Buck’s scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of grease when a long line of heat settles along his spine, a pair of arms wrap around his middle, and a forehead lands between his shoulder blades. A pulse of heat rushes through his veins, and the pan he’s holding slips from his fingers and falls back into the sink with a splash!
“Eddie?” Buck croaks, because it could only be Eddie curled around him like a shadow, sure of his welcome and a little shameless with it. “You, uh… You good?”
Eddie snuffles closer, his stubble prickling against the back of Buck’s neck as he scents him. He drags his nose down the tendon of his throat, then buries his face in the curve of his shoulder, sagging against him with a sigh.
“Better now,” he rumbles, in the same rough sort of voice he falls into first thing in the morning when he hasn’t had his coffee yet. Buck shifts his feet, automatically widening his stance to take more of his weight. “Just needed…”
A long, deliberate inhale. Buck valiantly resists a shiver. “Smells good in here.”
“Lasagna’s in the oven,” Buck offers in a tight, breathless voice. “Should be done soon.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh: low and raspy, the sound of it whispering gently past the shell of Buck’s ear. “Sure. The lasagna.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“You are such a dick,” Buck hisses, his face flushing red-hot. “You couldn’t’ve— I am literally elbow deep in dirty dishes, Eddie.”
Eddie’s arms tighten around him. “Don’t let me stop you,” he says.
I present this little bit of something I've been working on for Reijean week. Nothing major, but it's been coming along, and this is the perfect bit of inspiration to get cracking!
—
“Hey,” Jean suddenly says, tapping Reiner with the back of his hand. Distantly, he wonders how much of his ruminating has been spent staring at Jean. Hopefully not a lot.
“Hm?”
“Look up there.”
So Reiner looks.
Above them, above the wide open horizon, is a pitch dark sky decorated by thousands...no, probably millions of stars that twinkle and radiate softly across the black. Reiner’s eyes dance from star to star before he can even think about it, catching on the brightest ones and connecting them into nonsense shapes with invisible lines. It's truly a sight to behold, and one he hasn’t often allowed himself to appreciate.
But...well, in truth, as he turns to say something in response, to say anything, Reiner finds himself far more interested in watching Jean’s reaction – his wide eyes as they dart back and forth across the expanse of lights; the way his mouth is parted in fascination – utterly taken by the view. He’s drawn his knees up loosely, crossing his arms over top as he just stares. Combined with how he practically glows in the warm firelight, he’s a sight to rival the magic of the stars themselves.
Jean nods, still watching the lights as something like the beginnings of a smile twitches at his lips. He points up again, this time at a little grouping of stars that seem to shine a bit brighter than the ones immediately surrounding them.
“I think those look like a cat.”
—
No pressure tags: @kzellr, @forusuta, @sundew199, and anyone else who wants to join!
Harry grabs at the arm that peeks around the curtain—there’s a yelp and a flurry of swears—and uses that leverage slam a squirming ginger against the shower wall, pinning him place with a forearm across his collarbone.
“George,” he says evenly, not at all surprised by the quarry he’s caught. “Which part of ‘I’ve been living in an active warzone’ made you think it’d be a good idea to sneak up on me in the shower?”
“Huh,” George says, unusually meek. He’s already soaked to the skin, his t-shirt and pajama pants clinging wetly to his frame as the spray from the shower continues to fall overhead. “I’ll admit, this might not’ve been the most well-thought out of pranks.”
Harry considers him for a long moment. He holds out his free hand and sure enough, a potion vial flies into it, dropped at some point during the brief scuffle.
“And what’s this supposed to do?” he asks. Glass vial, pale blue liquid, pink reflect, no time to brew so he already had it in his possession…
“It’s just a hair color potion,” George swears. “Innocent as they come!”
“Bit tame for you lot, though, isn’t it?” Harry muses, lifting a brow.
“We thought you could do with a bit of a laugh,” George explains, a touch put out. “‘S’not like we’re trying to hurt you. In hindsight, we could’ve—” He glances down towards where Harry’s still got his arm pinned across his chest, then glances lower. “—could’ve gone about it better,” he finishes, his voice not unlike a squeak.
Despite himself, Harry feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. “Hmm.”
Knowing better than to take his eyes off his target—especially when that target’s a Weasley twin—Harry lifts the vial to his mouth, uncorking it with his teeth.
“Just a color change?” he checks.
George swallows; Harry can feel his throat flex under his hold.
“Just a color change,” he confirms.
“Cheers, then,” Harry says, and downs the potion in one gulp. He doesn’t feel it take effect, which tracks with what he remembers, but a quick glance up tells him that his fringe has turned a vibrant shade of purple.
