okies, i'm posting a bit of my crack treated seriously pov buck (losing all of his shit) ballroom dancer eddie wip for charlie, who made this request last night. i'd already written a couple hundred words on something related, so when i saw the post i just incorporated what i had into a gift to fill their 'prompt'... @playinginthunderstorms it's funny but this isn't the first time you've derailed a fic of mine in the best possible way, is it charlie? adgjkskk
(unedited so be kind! + pray i can finish in time!!)
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“Show me,” Buck says after finding out about Eddie's never-before-heard-of ballroom dancing exploits from his early teenage years.
Eddie had been regaling the story of how he gave his folks the proverbial finger and got Christopher back home with him, where the kid belongs (in much more detail, seeing as Buck had already heard the bones of that fateful day over facetime a few months back). Which of course meant all the gory details of the chess tournament and poor Christopher's nerves, which also meant Eddie giving him the lead up to what made Eddie drive out to Lubbock in the first place ergo how ballroomgate was released as public knowledge and Eddie came out as a DanceSport athlete. Or how it came up. Whatever.
Point is, Buck now can't unknow about Eddie's ability to Walz a person to within an inch of their life, or what-the-hell-ever it is that Eddie does. Fairly, Buck supposes, the sly fucker has always said that he's an excellent dancer. But Buck has only ever seen anything close to proof of that claim via Eddie's uncoordinated tequila-fuelled moves to Chappell Roan in a hotel suite full of complete strangers, which—wasn't really any proof at all. No offence, Eddie.
“What?” Eddie smiles a funny little smile but looks confused. Ha! Dude can't be half as confused as Buck. “You want me to… With you? Now?” Eddie's looking at him with this sort of guarded expression that Buck is weirdly finding difficult to read. Weird because Buck can usually pretty much always tell what Eddie is thinking. “You seriously want to ballroom dance with me, here and now, in the living room?”
The thing is, this.
Tommy and Maddie didn't know shit. They didn't know what the hell they were talking about when they said that Buck was in love with Eddie.
Yes, obviously, everything Buck feels for Eddie is because Buck loves Eddie. Obviously. Like, of course he loves Eddie. The guy is Buck's best friend for chrissakes, and Buck loves him with everything he has, everything that he is. Of course he does. Of course.
Although, if he's still trying to be fair about it all, Buck loving Eddie may not be the reason for absolutely everything he feels for his friend.
That being said, this fact certainly absolutely one hundred percent did not mean that Buck was in love with Eddie.
Jeez.
He can explain, alright?
It goes like this.
Since realising he is into dudes as well as chicks and everybody in between, Buck has maybe started to notice how hot Eddie really is. Or actually that's—okay, no, that's not strictly true. Buck has always known that Edmundo Diaz is hotter than the fucking sun. Like, come on. Eddie's hotness is absurdly obvious to absolutely anyone who can see. Hell, Buck would put bets on even people who can't see still knowing Eddie Diaz is hot shit, seeing as Eddie's hotness is definitely not restricted to merely his looks—even if yes, fine, the guy looks like a Greek god sent down to earth to taunt mere mortals, no point in beating around the bush about this. But, as to not digress, Eddie Diaz is hot in such myriad ways that Buck would easily lose track of them all if he ever tried looking at each and every individual one of them head on.
Competence; check. Bravery; check. Awesome parenting skills; check. Supremely kind-hearted; check. Cute as a button; check. Great at getting salsa verde stains out of your favourite pink cardigan; check.
Check, check, check. Yada, yada, yada.
You getting it?
He could very easily go on but would probably never stop coming up with new points, and he has a point he's already trying his best to make here.
So, his point, is that before Buck's bisexual awakening, Eddie's hotness was just one of those unchangeable absolute facts of the universe. You know, one of those things you don't ever need to question, like gravity and the earth revolving around the sun and The Beatles being the best band ever.
Buck 4.0, or 5.0, or whatever the hell version he is now, he looks at the universe (men, non-binary individuals) a little differently than those who came before him. He is looking at the universe (men, non-binary individuals) in a way he never has before. Which, right, sure, fine, also isn't strictly a true fact, what with the way Buck has always checked out hot guys et al, it's just that—it's different now he realises what that is. What it means. What it can mean.
