#zinny posts stuff too

[zinnydark]

Have like 1K of Buddie bed sharing nonsense.

~*~*~*~

It took two nights to break him.

Two mornings, technically, the early summer sun just starting to make the room grow gold.

Almost two weeks, if you count the week and a half spent actually trying to switch off sleeping on the couch. Ten days before they had to sit down and admit that they were, in fact, in their thirties, and the couch was not meant to hold anyone who was six-foot-anything, and it was only going to be temporary, right?

So Eddie had claimed the side closest to the door and they tested how loud Buck’s 1000 Facts for Sleep and Relaxation videos could be before it was too much and they just. Shared the bed.

And that next morning, far too early for a day off, the first signs of dawn just starting to creep in, Buck had woken up with a line of heat along his back and an arm around his waist and Eddie nuzzling against him, nose behind his ear.

“Uh,” he had said, stupidly, every muscle in his body suddenly tense. “Eddie,” he had hissed, shoving an elbow behind him and right into his solar plexus.

Eddie had grunted and then tensed as well, frozen in place, still pressed against him.

“Comfortable?” Buck had joked, or tried to at least, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

And Eddie was silent for a moment, actually considering the question, and answered, “Yeah, actually.”

And then he had pressed his mouth against the shell of his ear, lips pursed dramatically, and kissed him with an exaggerated ‘Mwah.’ Then he laughed, and with a last gentle squeeze around his middle, he had rolled over and gone back to sleep.

And Buck had laughed too, tension gone, and he snuggled himself down into a cooler part of his pillow. When he woke a few hours later, Eddie was already up and gone.

It happened again, the next morning. Eddie Diaz, human furnace, plastered against him. Buck’s shirt had ridden up in the night, and Eddie’s arm was tight around his stomach, skin to skin. And once again, his face was pressed against his neck, pressing harder with every small movement of his head. And then, soft and gentle, he had kissed him, right at the base of his neck, the start of his spine.

And Buck broke. Cracked like an egg, exposing the tender, gooey core of him.

It would be so easy, he thought, to turn in the cage of Eddie’s arms and kiss him for real. Sweep his tongue into his mouth, rake his fingers down his spine, through his hair. Let himself be the one to nuzzle into Eddie’s neck this time, suck a mark there, watch him try to hide it for the rest of the day.

Push him back onto the mattress.

Take their clothes off.

Meanwhile, as Buck spiraled, Eddie had slowly woken up, quietly laughed to himself at finding them here, again, then rolled out of bed to be the first to claim the bathroom for the day.

Buck had rolled into the spot hie had left, still warm like the sun, and stared at the ceiling, and thought about how royally fucked he was.

The thing he should have done was move back to the couch. Double down on his house hunt. Hell, get back on the apps and find someone who actually wanted to cuddle him when they’re conscious. It wouldn’t solve the overall problem of, Oops, in love with Eddie, but it sure wouldn’t hurt.

But Buck is selfish, apparently, and did none of the above.

And it keeps happening. Of course it does. Not every morning, but most. And sometimes Eddie’s head is pillowed on his chest, burrowing his face between his pecs as he starts to wake. And sometimes, Buck gets to be the big spoon, gets to let himself hold and pretend and breathe him in before he notices.

But most mornings it’s Eddie tight against his back, strong arms pulling him close, knee slotted between his own, ankles hooked together. Mouth hot against his curls, his shoulders, his neck. Not always a kiss, but sometimes. Sometimes two! Those are the really lucky days.

And when Eddie wakes, he laughs, a low private laugh to say, oh, this again, before it’s back to sleep or up and at ’em, depending on the day.

And that’s it. They never talk about it. Even though it keeps happening.

Years of the army and parenthood and 8AM shifts means Eddie automatically wakes at ass-o-clock in the morning, even if it’s just to shrug and go back to sleep. So Buck’s now waking up just those few moments earlier. He needs the time to tamp down his anticipation, take control of his breathing, get his body to stay liquid in Eddie’s arms.

He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if Eddie knew he was awake.

And, oh, this morning Buck wakes up to find Eddie’s just completely shoved his arm up under his shirt, a hot line across his body ending in a hand curled loosely against his chest. His nose is buried in the crook of his shoulder, lips parted, breath leaving a damp spot on the back of his tee-shirt.