George is watching him with wide, almost fascinated eyes. “...Suits you,” he eventually says.
“Thanks,” Harry says with a wolfish grin. “Now get out of my shower.”
Buck bows his head beneath the falling water, his ribs shuddering around a shaky exhale.
He’ll pull himself together eventually. Slap a smile back on his face and remember how to be grateful for what he already has.
But first he needs to mourn. He needs to mourn and mope and shed a tear or twenty: then he can bury these stupid feelings and finally put them to rest.
Maybe it’s time to re-download Bumble and Hinge, make a proper effort at getting back out there and moving on—
The bathroom door slams open with a bang! Buck whips around so fast that he nearly loses his footing, then nearly keels over anyway when he realizes it’s Eddie standing there amongst the clouds of steam.
Eddie, whose chest heaves like he’s just run a marathon, his hair a mess and his shirt only half buttoned—like he’d hauled ass out of the locker room in the middle of changing. Eddie, whose expression is granite but whose eyes are wild, his irises totally eclipsed by burning crimson, that spiced-dark-chocolate-char scent rolling off of him like thunderclouds sweeping in over the horizon.
They stare at each other for one long, charged moment. Buck can barely meet his eyes; there’s something almost feral prowling in the shadows of his gaze—sharp and accusing, honed like a knife’s edge—and it cuts him all the way to the core.
Buck’s throat clicks around a nervous swallow, his pulse pounding in his ears.
“Eddie,” he says, almost helplessly, more of a breath than a word.
Eddie’s nostrils flare, his upper lip curling back to flash a single, pointed canine. Then he’s wrenching open the shower door and stepping determinedly into the spray—still fully dressed, boots, belt, watch and all, what the fuck is he?—and he braces a hand on either side of Buck’s waist, caging him up against the shower wall.
“Eddie!” Buck yelps, suddenly and extremely aware of the fact that he’s bare-ass naked, soap dripping down his arms and conditioner clinging to his curls. He clutches his hands to his chest like that will somehow mask the aforementioned nakedness. “What the hell are you—? Hey!”
“Did you actually think,” Eddie starts, and his voice has settled in this gravely, dangerous place that’s making Buck’s stomach do somersaults. “That I wouldn’t come after you?”
“You— C’mon man, you’re getting soaked. Did you even take your phone out of your pocket—”
“You did,” Eddie decides, continuing as if Buck hadn’t spoken, anger and disbelief dueling across his features. “You thought I was gonna just let you go?”
“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck sighs, letting his head thunk back against the tiles, already exhausted with this whole conversation. “Can’t this at least wait until I’m out of the fucking shower—“
“Clearly it fucking can’t,” he growls, and he cups both of those huge hands around Buck’s jaw and yanks his head back down, forcing him to hold his gaze.
“Because last time I checked, we were in this together,” Eddie says—demands, really. Water streams through his hair and down his face in dozens of rivulets, his wet clothes clinging to every sodden, gorgeous inch of him. “That’s the deal, right? You have my back and I have yours. You go in and I’m right there on you six. I’m the one on the other end of your radio, I’m the one that double checks your harness, I’m the one that anchors your line.”
They’re plastered together: a tangle of water and limbs, fabric and skin. Buck’s mouth moves soundlessly, his voice trapped somewhere beneath the weight of his longing, but even if he could say something he wouldn’t have the words. Static blurs the edges of his vision, his mind emptied of anything that isn’t Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
“There isn’t a universe where I don’t come after you, Buck,” Eddie tells him, with all the force and certainty of gravity itself. “I’d have to be dead in the fucking ground before I’d let you go, and maybe not even then. Because you’re mine. You’re mine,” he insists when Buck can’t help the involuntary little noise that escapes him at the declaration. “And you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to let you spend another second thinking I don’t want you.”
Buck’s heart stops dead in his chest, then kicks in again twice as fast.
“Eddie,” he manages, barely able to hear himself over the sound of the shower pouring overhead. Thank god he’s already got a wall at his back—he’s not sure his legs would support him otherwise, hope turning his joints to jelly. “You… Don’t do this if you don’t mean it. I can’t… I can’t.”
Eddie shifts impossibly closer, angling up until their faces are a hair apart. Their noses brush—a gentle, almost exploratory touch—followed by a solid press of forehead against forehead.
“If you still don’t think I mean it,” he murmurs, his eyes burning like twin flames. “Then you clearly haven’t been listening to me.”
A shared breath.
“Maybe this will finally convince you,” Eddie says, and he leans in and seals his mouth over Buck’s own.