So when Buck is looking at Eddie post-bisexual revelation, it's not just like Eddie is unfathomably hot, it is sometimes things such as Eddie's skin is so gorgeous I could lick it and Eddie's throat is so long and inviting it makes me crazy and Eddie's big hands are so fucking attractive I want them on my body STAT et cetera, et cetera. And yes, he can be big enough to admit to himself that it can get a bit distracting at times, but that's only because of Buck finally allowing these sorts of observations to mean something in his life. Mean something, you know, more.
It's just—it's all very new to him, the whole not-only-going-after-women thing, and can therefore get kind of overwhelming and certainly a little, uh, uncontrollable at times. Like, he's just suddenly so über aware of not only women's bodies, you know? In a more involved way than simply gym rat shit. He can find himself almost staring at times, if he's not careful. Therefore it stands to reason that it is especially difficult when looking at someone as smoking fucking hot as Eddie. And hey, Buck looks at Eddie a lot. He works with the guy! Plus he spends most of his spare time with Eds—or rather he did before Eddie left LA. And Eddie is back now, so. Same problem.
Except for the fact that his ogling is obviously not something more when it comes to Eddie. Obviously. Because, well, it's Eddie, you know?
It's Eddie.
Eddie, who is there for Buck, always, so solid in all of his perfectly flawed brilliance; Eddie, who has a silver star and yet is the goofiest guy Buck knows, forever doing things like pulling kooky faces when he forgets stuff and pretending that raindrops careering down a window pane are racing each other; Eddie, who will get excited for Buck just because Buck is excited over something (usually something Eddie couldn't care less about, because Eddie is just nice like that); Eddie, who is the best father Buck has ever known, despite of and in spite of his mistakes, who unbelievably wants Buck to be a part of his son's world, and trusts Buck with Christopher's precious life to the extent where if Eddie's life were to ever—God, he really can't think about that; Eddie, who is not just the best father but the best man Buck has ever known, the bravest and kindest and most genuine person on the entire fucking planet, and probably the hottest to boot.
It's just Eddie, you know? Just Eddie.
It's Eddie.
Eddie.
It's—
Oh.
Oh fuck.
It's Eddie.
It's Eddie!
Aaaaand all of that is pretty much how it went when Buck realised (infuriatingly, upsettingly, devastatingly) that the thing was, Tommy and Maddie did know what the hell they were talking about when each of them said they thought Buck—actually, you know what? No. Never happened. Neither of them actually said anything at all about Buck being in love with Eddie. When he thought back to how those conversations had gone, that part was all him. Buck Buckley, filling in all the blanks he now can't ever unblank.
Kind of like the brand new deliciously exciting image of Eddie ballroom dancing which hey, brings this full circle.
So, there we have it. Turns out that Buck is, in fact, very much in love with Eddie.
Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war… Or whatever Bill Shakespeare had Caesar say in that crazy play Buck had to study at high school.
And now?
Now Eddie and Christopher have been back home for just over a week, and Buck is so deliriously happy and so epically sad about it, all at once, all at the same horribly confusing time.
Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with this?
It's like he keeps telling everyone, including himself; the true thing he is silently screaming, seemingly in vain, into the void and the universe at large...
Eddie is Buck's Very Straight best friend.
Edmundo Diaz is a straight man who Buck has idiotically gone and fallen in love with. Idiotically because 1) Buck hadn't even realised that's what he'd done and 2) EDDIE IS STRAIGHT.
Cool, huh?
(That's sarcasm, by the way, just in case some imaginary person did not get that).
Buck being in love with his straight best friend, you will find, is actually the single worst thing to have happened to anyone ever in the history of humanity.
Buck cannot believe he is this clichéd.
Except for the way that yes, of course he can believe it. Of course he can. This is Evan Buckley and his terrible, no good life, right? So yeah, sure, of course he's in love with Eddie, his Very Straight best friend. Of fucking course he is.
Fuck you, universe.
Seriously, there are Reddit-famous posts about guys like him.
Anyways, that is just one facet of Buck hating on himself for this whole debacle. Another is, that right here, right now, Buck is frankly disgustingly masochistic enough to have just asked Eddie to show him how to fucking ballroom dance in his—Eddie's? Their?—living room.
Like, what the everliving fuck.
