside, though Buck dims it almost immediately, rendering the room soft-edged and warm. He offers Eddie a beer, and Eddie hums agreement and takes it, even though it means he won't be driving himself home tonight. That's been happening lately too: nights spent on the pull-out couch at the loft, listening to Buck's faint snores overhead. It beats being home when Chris isn't there, but that's not the only reason Eddie likes it. It feels like a sleepover, which he never really did that much when he was a kid. It makes him feel inexplicably young.
"Thanks for coming with me," Buck says after they've been drinking in companionable silence for a little while.
"Of course."
"I know it was kinda last minute."
"Yeah, 'cause I have such a busy social calendar these days," Eddie says dryly. "Who exactly do you think I hang out with other than Chris and you and the 118?"
"You could have been on a date, or something. I don't know."
Eddie groans, loudly and dramatically enough that Buck starts laughing. "Don't remind me. I figured Pepa's friends would have run out of age-appropriate nieces by now."
"It's not that bad, is it? I mean, none of them have, like, ditched you an hour before a show you already bought tickets for, have they?"
"Fair enough." Eddie tilts his beer at Buck in acknowledgement. "Good thing you have such an awesome best friend to bring with you, huh?"
"Good thing," Buck agrees, entirely cheerful now. "Should have just asked you in the first place. I always have more fun with you anyway."
It's startlingly close to what Eddie was thinking earlier. Though there's a strange anxiety to that thought when he pokes at it.
Eventually, one of Buck's romantic attempts is going to stick. It didn't work out with Natalia, but eventually it will. Buck is in a better place now; he's not going to settle for a woman who isn't right for him, but he wants a partner. He wants someone to build a family of his own with. And eventually someone's going to see him, all his bright warmth and everything he has to offer, and step right into the spot that has always been Eddie's by default.
And Eddie will be happy for him. Really, he will. Buck deserves to have that. But it'll mean no more nights like this, or at least a lot less of them.
"I wouldn't have stood you up, anyway," he says, and takes another pull on his beer.
"Oh, okay, thanks a lot," Buck says back, grinning.
"Anytime." Then he relents. "Seriously, though, I had fun. Thanks for asking me."
Buck ducks his head, but Eddie can see the way his grin softens into a bashful little smile. "Yeah. I mean, of course. Who else?"
"I don't know. Another one of your Tinder dates?"
"Ugh," Buck groans. "I feel like I used to be better at this."
"Were any of those really dates back then, though? Or were they all just…"
"Hookups in bar bathrooms, yeah, yeah, you can say it."
"Wasn't going to," Eddie says, hiding his smirk in his beer.
"That was Buck 1.0, though. I've matured and improved since then."
"Right."
"And I'm too old for that shit, anyway."
Eddie gives him a look. "You're thirty."
"Exactly." Buck sighs. "I don't know. Dating always seems more fun in theory. You know?"
"Tell me about it."
"I want to meet somebody, I want to make a, a meaningful connection, but every date I'm on lately, it's been like, I'd so much rather be hanging out on your couch watching nature documentaries with Chris."
"At least he'll still watch TV with you," Eddie says ruefully. "I had to go hide out in the dining room the last sleepover he had because I was ruining the vibe. After I brought in the pizza and snacks, obviously."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
"God. I can't believe he's going to be thirteen in a few months. Where did the time go?"
Eddie hums in agreement around the lip of his beer. Against the counter next to him, Buck tilts his head back and laughs. "You know, the first time we went to pick him up, after the earthquake—remember?"
"Of course."
He remembers the low-level panic that he spent the day trying to shove down so he could do his job, and he remembers Buck, who had known him for maybe a month at the time, offering up his collection of trivia about school safety upgrades as reassurance. He remembers driving to the school afterwards, and that soft, amazed smile on Buck's face as Chris peppered him with questions from the backseat, like being pestered by his coworker's kid after the world's longest shift was an unasked-for gift.
He didn't know it at the time, but he thinks that was the moment when their little family grew by one member. Buck stepped in with them, and he's never stepped back out. Not when he was with Taylor, not when he was with Natalia, so there's no reason for Eddie to worry about what'll happen once he finally finds someone to start a family of his own with.
He worries anyway. Can't help it.
"I just remember thinking," Buck says, interrupting Eddie's slightly morose train of thought, "you were so mysterious back then."
He laughs. "Mysterious?"
"Yeah, you know. That whole sexy brooding hidden depths shit you had going on. Don't even look at me like that, you know you did. We didn't even know you had a kid for, like, a month. And then you come out with this picture of, like, the cutest kid on the fucking planet, and then he turns out to also be the coolest kid on the planet, and I remember thinking, like, okay, I'm keeping these two."
Eddie laughs harder at that.