Buck starts from his toes and gets every muscle to relax, to melt back into the mattress, into Eddie. He keeps his breathing slow, a little shallow. And he waits.

Soon enough, he feels the slightest increase in pressure against his shoulder, a deep inhale as Eddie starts to stir. Eddie’s toes point and stretch, rubbing against the back of Buck’s calves. His hand uncurls, rests flat against his chest.

Eddie’s head moves slightly, still breathing deeply though his nose, and there, right where the collar his Buck’s shirt turns to skin, he presses his mouth, soft and sweet.

He shifts again, and there, higher up the back of his neck, where his hair starting to thicken. More pressure, lips pursed, a real kiss this time.

Two today, Buck thinks. Lucky me.

He waits for Eddie to wake further, for his soft chuckle as he tries to untangle himself.

But instead… again, there, right at his hair line, complete with a soft little sound from the pressure of his breath.

And again, again, small pecks until Eddie’s mouth is pressed against the shell of his ear, like the first time, that first morning. It’s not a joke this time, not exaggerated but tender. Real.

Buck knows he should do something, should stop this, but can’t bring himself to do it. Because this is the last time it’s going to happen, probably, once Eddie’s fully awake, once he knows what he’s done.

Right on cue, Eddie slides his mouth down, a few more kisses down his neck, lips parted, a trail of saliva in his wake. And then he stops. Mouth still firm against his skin, breathing still deep. Like he’s waiting.

The hand against his chest shifts, cupping his pec, palm flat against his nipple.

The other place he can feel his heart beat right now, Buck realizes. The heart beat he can do nothing to prevent from going crazy at the very first touch.

“Um,” Buck says, caught out, and the only thing he can think to say is a tentative, “Eddie?”

“Buck,” Eddie says, directly into his skin. It’s muffled, obviously, but clear and firm. Not half-asleep. Not unaware.

“Wha- what are you doing?” Buck chokes out.

Eddie’s silent for a moment, actually considering the question, and answers, “Indulging myself.”

And he kisses him again, right against his pulse. And again, lips parted, wet and sucking. And again.

And again.

The hand on his pec shifts, and now his thumb is gently circling his nipple. Eddie’s whole body shifts, pressing their hips together, and Buck can’t hold back a gasp.

Then Eddie speaks again, rough and low, lips wet against his earlobe.

“Do you want me to stop?

(Now available on Ao3!)

[zinnydark]

There are two cups of coffee on Eddie's kitchen counter.

One’s a standard, dark navy LAFD mug, one of a good half-dozen or so that have somehow found their way here from the station. The other is bright green, covered in cutesy cartoon animals, proudly proclaiming ‘I went WILD at the LA zoo!’ Christopher had a sticker of the same design plastered onto the hardtop of his pencil case for most of fourth grade. Eddie always thought the elephant was a little wall-eyed, would joke about him needing medical attention for the stroke.

The mugs are the first thing Eddie sees when he walks into his kitchen, the things his sleep-drenched mind chooses to focus on. The navy is filled to the brim, the coffee a deep black that’s surely masking an extra spoonful or two of sugar. He can’t see the contents of the other, already mostly drunk away, but it’s doubtlessly lighter, though probably not the creamy tan Eddie’s been seeing for years, since the apparently permanent change over to oat milk. Oat milk that now lives in his own refrigerator, too.

There’s a plate piled high with silver dollar pancakes set out on the island. Chris has already helped himself to more than his fair share, cheeks bulging with the ones he’s already shoved into his mouth. He’s now slowly and carefully moving some onto Theo’s plate. Theo must have been given some of the watermelon Eddie had cut up yesterday afternoon but it’s already gone, pink juice staining his chin and the front of his monster truck pajamas as he gleefully sucks each one of his sticky fingers.

Eddie closes his eyes.