“Yes, Eddie, really,” he's confirming with a smile that ohhhhhhh, is really costing him. “I absolutely want you to show me how to ballroom dance. Like, uh, you know, to—to teach me how, yeah?” is his batshit answer to Eddie's Give Buck An Out In The Form Of A Question, because Buck is plainly some sort of lunatic.
He wonders absently if there is a full moon, and thinks there might be when he has to fight back a blood-curdling howl.
Eddie, though, he simply shrugs, an adorable expression that's giving Robert De Niro adorning his Leading Man features. Then, insanely, he is stepping into Buck's personal space and grabbing one of Buck's hands with one of his own, before he's snaking the other around Buck's waist and pulling Buck's body into his.
Buck very nearly blacks out on the spot.
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tagging, play or nay: @shealynn88 @sharkfish @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius @angela-feelstoomuch @woodchoc-magnum @kitteneddiediaz @buddiebeginz @watchyourbuck @treasurehuntbuck @daffi-990 @colonoscopys @shitouttabuck @lamardeuse @idealuk @veronae-buddie @isaacthedruid @team-118 @kyoteugly @hotshotsxyz @raisesomehale @dontcallpanic @dear-massacre @exhuastedpigeon @lookforanewangle @seaweed-water @kyoteugly and anybody else who wants to do the thing!
so i'm supposed to be working on my sterek wip—and i am! i wrote about 1k today—but bc of all you lovely mutual's and folk i follow now also into buddie (main culprits being @inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius and @angela-feelstoomuch) and ofc bc of bi!buck confirmed, i've started ploughing through 911 over the last few weeks like a bloodhound chasing a rabbit through the woods and have consequently, inevitably, started a buddie wip. fml. anyways, it's all your lot's fault so here, have just under 1k of my first buck pov buddie quarantine wip and everyone pls forgive my adhd writing brain lol.
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Eddie was so fucking drunk. And it wasn't really either of their faults.
Because daytimes? When they weren't on shift? They were easy.
In the daytime there was just so much stuff to do with Christopher. So many games to play and so many cool things Buck was finding he could teach the little guy. And there were things that Christopher was teaching Buck, too, like, did you know that a crocodile can't stick out its tongue? Because Buck didn't, not until Christopher told him. And how cool is that?
The three of them—Buck, Christopher and Eddie—had started a Strip Jack Naked tournament and they now played it every night that he and Eddie were home, just before bath and bedtime stories. Turns out Christopher loved card games, and loved the rude name given to Buck and Maddie's childhood favourite even more, because what ten year old wouldn't? There was obviously zero stripping involved; Buck didn't even know why it was called what it was called, only that it was super fun, and just about easy enough for Christopher to learn but not so easy he'd get bored too fast, y’know? And what was funny was that the little dude hadn't even won a single round yet, and that somehow hadn't seemed to deter the slugger in his efforts one bit. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd warned, “Just you two wait,” and had this look on his face that said he was determined to become a grandmaster and beat Buck at his own game—or, even better, beat his Dad and win the prize of Eddie having to tidy Christopher's room for a week (a suggestion of Buck's that Eddie had not been overjoyed about).
In turn, Buck and Eddie had now lost countless games of Mario Kart to the kid; been repeatedly humiliated at Pictionary (the kiddie version); and each had the least amount of kudos points for Misfits, a game that Eddie apparently used to play with his sisters. It was another drawing-type one, where each player took a body section on their turn—head, torso and arms, or legs and feet—and then folded the paper over to hide the result until everyone was done and Christopher would unfold the paper and they'd all cry with laughter at the results. Misfits didn't even technically have any winners or losers, but hey, try telling Christopher that.
Evenings, though? The few hours left between Christopher's bedtime and Eddie and Buck turning in for the night? They were tougher.
Tough on Buck, at least.
See, he'd had this dream, a few weeks back. A dream about—well.
About Eddie.
In the dream, Buck had been washing the dishes in Eddie and Chris's apartment after Eddie had made another attempt at cooking his abuela's delicious Barbacoa recipe (Buck had tasted the real deal once when Isabel had come to stay and Eddie had invited Buck over to dinner), and Eddie had suddenly crowded into him from behind, crushing the length of his body up against Buck's back and reaching around to circle soft but firm hands around Buck's wet wrists. Startled and confused, Buck had open opened his mouth to say something when Eddie had placed his hot mouth onto the sensitive spot on Buck's neck, just below his right ear and—
Buck had woken abruptly, writhing and twitching and groaning, jizz spilling all over his freshly changed bed sheets.
