hii emma, how about “coming back for another kiss” in the hope that it sparks something ✨
- @doeeyeseddie
hiiii 🫶🏻 is this something? maybe who knows! // send me a swoony prompt!
Eddie keeps waiting for the nerves to set in.
He keeps waiting for the pressure, for the constant feeling that he’s doing something wrong. That there’s something he should be doing, only he doesn’t know what it is.
He keeps waiting, but it doesn’t arrive.
It’s been two weeks since he’d come out to Buck, hands shaking until Buck’s face split into a grin and everything within him settled.
One week since Buck mentioned, studiously offhand, that things between him and Tommy fizzled out.
A little under twenty-four hours since they got stuck on the roof of a burning skyscraper, and Eddie said “You should know—” just as Buck started to say “In case we don’t make it out of here—”, and they blinked at each other as Lucy Donato dangled a rope ladder between them.
After, at the firehouse, Buck fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt long after he’d gotten dressed. “Should we, uh,” he finally started, then cut himself off with a yawn.
Eddie’s pretty sure the fond smile that slipped across his face gave away everything he has to say. “Tomorrow,” he said anyway. “Get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow. Dinner?”
“Lunch,” Buck countered, and Eddie’s grin widened.
“Lunch,” he agreed.
—
Buck shows up at his door with pink cheeks and hair that looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times.
“I love you,” Eddie says. The words fall out of his mouth reflexively, easy like he says them a dozen times a day.
Buck blinks.
“I, um,” Eddie says, and rubs at his eyebrow. “I had a whole—I was gonna do a whole thing. I had a speech. But that’s the gist—”
He’s interrupted by Buck’s mouth on his, by a warm hand on the back of his neck and a surge of heat that blossoms out from every point of contact, the ripples intersecting like the surface of a lake when it rains.
“I didn’t have a speech,” Buck says, somehow bashful even as his lips brush against Eddie’s cheek with every word. “I was just going to wing it.”
“That works for me,” Eddie murmurs, and turns his head to chase Buck’s mouth with his, just to confirm he can. Buck meets him eagerly, presses closer until Eddie has to take a step back so he doesn’t fall over.
“I did actually make lunch,” he says, and Buck laughs.
“I could eat,” he says, stepping all the way into the house and pulling the door closed behind him.
Eddie leads Buck into the kitchen, and marvels at the way it all seems so familiar even though Buck’s hand is clasped in his. Buck in his house, Buck in his kitchen—nothing has ever felt so comfortably ordinary yet revolutionary all at once.
“I love you, too,” Buck says, just as they cross the kitchen threshold. “By the way. In case it wasn’t—”
“It was,” Eddie says, grinning. “But you can say it again.”
Buck huffs. “Maybe I’m reconsidering.”
“No, you’re not,” Eddie says, and tugs on Buck’s hand to pull him closer.
“No, I’m not,” Buck agrees, the final syllables lost somewhere between them. Buck kisses him slowly, like they have all the time in the world, and Eddie keeps waiting for the nerves to set in.
But he’s never felt steadier.
send me a swoony prompt!