It’s a far cry from their last morning all together like this. Just a few days ago he had woken up in the same way; alone in the bed he had had to share, drawn to the kitchen by sounds of life and gnawing hunger. Chris, sullen and cranky after another night camped out on Buck’s couch, had snapped at Theo to just shut up already. And Theo had screamed and screamed until Buck picked him up, balancing him on one hip, letting him bury his snotty, tear-stained face into his neck. Buck’s expression would twist and he’d quietly grunt every time a tiny socked foot dug into the softness of his belly. That was not a day for pancakes, and Eddie had watched Buck struggle to try and pour out cereal and milk with only one hand free.

Eddie had barely taken a step closer, ready to take some part of it over, but had received his own snapped I got it for his efforts.

He had closed his eyes then, too, listening to Buck’s coffee maker as it burbled to life – Buck had forgotten to set the timer, but at least it gave Eddie something to do. By the time the coffee was done, there was barely enough time to drink it, the countdown to getting out the door already well under way. Eddie ended up burning his tongue, had spent the rest of the day scraping the numb roughness of it against the roof of his mouth.

It had felt the same, that morning, in that kitchen full of distress and upset. The same as it feels now, in this kitchen full of warmth and laughter and, most importantly, pancakes.

“You can go back to bed, if you want.”

Eddie finally opens his eyes. Buck is at the stove, scrambling up enough eggs for a small army. He’s wearing his own hoodie but borrowed sweatpants, fabric stretched tight around his thighs. He glances up at Eddie through the corner of his eye, offering an apologetic smile. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

It’s true, he could just go back to bed. They’re in the middle of their 48 off, no plans for the day but chores and a grocery run. But Eddie shakes his head to get the last clinging cobwebs of sleep out. “Nah, I’m up now,” he says as he takes a step closer to his waiting mug.

But first, he steps into Buck’s space, mindful of the stove. He brushes his fingertips against Buck’s cheek, catching slightly on the scratch of his stubble, until Buck turns to look at him with curiosity in the furl of his brow.

Eddie kisses him.

Soft and light, it’s done almost as soon as it’s started.

“Good morning,” Eddie murmurs against his lips before he steps away and finally,finally, gets his hands onhis coffee.

He takes a long swallow. As expected, there’s been a little extra sugar stirred in. It’s delightfully warm.

He dips his hand into the sink for the damp washcloth that’s now perpetually on hand, setting his mug down as he swoops around to the other side of the island. “Morning, Chris,” he says as he presses a kiss to the top of his son’s head, stealing a piece of extra-crisp bacon from his plate, ignoring the protests both actions cause. “And good morning, Master Theodore,” he says with the best Michael Caine impression he can muster this early, this pre-caffeine, as he snags a spit-wet hand and starts to scrub.

“That’s not my name!” Theo giggles and squirms in his seat, but allows Eddie to clean him up, turning his face into it as the pink on his cheeks stops being a juice stain and becomes a pleased flush.

“Wait, is Theo your full name, or…?” Chris has finished tearing pancakes into toddler-sized pieces and is now carefully adding a drizzle of syrup to the mix. Eddie sighs, grabbing his mug again, resigned to staying right where he is with the washcloth at the ready.

He looks up at Buck once he’s had another sip. Buck, who’s standing there, staring at him.

He’s looking a little wall-eyed. Might need some medical attention for the stroke.

Eddie nods his chin back towards the stove. “Your eggs.”

And then he winks.

He’s immediately rewarded with Buck’s eyes growing huge, his posture straightening, lips parting like he’s about to actually say something. Then his limbs are flailing as he turns back towards the stove, lifting the pan and scraping at the contents with a muffled, “Shhhhhoot.”

Eddie smiles to himself as he raises his mug back to his lips, watching the tense line of Buck’s shoulders, down the ramrod of his back. Huh, his sweatpants are tight back there, too, who’d have thought?

Buck turns, pan in hand, and starts to dole out eggs, piling Chris’s plate high with all the crispy edges. He comes around to Eddie’s side, arms brushing as he puts a more modest scoop onto Theo’s plate, leaning close as he breaks it up into more bite-sized chunks with the wooden spoon.

There’s a brush of lips against Eddie’s cheek, the soft noise of a tentative peck.

Eddie smiles and leans into Buck, pushes their hips together, side by side for a moment before Buck moves on to make their own plates.

“Finally,” Chris says, mouth full to bursting with a bit of everything from his plate. “Buck? Ketchup?”