After that, evenings were a challenge.
They were now made up of all the usual fun and dumb stuff that Buck and Eddie got up to, plus the occasionally deeper topics in their lives that they both seemed to struggle with but tried their best to share with each other, but there was also Don't look too long at Eddie's hands, and Don't look at Eddie's mouth while he speaks, and Don't check out Eddie's ass in those jeans I'd told him he should definitely buy when the shops were still open and the world hadn't yet gone to shit and I wasn't losing my damn mind.
Buck had moved into Eddie and Chris's place when Quarantine hit because it had just made sense, and over the course of the last six months he had somehow managed to fall in lust with his best friend.
So, times when they both had tomorrow off work, and when the confinement got to be a little too much, they would drink. Sometimes a little too much. One of them always stayed relatively sober though, just in case Chris needed something in the night, and tonight, Buck had been allowing Eddie to enjoy himself because the guy hardly ever really let his hair down, and he deserved to.
Eddie got giggly when he drank Tequila, Buck noticed.
They'd already sunk a few beers prior to cracking open the bottle of Cazadores Reposado, and after Buck had stopped at two shots but Eddie had continued, Eddie had become progressively loose and was now starting to giggle like a frickin schoolgirl. Which, embarrassingly, seemed to be doing things to Buck—not that Buck had a thing for school girls, jesus no, it was just that Eddie sounding so soft and vulnerable and happy was something that apparently really did it for Buck.
Fuck his life.
The guy also got very touchy-feely on tequila, too.
They'd migrated from the kitchen table to sitting so close to each other on the sofa that they were permanently touching, as well as all the times Eddie kept nudging his shoulder further into Buck's and squeezing his hand on Buck's knee. Then his thigh.
Seriously, fuck Buck's life.
The way Eddie had gotten so comfortable with touching Buck was becoming a majorly uncomfortable situation for Buck to have to deal with. Not because Buck didn't want the attention, but because he really fucking did.
And that was a problem, for a few reasons.
Reason one was that Buck wasn't gay, and didn't really understand these feelings he was having.
Reason two was, as far as Buck knew, Eddie wasn't gay either.
Reason three (and Buck's biggest fear) was Buck being terrified of losing what he had with Eddie. He loved Eddie, and Christopher, and he was pretty sure they loved him back—and he certainly wasn't about to let his rabid and confusing libido ruin any of that.
Drunk Eddie, though? It seemed Drunk Eddie really had it in for Buck tonight.
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fingers crossed i can finish it before buck goes insane! xp
Buck had counted each terrifying one of them. Those moments, between one to the next, they'd felt like entire lifetimes.
Twenty-seven seconds.
The length of time they’d held each other's steadfast gaze through the glass that separated them; he and Eddie in different rooms yet locked together in a shared, living hell.
Twenty-seven seconds.
It was how long it had taken the CDC doctors to inspect Eddie's hazmat for rips or holes as they'd checked in minute detail for any place the toxic substance could have breached the suit and reached Eddie's skin.
Twenty-seven seconds.
That's what it had taken, in the end. Barely a half-minute—not the full four, as that psychologist from New York would have the world believe.
Buck had read about it in a Big Think article one time:
‘Holding four minutes of sustained eye contact with another person is a sure-fire way to fall in love.’
There had been some other stuff in there about asking a series of tailored personal questions before beginning the looking part of the experiment, but he and Eddie already had six years worth of personal.
No two people on earth knew each other the way Eddie knew Buck and Buck knew Eddie—and although some folks would say that couldn't possibly be true, Buck didn't give a damn about a single one of them.
Twenty-seven seconds.
And Buck knew that Eddie was just as in love with him as Buck had been with Eddie for those six years they'd spent by each other's side. Or, at least, Eddie was in love with Buck now; Buck was sure of it, after the terror he'd seen in Eddie's eyes that was reflected in his own, when they’d each thought they might be about to lose the other half of themselves.
Twenty-seven seconds.