"What?" Buck asks, sounding affronted.
"No—nothing, man, it's nothing." He swipes at his eyes. "Anyway, Bobby knew I had a kid."
"He doesn't count."
"I'm telling him you said that."
Buck shoves at him. "You know what I mean."
And yeah, Eddie does. Buck's not exactly wrong; he used to play things a lot closer to the vest. Back then he was still trying to find his feet after the Army, after Shannon, after he ducked out from under his parents' impossible expectations and fled to Los Angeles with a kid he barely felt like he knew how to parent.
He doesn't like to think of how that all might have gone if he hadn't found Buck when he did. If they hadn't found each other. He hopes he would have realized that he didn't actually have to do everything by himself, but the wary, isolated, desperately proud guy he'd been back then would have struggled with that, if Buck hadn't been there to barge in and offer his help and his time and affection on a silver platter.
He'd have figured it out eventually, for Chris. But it would have been a lot harder without Buck there. Like so much of his life.
"Hey," he says, holding out his bottle for Buck to clink, which he does with a slightly bemused smile. "I'm really glad we met you, you know that?"
Buck scoffs a little, but he looks pleased. "That's just because I'm a better cook than you."
"Maybe back then. I bet I'd give you a run for your money now."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Buck says. He's grinning, though, cocky and bright. "Too bad we can't just date each other."
Eddie laughs. "What?"
"No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—"
"And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning.
"I'd stop getting ditched on dates that weren't going to go anywhere," Buck says.
"Right."
"You wouldn't stand me up, you said it yourself."
"Right, right," Eddie says, trying to fold down the corners of his smile, without much success. He should probably shut this down, but the truth is he's never really been much good at that when it comes to Buck. His infectious enthusiasm for absurd ideas is irresistible. Eddie can't help but play along. "But we work together."
Buck flaps a hand. "There's paperwork for that. I'm pretty sure. There's paperwork for everything. It's not like one of us is in a supervisory capacity over the other. Even if I do have seniority."
"By about a year."
"Still counts."
"Uh huh."
"Come on, Eddie, it's perfect. You gotta admit it. Name one flaw."
"Well," Eddie says, pretending to contemplate that. "I'd like to have sex again eventually. Someday."
Buck flushes bright red, then laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, of course, I would too, but I mean, we could—couldn't we? We're both hot, so."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works," Eddie says, torn between laughter and immense fondness at the eternal, irrepressible ridiculousness of Evan Buckley. "We're also both straight."
Surprisingly, Buck pauses at that. It's a pause that's tellingly long, and then he says, "Um. Yeah."
Eddie puts his beer down. There's something strange taking root in the vicinity of his chest: not fear, exactly, but maybe a cousin to it.
This was supposed to be a dumb hypothetical. A joke, it was supposed to be a joke. Not—whatever's happening right now, turning the laughter in his throat shaky and unsettled. Eddie's got a dim idea that they're approaching a line he'd be smart to pull back from, but the look on Buck's face arrests him.
"Aren't we?" he asks, after the silence has lingered for a moment. Because. This seems like something he should have known about his best friend before now.
"I mean," Buck says. He picks up his beer and drinks deeply: two long swallows. Eddie watches his throat move. It's not the first time he's watched; it is the first time he's been consciously aware of watching. Buck takes a third drink, then sets his nearly empty bottle down. "I've, uh, you know. Done the threesome thing a couple of times. And that wasn't—it was always about the girl, obviously. Not usually a lot of touching the other dude. But I didn't—mind it. When there was touching."
That is a mental image Eddie could have done without. It's not distaste. It's closer to that resentful little stone that used to lodge in his throat every time he saw Buck and Taylor together. Back then, it was easy to dismiss that because he hated her guts for plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons. And if he felt it when he watched Buck and Natalia together—well, he's always had a hard time with change, especially the kind of change that meant less time with his best friend.
All of that is suddenly starting to seem like a pile of excuses, because the tight feeling in his chest at the idea of Buck with a guy, some stranger—that feels a lot more like jealousy than anything else.
He clears his throat. "So you're… what, bi?"
"I don't know," Buck says, which isn't a no. He glances up at Eddie, quick and nervous. "I—I notice when someone's hot, I guess. But so does everybody. Right? Like, Chimney said you were beautiful when we first saw you getting changed at the station. That doesn't mean anything, necessarily."
"Chimney said that?" Eddie repeats incredulously.
"He was messing with me," Buck mutters.
"But do you…" He stops. There's probably no good way to end that sentence. No way to ask that question that doesn't imply something he's not even sure he means.
Buck hears the end of it anyway. They've always been on the same wavelength, for better or worse. "I mean, yeah. You're really…yeah. You're hot. That's just, you know, that's just an objective fact." He drains the last of his beer, makes a face, and sets the bottle down. Then, not quite looking at Eddie, he adds, "What about you?"