“Sure thing, bud,” says Buck.

“Manners,” sighs Eddie.

“Catch up!” shrieks Theo. Eddie catches his arm as he throws them into the air and starts to wipe down a syrupy hand before it gets tangled in his hair. Again.

Then Eddie goes and makes two more cups of coffee.

(Up on AO3 here.)

[zinnydark]

(A 09x11 coda)

“You can keep it.”

Eddie looks up at her, bewildered, cheeks too full of what is most likely grocery store sheet cake to say much more than, “Huh?”

They’re alone at the table. Buck left to go coordinate with his new polycule. Chimney went off with Harry, saying someone needed to supervise the words he wanted to have with Ravi about his sister, make sure things didn’t get physical. Eddie’s still in his white tank and turnout pants, seemingly oblivious to the appreciative looks he’s getting from the tables around them. And Maddie’s already had three glasses of open bar quality pinot grigio, the most she’s had in one sitting since Nash was born.

So she's feeling good. She's feeling… generous.

“The money. You can keep it.” She smiles at Eddie as she takes a sip of glass number four. “If you agree to owe me a favor.”

Eddie laughs, bright and easy, the anxiety that had been clinging to him for the past few hours a thing of the past. “You know, if you guys are that hard up for baby sitters, you only have to ask.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “I promise I won’t even exploit them.”

“Oh, he had full permission,” Maddie assures him with her own laugh. “Jee was so excited about being on the big screen, she kept asking if she could come see Uncle Buck’s movie.”

“And the picture with Nash?”

“Is currently my phone background.” She leans forward herself, tilting her head as she studies his face. “You want me to send it to you?”

She doesn’t get to see his reaction before Buck blunders up and drops into his seat. He’s at least put his shirt back on, even if he’s left it open and flapping in the breeze.

These two, not a single care in the world that they’re at a semi-formal event.

“I’ve been officially invited to Stitch and Bitch,” Buck says proudly, grabbing his glass of water to chug down. “You get the scoop on your mystery bidder?”

“Yeah, uh, not yet.” Eddie had been insistent in his text that no one find out about their arrangement, but Maddie knows that ‘no one’ really just means ‘Buck.’ She hopes she’s keeping it off her face as she watches Eddie flounder. “They, uh… they gave me their number, so I’m waiting for a text back. Hey,” he says, hitting Buck's arm with the back of his hand, blatantly changing the subject. “You seem pretty happy, considering you didn’t get a real date.”

“Stitch and Bitch is absolutely a real date. But, yeah, this was fun. Broke my record. Didn't break myself in two. Felt a little more like myself again… Yeah, fun.” Buck smiles bashfully down at his water, and pointedly not at anyone in particular. “Besides, it’s not like I expected to find anything serious at the meat parade.”

“That mean you’re going to drag me back out to the club?”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun,” Maddie interjects, looking up from her phone and back at the two of them.

Eddie's phone pings on the table, and the preview of the picture she just sent makes him not-so-subtly flip his phone. He gives her that same bewildered look, pleading with his eyes for her to cool it. But she just smiles back at him, feeling nothing but warm and fuzzy around the edges.

Buck is oblivious to all of this. He just laughs. “Shut up, Mads, you weren’t even there.”

“Yeah, but I heard all about the aftermath.” She punctuates her statement with a raised brow and another sip of wine.

Buck turns to Eddie, like he’s the one passing judgement. Maddie might as well not even be here, honestly. “I promise I won’t steal the people I’m trying to wingman for you. And I’ll vet whoever I meet to make sure they’re not related.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, bud,” Eddie says, and the tightness is back in his shoulders, the way he’s holding his jaw.

Buck downs the rest of his water and gets to his feet. “You want a beer?” he offers, stepping back. “I gotta go have my own words with Rav, but I’ll hit up the bar after.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. His eyes stay on him as he walks away, and Maddie notes that it’s the same way he had looked at him when he was strutting on the catwalk. Wistful. Wanting.

“So,” she says, getting his attention back on her. “About that favor.”

“You… You want me to go out and help your brother get laid?”

