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“Up next,” the MC cuts in, his falsely cheerful voice saturating the speakers to be heard over the ever-growing noise of the place, “uh, Eddie, with some Springsteen. Give it up for Eddie!”
The crowd erupts in encouraging claps, while Eddie hangs his head with a sigh before slowly pushing himself up and out of their booth. “That one?” He shakes his head at Chimney. “You picked that one? Chim, I can’t pull off the Boss.”
“Not like this, you can’t,” Ravi cuts in, waving Eddie over. Buck watches as Eddie complies by taking a careful step forward, albeit with a deeply suspicious frown.
Ravi grips his wrist and rolls up one of Eddie’s sleeves, then the other one, and Eddie snorts lightly as he sways with every pull at his arms. He definitely is a little drunk, Buck decides.
Meanwhile, Ravi contemplates his handiwork for a second, head titled, before he tugs Eddie forward and undoes the top buttons of his shirt with frankly impressive speed, smooth enough to get two and almost a third. Eddie pulls back with a laugh, his reflexes clearly slowed, then dips his chin to stare at his own uncovered chest.
There’s a sheen of sweat in the hollow of his throat, down his sternum where dark hair dusts the skin and spreads out over his chest, disappearing in the shadow of his shirt.
It was a hot day, it makes sense for Eddie to forego the undershirt, although it must be a little uncomfortable. Buck’s pretty sure he's always worn one under button-ups, but maybe it was just out of habit—and really that’s the only train of thought Buck’s currently allowing himself to follow. The pros and cons.
Of undershirts.
He’s having a hard time finding pros right now.
“Oh, come on,” Eddie shakes his head, but doesn’t make a move to redo them. He actually pulls the half-undone one open with a swift move of his fingers. Buck's throat grates like sandpaper when he swallows.
“Hey, be grateful I didn’t rip the sleeves off,” Ravi shrugs. “That’s how ‘the Boss’—” Ravi mocks with an exaggerated rasp in his voice, “—wears it.”