What about me what? Eddie almost asks, and then doesn't. They're past the point of playing dumb about this, though he knows Buck would probably let him get away with it.
Fair's fair. But the truth is, he's never thought about it before, not really. Chim likes to joke about them being work husbands and the occasional stranger will mistake them for a couple when they're out together, but that doesn't really mean anything. That's not the place Buck has ever occupied in his life. It's not a place Eddie ever even thought he could occupy: the distinction between lover and best friend always seemed so clear and obvious that it didn't bear thinking about.
Now he's thinking about it. Like Buck saying, Yeah, you're hot, in that matter-of-fact tone of voice has rattled something loose in his brain, some piece of himself that he's never even thought to look for.
He sets his beer down and turns toward Buck, who watches him back but doesn't speak, and he just—looks. Buck's in a soft-looking pullover and nice jeans, his hair unstyled, just long enough that it's starting to curl. His blue eyes seem luminous in the low light. His mouth is pink and soft, like he's always just been kissed. There's a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and a faint white scar on his throat, visible in contrast with his summer tan.
He looks like Buck. Familiar, safe, even—Eddie will admit it—beloved. His best friend. He's not sure it's anything more than that, though.
Thing is, he's also not completely sure that it isn't.
He picks his beer up again. Takes a sip. Sets it down. His hands are steady, because Eddie Diaz doesn't panic, not about this, not anymore. He isn't afraid. He doesn't feel afraid, even if he should. He feels—curious. A little bit reckless, in the way that Buck always makes him reckless.
"Only one way to find out," he says.
Buck laughs, sudden and sharp, then smears a hand over his mouth. "Sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—you mean, like—?"
"I mean, like, we could try it out and see if it works."
"And if it doesn't?"
Eddie shrugs. "No harm, no foul?"
Buck laughs again. It's less startled this time, more amused. "We could start with kissing?"
"I mean, I was assuming, unless you were planning to just—"
"Don't finish that sentence," Buck laughs, setting his beer down and crossing the kitchen to him. And it's easy, it feels easy. Less fraught than Eddie suspects it should. It's just Buck, suggesting something dumb to do that Eddie, like always, will go along with.
"All right," he says.
"Right," Buck says.
"So, were we going to try it now, or what?"
"Okay, okay," Buck says, and moves even closer. He has to lean down, which is different, Eddie notes. He's shorter than Buck, but he's not short. He's been taller than every girl he's ever kissed. This is new.
Buck has a scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the upper parts of his cheekbones. On his eyelids, too. They're faint, but this isn't the first time Eddie's been close enough to see them. The circumstances are usually different, though. Buck's fingers catch his cheek, just lightly. He startles, and the kiss is misangled enough that their lips barely meet: a catch, a rasp of stubble.
Buck laughs under his breath. "Sorry. I'm usually better at this. You're tall."
"Look who's talking," Eddie retorts, and Buck scoffs, and maybe that would be it, just a failed experiment, something to laugh about later, but he's invested now. If they're gonna back out at this point, Eddie wants to at least know that he gave it an honest effort first. "Here, let me just—"
He grabs at Buck's jaw to take control of the kiss, and it would probably work if Buck didn't choose that moment to start to say something again. He gets a slip of tongue because of that—not in a sexy way, more like Buck just accidentally licked the front of his teeth. Eddie tries to contain his snicker, but Buck starts giggling a moment later and ruins it. And then they're both laughing, tilting together and laughing like a pair of idiots, and Eddie feels ridiculous and also like he's never belonged anywhere like he belongs right here, like this.
"I feel like those playboy rumors must have been greatly exaggerated," he manages a moment later.
Buck makes an affronted noise. "Excuse you?"
"Just saying."
"Like you're doing any better."
"I'm out of practice, what's your excuse?"
"Oh, is that how it is?" Buck asks, and then his hand is on Eddie's jaw again, tilting his head just a little, just enough to kiss him square on the lips.
This one works.
Buck is still smiling when it starts, which makes Eddie smile too, leaning up into it: the kiss, the sudden unexpected sweetness of the moment. Kissing his best friend, kissing a man—it doesn't feel weird, or jarring, or wrong. It feels nice. Buck's lips are soft, faintly chapped from the outdoors, and his hand on Eddie's cheek is warm, and Eddie likes this. He doesn't want to pull back, so he doesn't, and neither does Buck.
There's a light sweep of warmth as Buck slides his thumb over Eddie's cheekbone and tilts his head a little to slot their mouths more firmly together. His lips part slightly, and Eddie takes that opportunity to introduce some tongue to the proceedings.