“Oh, I wouldn't make you go that far,” she says, with another knowing smirk, another playful tilt of her head. “Unless you wanted to, of course.”

She's delighted to see Eddie's expression shift to one of fear, and his cheeks bloom red.

But he’s not saying no. He’s not fighting her on this just yet. Which is good.

She takes another sip of wine. She may have agreed to bid on him in someone else’s stead, but that someone else was certainly not Eddie.

[zinnydark]

Sometimes You Just Gotta (2/2)

911, Buck/Eddie, Explicit, 10.8k (18k total)

Eddie is a menace.

Because, here’s the thing. He and Buck had sex. There’s no point in trying to deny it, in twisting himself up into knots doing the mental gymnastics it takes to make what they did not sex. It wasn’t a friend giving advice. It wasn’t a bro giving another bro a hand. There is no such thing as platonically making someone come their brains out before you crank it all over their stomach. They had sex. And in Eddie’s opinion, they should be having more of it. A lot more of it... But despite everything, Eddie is very aware that he may never have an opportunity like this again... There’s other fun to have first.

AO3 tags: Sex Toys, Vibrators, Jock Straps, Coming Untouched, Platonic Sex, Or Is It?, Prostate Orgasm, Butt Plugs, Oral Sex, Oral Sex Interrupted By Talking About Feelings, Big Dick Buck, Anal Sex, Bottom Eddie, Getting Together, First Times That Are Technically Second times

Other tags: Eddie ‘Two More Showers Makes Four Showers’ Diaz, Schrodinger’s Hen, Ravi would like to be kept out of your nonsense, cw: gas station pizza

[zinnydark]

Give Me A Spot?

911, Buck/Eddie, E, 2.5k

“Okay, a minute rest, then one more set,” Buck pants as Eddie helps him rack the bar. He stays lying supine, arms up above his head, chest still heaving as he catches his breath. And Eddie completely loses it. Or becomes possessed. Or any number of other impossible things that would lead to him suddenly straddling the bench, and, more importantly, Buck. “Uh.” Buck looks up at him, brow crinkled in confusion. “What’s up?”

AO3 tags: tit fucking, wet and messy, working out as described by someone who does not work out

Tags too hot for AO3: 🍈🍈, 🍈🍆🍈, honestly there's not much more to say

[zinnydark]

buddie, "grip"

Buck is sweating.

He can feel his crisp, white button down sticking to his underarms, the small of his back. He’s a little afraid to lift his arms, to see if its gone all the way through his suit jacket. He wants to strip down, dab at himself with paper towels until he feels normal again, but this place has a bathroom guy, and he’s not sure he’d appreciate the show.

Instead, he cups cold water in his hands and dunks his face right in. He stays bent over the sink, letting the excess drip into the bowl, not wanting to walk back out there with more damp patches on his collar.

Dress nice, Eddie had said. Buck had assumed that his ban from the chief’s poker table had been lifted after he had been overheard asking Siri what twenty-five percent of one hundred was – which in his defense was because it was hour forty of a forty-eight and his brain was basically pudding. The restaurant Eddie had brought them to was certainly the fanciest place he’d been since… well the last poker game. But instead of sneaking through the back entrance, getting hustled through the kitchens like this was some mob movie, they had walked through the front door like normal people.

Eddie had made a reservation. When they were sat, he was handed a wine list.

There was a bathroom guy!

They had been there all of two minutes when Buck started to feel the prickle of sweat rolling down his spine. Then Eddie had looked up from the menu and smiled at him, that wide, pleased smile that makes his cheeks all round, and it wasn’t even for anything! Buck had been frozen and sweating and Eddie was smiling at him like that and it all felt very much like a… like a…

“Get a grip, Buckley,” he whispers to himself, forceful enough that it echoes back at him from the brushed bronze basin of the sink.

It’s just dinner. They get dinner all the time. So what if it’s a hell of a lot nicer than driving an hour and a half to chase down that taco truck that used to post up by the station? It’s just fun to get dressed up and treat yourself like this. Hen and Karen do it all the time!

For their date nights, Buck’s traitorous mind supplies.

He dunks his face again.