It was more than long enough, after everything they'd been through together.
Twenty-seven seconds.
Then the doctors had given Eddie the all-clear and the pair of them had burst into relieved, happy-tears.
Buck had already speed-dialled Carla (they'd taken Eddie's mobile from him) because he knew Eddie needed to hear Christopher's voice—they both did—and Buck handed the phone to Eddie as soon as the doctors let Eddie tear his way out of that awful room that Buck never wanted to see ever again for as long as he fucking lived, and they'd held back the tears as best they could, for their boy's sake, while they chatted on speakerphone just like it was any other day, about Eddie's shitty cooking and which Lego structures they were going to build when they got back home.
Because that's where they both knew Buck belonged: With Eddie and Chris. The three of them, at Casa Diaz.
Together.
Twenty-seven seconds.
That's how it began.
Twenty-seven seconds.
With those three words.
“Twenty-seven seconds... Eds, that's how long it took me to realise how stupid I've—”
It took Eddie's hands no time at all to find Buck's face and pull it down into his own, Eddie pressing his lips to Buck's and kissing twenty-seven seconds and six years of pure, unadulterated love into them.
Twenty-seven seconds.
Until they were uttering those other three words to each other, over and over again.
They cried more, and laughed about it.
Then they kissed more.
And if Buck had to hazard a guess at how long it took before Hen and Chim and Bobby were able to pull them apart, trying their best to admonish them through their fits of giggles?
“Stupid,” Buck agrees. “So fucking stupid, Eds—I'm stupid, so stupidly fucking gone on you that I can hardly fucking breathe, fuck.”
He knows he's rambling as Eddie huffs out a breathy chuckle—Eddie's right hand now grabbing onto Buck's left side to wrangle him into the exact position Eddie needs to keep getting himself off, a thumb digging hard into the dip just above Buck's hip bone—but he can't help it.
Buck hopes Eddie's death-grip will leave marks there that he'll be able to admire tomorrow, and ponders for a moment over whether tattoos of a bruise would look weird or not.
They all leave, eventually, because everybody leaves Evan Buckley. It's like, a whole thing that Buck should not have tried to forget that he knows.
Everyone except Eddie.
Although—and Buck gets just how wildly ironic this is—it was only yesterday that Eddie told Buck about his absolutely absurd batshit crazy idea of moving back to El Paso, which Buck's brain consequently dealt with by ceasing to send messages to his lungs and diaphragm and trachea that instruct the organs on how to keep breathing.
OR
A Coda for s08e08 'Wannabies', including the making of plans, a little gift giving, and a lot of two six-foot plus extra Idiots In Love.
buddie, explicit, 4025 words, pwp with feelings—so many feelings, wolfy-type themes (just kind of buck being all pack-like), insecure!buck, first time, mild kink, boys in love... (check the link for comprehensive tags)
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When Buck finally gets his hands on Eddie—the first chance he gets to begin slowly peeling back Eddie's layers and have Eddie naked and pliant underneath him—he beelines straight for that triangular thatch of gorgeously dark hair that's nestled in the enticing divot between Eddie's pecs.
Buck runs both his palms over it, reverently, smoothing it down and then messing it up again, pawing away at it like some sort of feral thing, even though Buck is the one who feels like prey, here, what with Eddie's intensely sepia gaze one-hundred-percent fixed on Buck, only Buck, Eddie watching him like a hawk with his pupils blown-out all-black and hazy-lidded yet somehow still new-mint copper-sharp as ever, those unblinking eyes trained solely on Buck and Buck alone, just like they always are whenever Buck is close to Eddie.
And right now, Buck is closer to Eddie than he's ever been.
He wonders briefly how he'd managed to misinterpret the way Eddie only ever had eyes for him; only ever has eyes for Buck.
Dragging non-existent fingernails through the soft fuzz that is Eddie's chest hair, Buck thinks about tearing through Eddie's skin and crawling beneath Eddie's ribcage to get inside of Eddie and try clawing his way into Eddie's heart, hoping it might just be big enough for both Christopher and Buck to live in there, and he has to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from acting on the visceral instinct he has to begin marking Eddie up, to claim him (that will have to come later), needing to sink his canines into the thick, wet muscle so he can document the pain it brings and taste copper in his mouth, so he knows that this is real and not just another of the vivid wet-dreams he has most nights.