On some level, he thinks he expects Buck to jolt back and start laughing. There's got to be a line somewhere. Eddie's been expecting to slam into it himself this whole time, and instead he keeps taking the next step, and the next, and the next, until he's in this moment right now: kissing Buck in his kitchen and hoping like hell that the kiss isn't about to end.
Buck doesn't jolt back. Buck makes a soft noise against his mouth, and his grip on Eddie's face tightens, and then it's a stumbling step backwards before Eddie's shoulders hit the wall and Buck presses closer and licks into his mouth like he's starving for it.
It's—a lot. The weight of Buck's body, the smell of him, the warmth of his hands and the taste of beer lingering bitter on his tongue before Eddie sucks it away.
Maybe Buck's not the only one who's starving here. Heat washes through him, turning electric wherever Buck is touching him: his lips, his fingers on Eddie's face, the heavy press of his body as he shoves himself closer, as Eddie pulls him in, both of them working in concert to get as close together as it's physically possible to be.
He gets his fist twisted in Buck's shirt at the base of his spine, holding him close as their kisses turn slick and deep. Buck's back is warm against his knuckles and it's suddenly not enough to feel it through cloth: he lets go to slide his hand up underneath where it's untucked, splaying his fingers over smooth warm skin and shifting muscle, and Buck breaks the kiss with a gasp.
He doesn't go far. Just tilts his forehead against Eddie's and takes two deep breaths.
"Eddie," he says, and Eddie thinks he could listen to that forever: Buck saying his name in that breathless voice that he's never heard before. He thought he knew all the ways Buck could sound, but he was wrong, and it makes him feel wildly greedy for something it never even occurred to him to want before this.
"Yeah?" he manages.
"Just—" Buck pulls back a little more, but not much. He's still got a hand on Eddie's cheek. His eyes are wide and very blue, and his mouth is even pinker than before. His eyes flicker over Eddie's face like he's looking for something, and he must find it, because he smiles, sudden and bright. "Can I—?"
"Yeah," Eddie says before he even hears the question, and then he's being kissed again. If the first one was a question, this one is something else entirely. Buck's got one hand on his face and the other grasping at his arm, his hip, just little catches, pulling Eddie closer. Eddie lets himself be pulled. Lets himself sink into it, stops thinking for once in his goddamn life and chases instinct to see where it leads him.
Where it leads him is this: he nips Buck's full lower lip and swallows his soft noise in response. He slides a hand up Buck's back, feeling the twist and flex of his muscles, the dip of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades. The warm fabric of his shirt rides up, bunching over Eddie's wrist.
Buck breaks the kiss again, but this time it's only to yank his shirt off over his head. He pauses a second later, like he's just realized what he's doing, or maybe more like who he's doing it with. His shirt dangles from one hand; his eyes are wide.
Eddie's seen Buck shirtless before, plenty of times. Touched him like that, even: weight reps, casual backslaps, the occasional friendly, juvenile wrestling match. Those weeks after the explosion, when Buck needed help in the shower. This is different. It's so different. He feels like he's lit up from the inside.
Buck looks beautiful like this. It's a word that Eddie has never really thought to apply to him, but in this moment it's the only one that seems right. The freckly summer tan across his shoulders is a startling contrast to how pale he is everywhere else. His nipples are pink and peaked and Eddie wonders what it would be like to put his mouth on them. He thinks he wants to know. He thinks Buck would let him.
"I just realized that I'm not sure what the hell I'm doing here," Buck says breathlessly. "Like, should we…?"
"What do you want to do?" Eddie asks. His own voice is uneven. He's not sure how to catch his breath.
"I want—I want to kiss you again."
"Then you should do that," Eddie says, and pulls him back in.
It feels easy, and that's maybe the most surreal thing about it. He should probably be nervous; he doesn't really know what the hell he's doing here either. It's Buck, though. In some strange way, he thinks maybe they were always heading in this direction. One of them pulling, the other pushing inevitably toward this moment: Buck pressing him against the kitchen wall in his dim apartment and kissing him until he can barely remember how to breathe.
Their bodies mold together, no space left between them. Buck is getting hard; it's impossible not to notice like this. A thick line of foreign heat presses insistently against Eddie's hip as they move together, and that's the thing that makes him aware that he's already most of the way there himself. Just from this.
That means something that he probably should have figured out about himself before now, but he'll worry about that later. He hitches their bodies closer—Buck swears softly—and kisses him again.
"I think," Buck mumbles, without really breaking the kiss. "I, um, I think we can call this experiment a success."
"Yeah."