When he finally stands up, Bathroom Guy, still perched at his little table, has his arm extended towards him with a fistful of paper towels. Like Buck couldn’t possibly have grabbed them himself. He snatches them away frantically pats his face dry, scrubbing at his hairline where his roots are now damp. His curls are going a little wild. He doesn’t bother to try and fix them. He knows he’ll just end up taking another fifteen minutes for them to look exactly the same, and he’s already been in here too long.

Buck turns towards the door and Bathroom Guy clears his throat.

Buck sighs, lets himself get a bit dramatic as he pats down his pockets, pulls out his empty wallet, shrugs helplessly.

Bathroom Guy gestures towards the card reader on the table, set up for him to punch in his tip and tap his card.

Buck gifts him a whole dollar, and helps himself to a handful of chalky white mints on his way out.

His eyes are drawn to Eddie as he makes his way back across the dining room. He’s sitting up, spine ramrod straight, hands busy nudging at the silverware until fork and fork and knife and spoon are perfectly aligned. Buck sees the moment he notices him coming, sees the way his shoulders relax, his posture eases. His expression softens, another smile, gentle and private.

“This place has a bathroom guy,” Buck’s going to say as he settles back in his chair, a great segue into talking about how damn fancy their surroundings are, what made Eddie want to bring him here.

But that’s not what he says.

“Hey, so, is this a date?”

Eddie straightens up again, all the tension that had just drained from him back with a vengeance. And they stare at each other, both wide-eyed and silent, for what feels like an eternity.

Buck manages to break eye contact only long enough flick across the table, pausing on the basket of grissini set to the side. It’s too bad there’s no real bread. Buck would happily take another emergency tracheotomy right about now. Eddie would be able to take care of him no problem.

“Do you…” Eddie starts, then cuts himself off. Buck meets his eyes again, still wide and wild, his face a shade of red he’s never seen outside of the gym. There’s moisture gathered at his brow. He’s sweating too.

“Do you… want it to be?” Eddie finally manages to finish.

It takes a moment for Buck to remember how to breath again, to be able to hear anything over the rush of blood in his head. “Do… do you?” he forces out, voice cracking.

“Would you gentlemen like to put in a drink order now? Have any questions about the menu?”

The poor waiter gets the full brunt of their dual manic stares as they turn towards him in silence. He glances between them quickly and offers a tight lipped smile in return. “I’ll give you another few minutes,” he says, already hurrying away.

The silence descends again, thick and overwhelming. Buck feels another trickle of sweat roll down the back of his neck, escaping from his hairline to be absorbed into his collar.

“We should probably…” Eddie says, and takes up the menu. He browses it casually, lips pursed.

Buck can’t really feel his hands, so continues to sit and stare.

“I changed my outfit, like, four times,” Eddie suddenly says, continuing a conversation that never started. “I kept making the mistake of asking Chris how I looked. I keep forgetting that he’s fifteen and ‘fine’ is one of the five words he’s allowed to say to me now.”

He pauses. He’s still not looking at Buck.

“But I didn’t want to look fine. I wanted to look good.” He swallows, tongue flicking out unconsciously to wet his lips. “I wanted you to think I look good.”

Oh.

Buck is still very much not blinking, still staring, still sweating. So he sees that Eddie’s eyes are locked in one place, sees the indents in the faux leather of the menu where his fingers are clenched. Sees him swallow again, his breath stutter.

“You could have shown up dressed like a birthday clown and I’d still think you were the best looking guy in the room,” Buck says, because it’s the truth.

“Even if you’re also there?’ Eddie’s eyes still don’t move, but Buck catches the twitch at the corners of his mouth that tell him he’s trying not to smile.

Buck manages not to roll his eyes, picking up his own menu. “C’mon, I’m not that vain.”

“It was meant to be a compliment.” Eddie finally lets the smile spread across his face. “But tell me, how many gym selfies have you taken this week?”

“Fuck you.”

Eddie lifts his eyebrows, tilts his head to an angle that makes it clear that he’s thinking about it.

And Buck is sweating.

(Now available on Ao3!)

[zinnydark]

The Sweetest Medicine

911, Buck/Eddie, Teen, 3.6k

Buck takes care of Eddie. Who's been stabbed, did you hear?

