#niesfics

[gayhoediaz]

Eddie makes it about two houses down before he stops the car with a sigh—he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first, his body moving without his brain’s permission.

“You, uh—you forget something?” Buck calls as he gets out of the car, walking down the street to meet him, the light, barely there drizzle of rain coming down around them like a daze.

“Yeah,” Eddie confesses, walking towards him, his steps longer, steadier—more sure than any of the ones he thinks he’s ever taken in the past—eyes trained on Buck’s face.

“What? I can—I can run in and get it,” Buck says, shifting his weight as if he’s about to turn around and run back into the house.

“It’s not in there,” Eddie says—and that’s all the warning he gives Buck before he’s clutching his face in between his hands, mouth hungry as he slides it over Buck’s.

[gayhoediaz]

the benefits of floor time

T || 2.2k

“Maddie thinks you’re in love with me,” Eddie states, and Buck nods once. “Are you?” he repeats—slower now, not as if Buck is stupid—never, not once, has he ever made Buck feel stupid—but as if he’s… encouraging him to… slow down. To process.

“I-I love you,” is all Buck can stutter, along with as much of a shrug as he can manage in this position.

“And I love you,” Eddie confirms—still slow. “But that’s not what I asked you, either.”

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[gayhoediaz]

bruises of always

T || 3.3k || 9.13 CODA

“You want a bruise?” Eddie mumbles—and it’s by sheer magic that Buck doesn’t drop to his knees and propose right there. Eddie doesn’t give him a joke about asking for a hickey at thirty-five. Nor a joke about asking for a hickey before they’ve even kissed, much less had a mere two minute conversation about what this is no—Eddie just… gets it. Because Buck isn’t asking for a hickey, or a love-bite, not in traditional terms. He wants a bruise. He’s already bruised all over from horrible, abusive people, he has fucking taser marks on the other side of his neck that are still tender.

Buck looks like he’s been through the ringer, because he has been through the ringer—they both have—and if he has to see them each and every day in the mirror for the next few weeks as they fade from red, to purple, to blue, to yellow, to gone—he wants to know that at least one of them wasn’t born out of cruelty. Not an injury, but rather a piece of art—one carefully painted out of this—out of them—with Eddie holding the paintbrush in the form of his beautiful mouth; his intoxicating, safe, undivided, irreplaceable attention.

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[gayhoediaz]

tea, midnight whispers, and answers found on a couch

T || 4.6k

“The whole, uh…” Buck has to take a beat to swallow; he’s not smiling anymore—Eddie isn’t either. They’re just breathing. Stalling—not because they’re nervous, but because it feels good—stalling; soaking this in. This very moment, right here; the second they do this, everything is going to change. Buck can’t wait for everything to change, but this is good, too—sitting at the very top of a rollercoaster, just waiting for the drop. The rush. “…whole confessing your, uh…” Buck continues—eyes falling closed; they’re too close to see anything now, anyway. Eddie’s hand has stopped combing through his curls, instead supporting the back of his head above where his forearm is doing the same. Holding him. “…confessing your mutual, undying love thing. ‘S usually sealed with a kiss.” If his chin twitches a fraction of an inch up, and his bottom lip drops just a little bit, he thinks he’s allowed. “Eddie…” he breathes, when an entire second passes and he doesn’t move. Or speak.

“You’re letting me take the jump off the bridge?” Eddie jokes through a whisper—almost as if they’re two teenagers, giggling under the covers at a sleepover way past their bedtime.

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[gayhoediaz]

tuesday, i’m in love

E || 3.3k

“You expect me to keep edging us while you’re practically reciting wedding vows?” he asks, lowering his head just enough to brush the tips of their noses together.

“Well… pavloving you could make for an interesting ceremony,” Buck quirks an eyebrow, and then—only because he’s determined to win this one, and he happens to have an excellent view of Eddie’s face—he flicks the button on the toy.

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[gayhoediaz]

cherry top's

E || 6.3k

"I do kinda miss those thick, late-night milkshakes on your corner," Eddie says, his voice slipping through the line, slow and easy—warm enough that Buck feels it settle deep, deep within his chest. "What’s that place called again?" "Cherry Top’s," Buck supplies, grinning into the phone. "Right, yeah,” Eddie confirms, smile audible. “Took forever to get a sip.” “Yeah, they uh…” Buck agrees, voice catching slightly. “They really make you work for those, huh?” God, Buck doesn’t even know how they got here. [Or: Buck and Eddie have a late night conversation about, uh... milkshakes.]

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[gayhoediaz]

to exhale

T || 7.8k

“I didn’t know,” she assures him.

“You suspected.”

“Not for too long,” she shakes her head. “But the past few years, you… you’ve seemed… withdrawn, and… I’ve been finding you all these wonderful women, but even the women you have found yourself… I must say, it’s seemed as if you’ve been…”

“…performing? Playing a part?” Eddie finishes softly when she trails off for a moment too long.

“Holding your breath,” she says, instead. And… oh… there’s the third tear, and fourth—the fifth one burning in his waterline as he sniffles again, flaring his nostrils in an attempt to keep them at bay once again. Holding his breath. Yeah. Exactly. God, that’s exactly what he’s been doing. “And your Evan—your Buck…” she says, then, the corners of her mouth lifting knowingly; Eddie can’t help but let his own do the same. “The way he cooks, the way he hugs Christopher, the way he looks at you? The three of you together?” she takes his hand again, giving it another squeeze. “Such a beautiful family,” she says. “So much love.”

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[gayhoediaz]

euphemisms for fucking

M || 4.7k

It’s not that Eddie is against it—he fully intends on joining in… at some point. It’s just fun seeing how many ridiculous ones Buck can come up with before he finally gives in.

That being said, he resonates that if he doesn’t actually say anything, he’s not actually giving in.

Which is how he finds himself in the engine at the end of a shift, tuning out the rest of the team’s conversation, instead deliberately knocking his foot against Buck’s. Once. Buck knocks back, of course—he doesn’t even think he realizes he does it, it’s just… how they work, how they move—what they do. Then he does it again, and again, and finally Buck’s eyes settle on his, an amused crease of confusion between his eyebrows as he keeps tapping him back.

“Knocking boots!” Buck announces the second they climb back into his Jeep after the shift—so loudly he nearly startles Eddie with it, finger wagging up in the air and everything—like he just figured out the meaning of life. “You…” he leans across the gearshift to press a kiss to Eddie’s lips—both of them humming into it. “…were saying knocking boots,” he repeats, a broad grin of self-satisfaction on his face as he leans back into his own seat and starts the car up. “I’m breaking you.”

“Hm, I didn’t actually say anything,” Eddie points out, arching an eyebrow.

“Ah, but I’m getting closer!”

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