Buck finds himself snuffling and grunting as he buries his face in the centre of Eddie's chest—wanting more, wanting in—and a smile pulls uncontrollably at his kiss-swollen lips as his nose digs deep and tries its absolute damnedest to carve out a place for itself, in a special corner of Eddie's heart, somewhere that's just for Buck. He wants to create a home inside of Eddie where he can exist when it is just the two of them, just like it is right now, where they can both reside, someplace deep inside of Eddie's core.
A den, Buck thinks to himself, and another smile takes over his blushing face.
Brilliantly, Buck can feel Eddie's heart beating away like a trooper underneath his cheek and it's a tonic like nothing else Buck's ever known, or needed more.
Alive, alive, alive.
Happy that it is keeping Eddie alive, and that Eddie is the one keeping Buck alive—like he always does, always has, since practically Day One of their partnership—Buck laps away at the lush hair covering Eddie's sternum, licking both with-and-against the grain, tongue stretched long and flat and so fucking thirsty. He hears Eddie laugh a small huffy thing as Buck nips at the individual strands before he's trying to bite down on almost-nothing, driving himself fucking wild with this, with Eddie, the way he's always wanted to.
i posted this at like five AM when i couldn't get back to sleep, but i'm now classing it as fuck it friday from last week lol where i was tagged by the lovely @daffi-990 (i think?!)
it's buddie flavoured buck pov that i have no real idea what to do with yet. it has passive suicidality, explicit thoughts/content, and some strange facts about the animal kingdom/humans/the world etc that might gross some people out, so i'm whacking it beneath a cut xp
Sometimes, Buck thinks about killing himself. Not actual like fantasising or anything, it's more just—a brief but crystal clear notion that sort of washes over him. Most times, it's when he's doing okay mentally, and just remembering the times when he wasn't. What strikes him the most about it is that it's truly like a light bulb moment every single time—just kind of like actually, wouldn't that be a fucking great solution to my problem? even though he's easily had the exact same thought a few dozen times before.
Objectively, he knows it's an odd thing to think about. Weird to be thinking that way in general. Like, he gets that it's strange to muse over taking your own life in such a 'whatever' blasé sort of fashion, it's just that Buck's sidled up to Death—brash and cocky yet fluttering his lashes and toying with its scythe with a pinkie finger like he's putting the moves on it or some shit—so many fucking times by this point, like, since he could walk and talk, pretty much, that thinking about it doesn't really feel all that odd or weird or strange to him.
It's not like he would ever actually do it, it's just—a thing he thinks sometimes. Kind of like when he thinks about crowding into Eddie and pressing him into something hard and flat or soft and giving, and slipping his tongue into Eddie's mouth before flipping him over and sliding his dick between Eddie's ass cheeks and kissing the back of Eddie's neck and his crown and his shoulder blades while rutting into his friend like a dog in heat. Until it all becomes something messier and far less controlled. More desperate. Feral, maybe; kind of like clinging to life when there's death around every corner. Until he's not so much kissing Eddie anymore but using Eddie's body to keep on breathing and to plant little seeds of hope there that could grow into something like a life. Until he's not so much rutting anymore as he is fucking his feelings into the pores of his best friend's skin so that Eddie knows good and proper that Buck loves loves loves him, more than anybody else has or does or can or could, like there's maybe a small chance Buck might come good on his not-fantasy of shuffling off this mortal coil if Eddie were to ever leave him. And they're not even, like, together, so... Yeah. It's not like he'd actually do any of those things, they're just—things he thinks sometimes.
Buck is also pretty much constantly thinking about stuff like how butterflies enjoy drinking blood even though they don't really have the biological apparatus to do it properly and how the average person might be eating something like a credit card's-worth of microplastics in any given week and how there's a rogue black hole in our galaxy which has a mass seven times greater than our sun and how fir trees can viably grow inside a human lung and how the idea of cannibalism doesn't really freak him out as much as he thinks it's probably supposed to, and so many other things that other people seem to think are fucked-up things to be thinking about.
They're just thoughts, to Buck, though, so maybe he just finds shit like this hard to gauge.