“So you’re gonna, what, stand there and watch?” Buck’s eyes flick back up to Eddie’s face, where his eyes are still shut in concentration. Not that there’s anything wrong with checking out your friend’s abs. Especially if that's where he's just been stabbed. “Yeah. I'm really looking forward to the part where you try to bend over and get a good look at everything.” Eddie’s jaw tics again as they fall back into their stalemate. But it doesn’t take long for Eddie to open his big, pleading eyes and unleash them Buck’s way. “Fine.”

AO3 tags: Injury Recovery, Scars, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied Panic Attacks, Content Warnings Aside This Is Ultimately Fluffy, First Kiss, Getting Together

Tags Not On AO3: Platonically Putting Your Mouth All Over Your BoyBestie's Body To Quiet The Noise In Your Head, That's A Thing Right?, Buck Buckley Sure Thinks So

[zinnydark]

Another Unaffiliated Snippet, this time 1.5k of Domestic Angst

~*~*~

Eddie’s got plenty of experience sharing a bathroom. Not just in concept, actually sharing the physical space with others. The locker room after baseball, the army barracks, the glassed in enclosure of the 118. He used to do it with Christopher, when he was a child just starting to ask for independence. It was a way for him to be there to help without Chris thinking he was there to help. But it hasn’t been that way for a long time, and he’s sure his teenage son would find it weird and embarrassing if he tried it now.

He never dreamed of doing it with Shannon, or Marisol, or Ana on the rare occasions she stayed over. Not because of some weird hang up about the sacred, intricate rituals of females, but just a basic respect for privacy. He grew up as functionally the only guy in a house full of women in a home with one full bathroom; the mystique was long gone before he was done with puberty.

But it’s different with Buck. It goes beyond the fact that Buck wouldn’t know privacy if it smacked him in the face, at least when it came to Eddie. He would barge in to pee while Eddie was in the shower before they were ever living together. Now that they’re in each other’s pockets twenty-four-seven, it’s even worse. There’s no separation anymore. Add another line to the list of weirdly intimate BuckAndEddie things.

They’re in sync here the same way they are in the field, reacting to the slightest non-verbal queues, switching off at the sink like a well-oiled machine. Buck will shave while Eddie’s in the shower. Eddie doesn’t bother to turn off the water, just adjusts the spray and cranks the temperature so they can swap out. Buck steps aside to do whatever he’s doing to his hair now while Eddie brushes his teeth. Buck does his eighteen-step skin care routine while Eddie sits on the lid of the toilet and flosses – yes, Buck, every day, you should be doing it too.

Buck leans closer to the mirror, inspecting a spot on his cheek, trying to determine if it’s the start of a zit or an ingrown hair.

“Don’t pick at it,” Eddie reminds him, rewrapping his fingers for a fresh bit of floss.

“I’m not,” Buck insists as he scrapes his thumbnail against it once, twice, sensitive skin blooming pink.

Eddie shakes his head head at him, making soft tsk-tsk noises, feeling unbearably fond.

It’s all just…routine. Comfortable. Their new normal.

“Hey, so, I’m in love with you.”

Or not so much.

Eddie freezes. He’s currently got his jaw unhinged, fingers deep in his mouth, trying to work the floss between his back molars. The air’s still heavy and humid from the shower, and it feels like the weight doubles on his skin. He’s helpless to do anything but stare.

Buck turns away from the mirror to look at him, and his solemn expression pinches as he struggles not to laugh. “Sorry, I… I probably should have had more of a lead up…”

Eddie takes his fingers out of his mouth, tongue running along his gum line reflexively. He needs to spit. Right now is probably not the time to spit.

“You don’t have to worry about letting me down easy, or anything,” Buck continues. “I know you don’t feel the same.”

“Buck…” he tries, but can’t think of what to say next. I love you too, but you’re right, not like that. Buck doesn’t need to hear that from him. He doesn’t deserve that.

“I’m dealing with it. It’s fine.” Buck’s hand goes to his shoulder, scratching absently at his collar bone. A protective stance. Just that slight movement makes him look so small. “I just… It feels like it was going to explode out of me one of these days, y’know? We’d get a call that gets little dramatic and I’d be ugly crying about it all over Ravi or something.” He forces out a laugh, and it echoes harshly off the tile. “I figured it’d be less embarrassing for both of us if I just told you.”