"I wanna get your clothes off." It's fast and rushed, and Buck dips his head to press his mouth to Eddie's throat as soon as he's done speaking. Eddie can't see his face, and he wonders if that's intentional. "I want to see you, I want to make you feel good, Eddie, please let me—"
"Yeah," Eddie says again, fast and rough. There's a giddy rush in the pit of his stomach, like he's in freefall, like he's been falling this whole goddamn time. It should be terrifying, but he's not afraid. He trusts Buck to catch him. Always has.
Buck's fingers fumble with his shirt, yanking it inelegantly out of the waistband of his pants so he can get at the buttons. His knuckles bump the front of Eddie's jeans as he does, and it's enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Buck glances up with what looks like a question on his parted lips before he seems to realize what caused it.
"Oh," he whispers, hesitates a moment longer, and then slides his palm deliberately downward.
Eddie lets his head fall back against the wall. "Fuck."
"Why is it so hot when you swear?" Buck mutters, sounding like he's talking more to himself than Eddie. Eddie laughs anyway at the vaguely incredulous note in his voice. It chokes off into something more like a moan when Buck drags the heel of his hand down, slow and deliberate and so, so warm even through the layers of cloth.
Buck does it again. Eddie yanks him back in and muffles his next moan against Buck's lips, and Buck doesn't stop. He keeps hand right where it is, wedged between them and circling in maddeningly small motions against Eddie's dick while Eddie clings to his shoulders and pants into his mouth and pushes his hips forward eagerly into that delicious pressure.
He could come like this, he thinks suddenly, when Buck drops his head to mouth down Eddie's throat, his teeth scraping bright, maddening stings into the sensitive skin there. He's not there yet, not even really that close, but he could. Fully dressed and shoved against the kitchen wall and rocking into Buck's hand while Buck kisses him like he needs it to breathe.
"We should, um," Buck mumbles against his mouth. "Take this upstairs?"
"Yeah, okay," Eddie breathes, but he can't swallow his noise of protest when Buck pulls away.
The sight of him is worth it, though. Hair ruffled, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing Eddie. The flush spreads down his chest, too, and Eddie's eyes are drawn inevitably downward, to where Buck's erection is outlined obscenely in his tight jeans. The sight floods his mouth with saliva: he wants to touch, to get Buck's jeans open, he wants—he doesn't even know, he just wants.
Buck, of course, misinterprets that pause in exactly the wrong way. "Hey, listen, we don't have to—if you're not—"
Eddie shakes his head. He's not completely sure of his command of verbal speech right now, so instead he dips his head and gets his mouth on one of Buck's nipples, which he figures gets his point across. Buck lets out a choked little noise above his head, jerking against him, and Eddie sucks harder, experiments with using his teeth to see what that gets him.
What it gets him is Buck slamming his palm against the wall like he's suddenly unsure he can keep himself upright. Dazed, Eddie does it again, hooking his fingers in the front of Buck's jeans to pull him closer. He fumbles with the button, and then Buck's free hand is there, bumping his, clumsy and eager as they both get his pants undone. He's got on light blue underwear underneath, a slick dark spot over the head of his cock. Eddie rubs his thumb over it, then pushes his hand inside.
"Fuck," Buck whispers, "Eddie, Eddie, oh my god," and he yanks Eddie back up into a kiss. The angle's a little awkward like this, but Eddie kisses him back and drags his fingers down the length of Buck's cock, mapping out the shape of it. Smooth skin, hot and slick with precome, a pleasing weight in his hand.
He likes this. It's not just—not just the skin hunger of having someone touch him after so long, it's this: the weight of Buck's cock and the sound he makes when Eddie drags his palm over the head, smearing slickness, the way he looks with his eyes shut and his mouth half-open, lost in the sensation. Lost in the way Eddie is touching him, the way Eddie is making him feel.
We're not making it upstairs, Eddie thinks, and laughs breathlessly, tightening his grip. How long has it been since he's been so caught up in someone that they couldn't even make it to the bed? How perfect that after all this time, it's Buck who's making him lose his head like this.
"What?" Buck asks breathlessly, and Eddie kisses him again.
"Nothing," he says, and drops his head to watch what his hand is doing: the slick, flushed head of Buck's cock pushing up through the circle of his fingers, obscene and perfect. "You look so fucking hot like this."
"Eddie."
"I mean it." He adjusts his grip again, adding a little twist on the downstroke—it's different from doing this to himself, but it's not rocket science. Still, he feels a glow of triumph when Buck shudders. "Is that good?"
"Yeah, it's good, it's—of course it's good, Eddie."
How the man manages to sound that exasperated while Eddie is actively jerking him off is a mystery. He adds another little admonishing twist that's not actually admonishing at all, going by the noise Buck makes. "I just want to know what you like."