Hmm, food for thought, maybe. Or, y'know, something like that.
tagged by @inell—thanks, lovely! this is from yet another wip i have on the go; this one is about buck stealing an old photo of eddie from eddie's phone, for... nefarious purposes (p0rn. it's for p0rn purposes). however, this part is sfw. my no pressure tags are beneath the cut at the bottom of the excerpt xp
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Buck knows it's wrong, okay? He does, he knows it.
Then again, he thought he'd known that he was long past Buck 1.0's chaotic, hedonistic ways (S.S.D's as he calls them only in his own head i.e. his Shamelessly Slutty Days), and that he'd grown into a more respectful, level-headed kind of man. A better man.
Buck really, honestly thought he had finally become a Grown Up.
But there's just something so enticing, and so fucking hot about this photo of Eddie—and it has him handbrake-turning and pedal-to-the-metal reeling straight back to Fuck It Town.
Literally.
Because he—he seriously wants to fuck the Eddie in this photo.
The fratboy-looking cap? The way Eddie's pearly whites are sinking into his bitten lip? The almost challenging sneer? God, it's making Buck want to wolf whistle or rev like a motorcycle or sing opera in soprano or hell, some kinda crazy shit. Also, he is sure that the white-hot fire dancing in Eddie's gaze (the one anybody with eyes can see) isn't purely from the reflection of the camera flash, like, there is definitely a juicy story there to tell. And just—the overall effect of... of... of fucking everything; this particular Eddie that Buck has never seen before. It's all just lighting something wild inside of Buck, a spark that wants to catch on every one of his major organs and blaze through his body like convection flames and shit, the Good Decisions section of his brain has logged off. Gone offline. Shut down.
Error 401
— Unauthorised
Buck knows he is breaking both his own self-preservation rule and his best friend's trust when his thumbs fly across Eddie's phone screen like The Roadrunner, a cartoon-ish explosion that is equal parts shame and excitement going off in his chest as he almost gives himself whiplash checking that Eddie is still busy in the mud room loading the machine with Eddie's, Chris’s and Buck's clothes, before Buck is rapidly getting back to committing his (hopefully) perfect crime.
“We need to buy fabric softener this week, bud,” Eddie shouts through, and Buck is starting to panic.
He's sent the old picture that he accidentally happened upon of this younger, definitely drunk, hot-as-all-fuck Eddie from Eddie's phone to his own phone, and although he can currently still see the curve of Eddie's beautiful bubble butt just peeking out past the door jam—meaning that his best friend is indeed still crouched down in front of the tub—Buck has yet to delete all of the evidence. As he fumbles, be can hear the machine's buttons beeping from being pressed by Eddie (thinking of his own buttons being pressed by this damn photo) and knows that Eddie's must be almost done in there.
Fuuuuck.
“Er, yeah, okay, on it. I'll put it down on the list in a sec,” he’s calling back, desperately hoping he doesn't sound like the freak he thought he wasn't anymore.
But before he's had a proper chance to check he's scrubbed away every bit of evidence of his misdemeanour, like deleting both the sent picture message and the duplicate photo from the WhatsApp gallery in Eddie's phone, Eddie is done with the laundry and is standing up and striding back into his kitchen, those sinfully tight blue jeans of his—and Eddie's crotch, Christ!—now squarely in Buck's eyeline and very understandably putting him off his clandestine game.
See! Not your fault!
Buck's brain is trying to convince him of his innocence, but he knows as soon as he thinks it that it's a weak as fuck defence, and if found out he would definitely be getting jailed by the Stealing Sexy Photos of Your Best Friend For Your Own Sordid Desires police.
Eddie's then walking past him and stretching his fine self across the kitchen counter to reach out and push the window open a little further, and that perfect ass is right. Fucking. There. In all its impeccable stonewash glory, right fucking next to Buck's fucking face where Buck is is sitting at the Diaz kitchen table and supposedly looking at old baby photos of Christopher that Sofia sent to Eddie this morning (yes, he knows he is a truly awful person for that one), so when Eddie is easing himself backwards and brushing off both his of pretty, huge hands on those spectacular denim-clad globes before turning around to face a Guilty Evan Buckley, Buck feels almost justified about his surreptitiously mad, bad behaviour.
I cannot be held entirely responsible for my actions, your Honour!