Eddie feels struck dumb, in any sense of the word. Everything that he can think to say is even worse than the last.

Well thanks for telling me, buddy. You’re such a great friend!

I’m sure you’ll meet someone else soon, you just gotta put yourself back out there.

You know, if I were into guys...

“And hey, so, that realtor that yelled at me for being too picky finally answered one of my emails, so I’ll be looking at some places later this week. If I make a few concessions, maybe I’ll finally get out of your hair-”

“No. Buck.” Eddie’s on his feet now, wants so badly to go up to him, touch him, but he hesitates. He sees Buck see him hesitate, sees him shrink further into himself.

Eddie feels so fucking useless.

You know you’re the most important person in my life, right? Well, besides my son. And we both know I’d abandon you for him again if I had to. But besides that...

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“Please don’t kick yourself out because of…” what, this​? Way to be a dismissive ass. Me? And make it sound like there’s any part of him that wants him to go?

You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I don’t want to lose you over something so stupid.

He changes tack. “If you need some space, I understand. Take all the space you need. Just please don’t think I’m…” Disgusted. Angry. Anything other than scared shitless. “I still…” Care about you so much. Want to spend every waking moment with you. Don’t know what I’d do without you.

Buck’s nodding that slow, short nod that Eddie knows means he doesn’t know what to say either.

I love you too, and it’s not like a friend, and it’s not like a brother, it’s another thing, but it’s not the same way you’re talking about, you understand?

“Look, I’m a little blindsided here. But the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

You know better than anyone what a piece of shit boyfriend I am. Really, you’re dodging a bullet.

“I know,” Buck says, still nodding. He’s got his fingers twisted together, palms rubbing against each other in fidgeting spurts. “I know. I appreciate it?” There’s an upturn on his inflection that makes it sound like a question, and he cringes at himself.

There’s another beat of silence where all they can to is stare at each other, and it’s suffocatingly awkward.

I told you nothing’s changed, you can’t go and do this to me now.

“Look, I can head over to Maddie’s-”

“What, in your pajamas?” Eddie says, like Buck isn’t standing there is perfectly fine sweats, like he doesn’t just throw on a hoodie and slides to go grab breakfast burritos on the regular.

Buck’s trying no to smile. “Or I’ll probably go back to sleeping on the couch. For the next few nights at least.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to nod. “Fine. That’s fine. Whatever you need.” He finally forces himself to take those few steps forward, gets his hands on his shoulders. “Buck, I...”

I do love you, you know?

I don’t know how to keep you now.

I don’t deserve to be loved by someone like you.

Eddie half expects Buck to flinch away from his touch, but instead the tense line of his shoulders relax. He feels him exhale, like he’d been holding more air than his lungs could carry this whole time. Buck’s eyes are soft as he finally lets himself smile, small and private and sad. “I know, Eddie,” he says, reaching up where his hands are clenched, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “I know.”

~*~*~

He’s jerked awake in the middle of the night, blinking desperately into the pitch darkness, but he knows intrinsically who it is hovering next to him, whose hand is on his shoulder.

“Sorry, um…” Buck whispers as he snatches his hand back. “The couch still sucks.”

Eddie grunts in agreement, and heaves his body to the other side of the mattress.

“You wasted no time taking over the whole bed again, huh?” Buck jokes as he slips between he sheets, rests his head back against the pillow Eddie just had his face buried in.

Eddie grunts in self-defense, settling back on his stomach, curling around his own pillow like every other night. He hates it now, he thinks. He wants to steal Buck’s back.

He’s already drifting as he listens to Buck settle himself, the gentle rustle of fabric, the slight creak from the bed frame. The breath-soft “’Night, Eddie.”

Eddie’s hand moves out as if of its own will, landing squarely on Buck’s torso, just above the clench of his abs. He tangles his fingers in his tee-shirt, grip solid in the worn fabric.

“Buck,” he says, tongue heavy, the welcome black of sleep closing in. “Don’t-”

He’s out before he even knows what he was going to say.

(Now available on Ao3!)