"This, I like this," Buck says, fast and sincere. And he does certainly seem to like it. His cock is stiffening against Eddie's palm, leaking even more, and his hips are starting to move as he fucks into Eddie's grip. "Can you—"
He catches Eddie's free hand and draws it to his chest, his nipple already stiff and wet from Eddie's mouth. Eddie pinches it, then dips his head without slowing the rhythm of his hand to take the other one in his mouth.
Buck swears brokenly, all but collapsing against him. It's an awkward position, but he doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind it at all, actually, because what's coming out of Buck's mouth right now is a steady stream of reverent nonsense, yeah, like that, Eddie, fuck, oh my god, Eddie, you're so—I'm gonna—
Buck's hand is in his hair, a hard grip that drags an unrecognizable noise from Eddie's mouth as he's hauled up into a sloppy mess of a kiss that absolutely shouldn't be as hot as it is. They don't really break apart this time, so Eddie's there to swallow Buck's moan when his hips stutter and he comes all over Eddie's hand and shirt and probably the floor too.
Buck sags against him, breathing hard, and Eddie holds him close, trying to remember how to breathe. He's so hard he feels a little lightheaded, but it seems like Buck needs a minute. Eddie can give him that. Probably.
After a moment, a shaky laugh escapes Buck. He nudges his face against Eddie's until they're kissing again, then laughs again when they part.
"What?" Eddie manages.
"Made a mess of your shirt," Buck says. There's a lazy postcoital slur to his voice that Eddie wants to drink down.
"Yeah," Eddie says dumbly, because he's not sure if he should blurt out what he's really thinking, which is, I liked it, I want you to make a mess of me, and most importantly, Please, please touch me before I lose my mind.
He's still got his hand shoved down the front of Buck's pants. He slides it out. His fingers are slick and gleaming; a whitish streak of come is splashed across the untucked and half-unbuttoned hem of his shirt. Cheeks heating, he glances up at Buck, who is still staring down at the space between their bodies. Then he glances up at Eddie, and must read the desperation in his face, because his smile turns slightly wicked.
"It's hot," he says. "You look good like this."
"Buck," Eddie manages, and he doesn't manage any more than that, because Buck's long fingers wrap around his wrist, and he draws Eddie's hand up to slide his come-smeared fingers into his mouth.
The back of Eddie's head hits the wall as a jolt of pleasure goes through him, so sudden and intense that he thinks for a moment that he's already coming, just from this. Just from the heat of Buck's mouth and his clever tongue curling around Eddie's fingers as he sucks them clean. They leave a gleaming trail of spit and come across Buck's lips and chin as he lets them slide out of his mouth, and Eddie can't stop staring.
"You're really into this, huh?" Buck murmurs. It sounds more awed than mocking, but Eddie flushes anyway, feeling mortifyingly exposed. Buck shakes his head quickly, because he's always been able to see right through Eddie. "It's hot. I mean it, it's really hot."
He leans in to kiss Eddie again, languid and deep, letting him taste the sharp salt flavor on his tongue. Then he pulls back, drops another light kiss on Eddie's breathless mouth, and sinks to his knees.
Eddie must make some kind of noise, though he can't really tell what over the roaring in his ears. Buck pauses, settling his hands on Eddie's hips.
"This okay?" he asks, moving his thumbs in little circles that are probably supposed to be soothing but do not have that effect. His hands are very large. It's a fact that Eddie has been aware of for years but has never consciously considered until this moment.
"Yeah," he manages. "Have you, have you ever…"
"Uh, not really." Buck's working on his buckle as he speaks, fingers quick and deft. He tugs it loose, pops the button on Eddie's fly, then leans in to mouth a couple of kisses against the sliver of skin bared there. "You'll have to tell me if I do it wrong."
"Not much chance of that," Eddie says, breathlessly honest. At this point, it feels more likely that he'll embarrass himself the second Buck touches him.
Buck grins at that, a startlingly familiar expression under the circumstances. Then he pulls Eddie's zipper down and hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with his underwear and leaving him bare to the cool air.
His cock springs free, and Buck curls his long fingers around it, makes a soft, pleased noise under his breath, then leans in to slide his tongue curiously against it.
Eddie's breath leaves him like he's been punched. His eyes are squeezed shut so tightly that bright spots bloom in the darkness; he opens them in time to see Buck look up at him as he takes the head of Eddie's cock in his mouth.
"Fuck," Eddie whispers. He slides his fingers through Buck's short curls and watches him blink heavily as he sinks down lower, his pink lips stretched and slick around Eddie's cock, a beautiful flush in his cheeks.
It's probably not the most technically skilled blowjob ever. Eddie couldn't care less. Just the sight of Buck like this makes him feel shaky and on-edge, like his bones are hollow and hot. The way he keeps darting little glances up at Eddie, like he's making sure Eddie is still watching him, like he wants to know he's doing a good job.