“Sir, if you’re unable to climb out on your own, then we need to hoist you up,” Bobby says. “You can’t stay in your current position without injuring yourself further.”
“I don’t need help, I’m fine!” Dangling Dude yells back. He’s still slowly spinning. “It’s not like I’m the one that called you! Mind your own business!”
Bobby’s mouth twitches, then flattens out.
Stepping back from the ledge, he tells them, “Buck, harness up, Eddie go with him and prep a line, a backboard, and a basket. We can’t assist him while he’s combative and refusing help, but if the situation escalates you’ll have to climb down to him. Hopefully, we can talk some sense into him before it comes to that.”
“Copy that, Cap.”
They move like a well-oiled machine. Eddie goes hunting in the ambulance while Buck fastens himself into his harness, grabbing a coil of rope from the compartment while he’s there, and they meet back somewhere in the middle for their usual safety check.
It goes harness and helmet first, then attach the line and gear bag, then one last check on the helmet for good measure—Buck lost one to a flash flood once, three years ago and Eddie’s never let him hear the end of it.
“Think they’ll be able to talk him down?” Buck asks as Eddie traces along the lines of his harness.
“Not a chance,” Eddie scoffs. His palms skim over Buck’s chest and down his sides, pausing every now and then to adjust a clasp or shift something into place, his brow furrowed in concentration. “He’s gonna argue with them right up until he passes out.”
He gives Buck a quick little tap-tap right over his sternum.
“I don’t know, man,” Buck disagrees, obediently turning so Eddie can check his back. “I think they’ll manage. Bobby and Hen could convince me of almost anything.”
“Well, yeah,” Eddie says. “But that’s mostly because you’re a textbook people-pleaser and extremely susceptible to peer pressure. They’ll have a harder time convincing some rando.”
“Wha— I’m not susceptible to peer pressure!” Buck splutters.
“It’s a genuine miracle that baby-Buck made it all the way to Peru and back without getting abducted or accidentally joining a cult.”
“Okay, asshole, I’m not that bad!”
“Sure,” he drawls out. “Remind me, which one of us let himself be talked into buying three boxes of Thin Mints he’s never gonna eat, and which one said ‘No, thank you’ and kept walking, like a normal person?”
“They were out of Trefoils!” Buck protests. “And I promised I’d buy a box on the way out of the store.”
“Uh-huh. And what about the other two boxes?”
“…They were very persuasive.”
Pointed silence. Buck can almost feel the eyebrow Eddie’s raising at him.
“You know, entrepreneurship is one of the focal tenets of the Girl Scouts program,” he tells him, pretending like he can’t feel the flush creeping down his neck. “So, if you think about it, by buying cookies, I’m actually offering a crucial opportunity to hone their business acumen. I’m nurturing growing minds, Eddie.”
“Of course,” Eddie says loftily. “My mistake.”
He taps again, this time between Buck’s shoulder blades, and with a huff, Buck turns back to face him
“Oh, don’t pout,” he teases. “I’ll eat your Thin Mints for you.”
“‘M not pouting,” Buck pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I already put them in your freezer.”
Buck doesn’t get a chance to talk to Eddie again until they’re loading up to head back to the station.
He’s already outside waiting on him, seemingly nonchalant as he leans against the side of the truck, but there’s a quiet tension pinching at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
Buck doesn’t keep him waiting long.
“Hey,” he starts. “Thanks for, uh, stepping in back there. I tried my best to shake him off, but I guess some people are determined not to take a hint.”
“More like determined not to hear ‘no,’” Eddie grumbles, but his gaze loses some of that tight, flinty edge. “Got your back, man.”
“I know you do,” Buck says, bumping their shoulders together.
Eddie’s nose wrinkles—adorably, but you didn’t hear it here—and leans more of his weight into the press of their shoulders.
“He touched you,” he says unhappily. It isn’t a question.
“Uh, yeah,” Buck admits, ducking his head. “Just a little bit, I dodged when he tried to— um—“ He takes one glance at Eddie’s expression and quickly pivots. “Sorry if I, like, stink or whatever, I know your nose is super sensitive. I’ll hop in the shower when we get ba—“
The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue because Eddie reaches up and wraps a—warm, calloused, fucking huge—hand around the hinge of Buck’s jaw, then drags it purposefully down the column of his throat.
“There,” Eddie says, his voice pitched low. “That’s better.”
“Yeah?” Buck wonders, another rush of yes, alpha, yes, good, mine flooding his hindbrain.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, the tips of his fingers brushing featherlight against his pulse point as he pulls away. He hops up into the cabin, then glances back over at Buck. “You coming?”
Buck shakes himself out of his stupor. “Right behind you.”