Eddie's not much of a talker in bed, usually. But when Buck does something particularly good with his tongue, he blurts out, "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," and Buck's eyes flutter shut as he moans around Eddie's cock and does the tongue thing again.
"Buck," Eddie gasps. Buck's eyes flick back up, and god is he a sight, on his knees with his pants undone and his chin dripping with spit and precome as he sucks Eddie's cock. Eddie wants to give him everything. Things he doesn't even have words for, but this, at least, he does. "You're so good, it feels so good, you're gonna make me come."
Buck moans again, then curls his fingers around the base of Eddie's cock. Half to help him along, half to control the depth, because Eddie's trying not to choke him but his hips keep making these abortive little thrusts of their own accord.
"Yeah, just like—just like that, you're so—let me—?"
He curls his fingers around Buck's jaw to still him, and Buck lets him do that, staring up at Eddie with hot, trusting eyes. Eddie pushes his hips forward until Buck's knuckles bump his lower lip, then does it again, sliding his cock into Buck's mouth over and over and watching him take it until that building heat shatters into a million brilliant sparks and he comes down Buck's throat with a broken shout.
Buck chokes a little at that, and Eddie tries to pull out, but Buck's hand on his hip is like iron, holding Eddie close so that he can drink every last drop of that shuddering aftermath. By the time he finally lets Eddie's cock slip out of his mouth, Eddie is sagging against the wall, boneless and unsure of how much longer his knees will keep holding him up.
Abruptly, he decides to solve that problem by sliding down the wall, pulling up his pants just enough that his bare ass isn't on the cold tile floor. It's not the most graceful move, but he doesn't have the wherewithal right now to care about that, not when Buck is right there, wide-eyed and red-cheeked and swiping at the mess on his face. He blushes harder when he meets Eddie's eyes, and that's thrilling.
"Hey, come here," Eddie says, catching at his cheek, and Buck lets out a breath of laughter and lets himself be pulled into a kiss. Eddie chases the taste lingering on his tongue, the evidence of what they've just done, and Buck makes a soft noise into the kiss, clutching at Eddie's face for a moment before he pulls back.
"Wow," he whispers, and Eddie can't help it: he starts laughing, dropping his head onto Buck's warm, bare shoulder and laughing helplessly, giddy with it. Buck's shoulders shake too. He presses a smiling kiss to the side of Eddie's face. "Shut up."
"Sorry, sorry," Eddie manages, but it takes a minute for him to pull back and try to compose himself. "Should we, uh…"
"Get cleaned up?" Buck finishes.
They probably should. Eddie doesn't exactly feel like moving right now, though. "Yeah."
Buck holds him close a moment longer. Then he pulls back with a sigh like it pains him to do it and pushes himself up to his feet. He buttons his jeans one-handed, offers his other hand to Eddie to pull him up, and doesn't let go for a long moment after they're both standing. He licks his lips, and it turns out that's fucking distracting now. Eddie's got a feeling that a lot of things about Buck are going to be distracting now that he knows what Buck looks like sucking his cock. "Eddie, listen, I, uh…"
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, dragging his eyes away from Buck's mouth with an effort.
Buck huffs laughter. His eyes are bright, but there's some caution in his face now. "Uh, nothing. It can wait."
"Okay," Eddie manages, and lets him go. He does up his pants as he watches Buck retreat into the apartment, half-naked, sex-mussed, and fucking beautiful, and he wonders, not for the first time tonight, how the hell he managed to miss this for so long.
Buck brings him a glass of water and a change of clothes. It feels vaguely surreal but Eddie lets him do it anyway, because it seems like Buck has a routine for this, and Eddie has no idea what the etiquette is supposed to be for the aftermath of kitchen sex with your best friend whom you've just figured out that you might in fact be in love with.
He's an idiot. Buck is going to laugh at him about this for the rest of time, and he's going to deserve it.
At least Buck seems slightly at a loss, too. He's blushing when he hands Eddie the clothes and the water and says the downstairs bathroom is all his; Eddie wants to kiss him again, but he thinks maybe they both need a minute.
In the bathroom, he cleans himself up and changes into a pair of Buck's sweatpants and a t-shirt, both of them a size too big for him. That makes him feel warm all the way through, and it isn't even a new feeling; he usually borrows Buck's clothes to sleep in, when he sleeps over here, and he always likes it.
Exactly how long he's felt like this about Buck without noticing, he doesn't know. But he's starting to suspect that the answer to that is embarrassing.
He looks at himself in the mirror for a minute after he's done, though what he's expecting to see, he doesn't know. His hair is a mess and there's a small but obvious love bite at the base of his throat, but there's no visible evidence of any kind of seismic shift in his universe.
He looks calm. More surprising, maybe: he feels calm. He's not panicking. He's a little nervous, but it's an exhilarating roller coaster feeling, like he's standing on the edge of something really great.
He hopes so, anyway. This whole thing was Buck's idea in the first place, and it might take them a while—this all might have taken them both way too long—but when it comes to the important things they generally end up on the same page in the end.
Back out in the main loft, the lights are dim and Buck is perched on the couch in a hoodie and a pair of thin pajama pants that cling flatteringly to the lines of his thighs. He looks up nervously when Eddie comes in.
"Hey," he says. His hands flicker briefly before he presses them palm-down on his thighs like he's afraid of what they might do.
"Hey," Eddie says, sitting down next to him. Not touching, but close enough that they could. They usually sit like that, no matter how much space there is. Another thing he never really thought twice about. "You gave me a hickey."
Buck blushes a fascinating shade of red. "Uh, sorry."
"I don't mind."
"No?"
"No." Eddie clears his throat, hesitates, then decides to just—go for it. "So. About that thing you were saying earlier."
"Which thing?"
"That we should just date each other."
Buck puts a hand over his face, exhaling laughter. "I did say that, didn't I."
"Yeah." Eddie nudges him with one foot. "I think it's a good idea."
That gets him a sidelong look. Buck still has a hand over his face, so it's hard to read his expression. "You do?"
"Yeah," Eddie says again. Now there's the fear, just a little ripple of it. Not of what this means, not of the fact that his understanding of himself has just been flipped neatly on its head, but of the possibility that Buck will say no.
He doesn't think it'll happen. But it's a possibility.
"Really?" Buck asks.
"Yeah, really."
"Because you, um, half an hour ago you said you were straight. Just saying."
"Well," Eddie says reasonably. "Clearly I was an idiot."
Buck drops his hand, then starts laughing. Some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates, like whatever he was expecting, whatever he was worried about, it wasn't that. "Uh, yeah. I mean, same."
"And it's okay if you were—I know you were joking earlier," Eddie says carefully. "We were both joking. So if you don't want to, or if you need some time, or…"
Buck is already shaking his head. "No! No, that isn't it at all, I just, I feel like I'm kind of—I feel like this is one of those, congratulations, you won the prize drawing for a free car! kind of situations except then you read the fine print and it's like you didn't actually win after all and it's all a scam—you know?"
Eddie squints at him. "Am I the free car in this scenario?"
"I don't know! I just keep thinking, what if this was all just because—I know it's been a while for you, and I'm here, and, like, sex is sex, you know? What if we try it out and you change your mind, and then it's too weird for us to be friends anymore and the best thing in my life is ruined because I couldn't stop wanting things I'm not supposed to have?" He drops his hands in his lap, then looks forlornly up at Eddie. "I don't get this lucky. There has to be a catch."
"The catch is that I clearly have no idea what I'm doing here," Eddie points out, caught between exasperation and fondness and a growing impulse to just lean in and kiss Buck again to see if that clears it up for him.
Buck ducks his head with a little huff of laughter. "I don't know. I think you picked it up pretty quick."
"Thanks," Eddie says dryly. When Buck laughs again, he works up the courage to reach over and take his hand. It's warm and large and when Buck curls his fingers around Eddie's it occurs to him that they've never actually done this before. He's been missing out. He wants to do this all the time. For now, though, he squeezes Buck's hand and says, "I didn't just have sex with you in the middle of your kitchen because it was convenient."
"Okay," Buck whispers, staring down at their joined hands. His thumb moves tentatively, a slide of warmth against the back of Eddie's knuckles.
"I wanted it because it was you. And I'm not going to change my mind."
"You can't promise that."
"I can promise you that I always—every time you leave, every time I have to go home, I want an excuse to stay. Every time I'm on a date, I wish I was with you instead. So this? Us?" He gestures between them: Buck's body and his own, touched and known in ways that they haven't been before, this new context that exists between them now. "It just makes sense."
Buck lets out a breathless little noise. "Oh."
"I'm just sorry I didn't put it together sooner."
"We're both kind of dumb," Buck agrees, but he's smiling now. He looks down at their joined hands, chewing his lip, then nods. "Um, me too. About all of it, I mean. I never want you to leave."
Eddie can feel the smile stretching his mouth, stupid and helplessly wide. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I—I want—I want to date you, and, and all of it, and I don't want you to sleep on the pull-out couch tonight." He rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, which seems like it has way too many nerve endings all of a sudden, and looks up with the beginnings of a beautiful smile. "I want to kiss you again."
"Well, you should do that," Eddie says, and he leans in at the same time as Buck to meet in the middle, a sweetly lingering kiss that feels like a sudden sunrise: like the beginning of something bright and golden and beautifully new.