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
(Somewhere in me there lives a full fic about fortune telling and the 344J3 of it all. But for now let's reintroduce my unaffiliated snippets with Buck, Chris, and the Four of Diamonds.)
Buck finds it in his wallet when he goes to pay for their chamoyada. Which is strange, because he only even has his wallet out because the food truck is cash-only, and he can’t for the life of him remember the last time he had needed anything from it. Maybe getting out his insurance card? Last time he tried to… Last time he thought he needed a doctor.
It’s still in his hand when he takes the cups, crushing it into the condensation that’s already formed. He has to peel it away when he hands one over to Chris, where he's staked out a spot on the handful of small tables they've set up in this lot.
Buck's elected himself to pick-up duty, one of dozens of chores and helpful tasks he's taken on in his time off. Not that anyone's asked him to do anything, obviously, but it's the least he can do – the only thing he can do. And he knows Eddie still feels guilty about sending Chris off on the bus, a feeling that's only gotten worse after the situation with Abigail. So here comes Buck, a somehow still trusted friend in their time of need, ready to pick up whatever slack that still exists in Eddie's head.
Chris hasn't complained, not at all. Every afternoon he's happily climbed into his truck, hit him with some classic Diaz big wet eyes, and asked if they could stop for McDonald's. Or go to the retro arcade that his friends have started hanging out at. Or hunt down that food truck he likes.
And Buck says yes. He'll always say yes.
“What's that?”
“Oh, uh.” Buck pauses his fiddling, having spent the last few minutes lost in thought and flipping the thick cardstock around his fingers. He holds it up between his index and middle, its face pointing towards Chris. “Just a playing card.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Found it in my wallet.”
“But why?”
Buck's suddenly sent back a lifetime ago, Christopher looking at him with wide eyes and a gap-toothed grin as he follows the endless chain of But why? But why? But why? Buck would always try his best to give him real answers. Now he just shrugs with a laugh. “Dunno. Must have ended up there after the big sleepover.”
“You mean your detox.”
It catches him for a second. He had been the one to insist they be as upfront about things as possible with Chris, and now it's just all the harder to try and hide things from himself.
He pauses, takes a breath. “Yeah. I knew a few were missing, but I figured I'd find them all under the couch or something when I got around to it. You've seen us at game night. You know how things get.”
“But how'd it end up in your wallet?”
He shrugs again, but his own curiosity is finally piqued. “Must have gotten mixed up when they grabbed my card for groceries?”
Eddie said that's what he did, but Buck's confident he had paid for everything himself. Buck's paid for a grocery run or two or seven since then, so it's no big deal.
“You think it means something?”
“What, like a sign?” He laughs again. “Your dad's your dad and you still believe in that stuff?”
“I also had abuela. And Tía Pepa. And Tía Adriana does tarot with me whenever I see her.”
“Yeah, this is just a playing card, bud. Don't think there's any special secret meaning there.”
“People used to tell fortunes with bones and guts and stuff. Cards have gotta mean something too.”
There's a gleam in Chris's eye, one Buck feels like he hasn't seen in ages. A year, at least. Almost two, when he thinks about it. And he doesn't blame Chris - it's not something that needs blame. It's been even longer than those two years since he was last thought of as a best friend, and Chris had his actual friends to catch up with, a new school to get used to, independence to prove. And Buck's certainly had his own shit going on, to put it mildly.
Still, it's a familiar bloom of joy when they both pull out their phones. They both know the drill, and after a silent countdown, the research commences.
Buck skips ahead a few pages of the results, trusting Chris will catch him up on the basics when it's time to share their findings.
There's… a lot of information. There are charts and charts of the different meanings of each number and each suit, forcing the reader to figure things out themselves. Red are positive and black are negative, only, no, diamonds are financial and hearts are romance (duh), spades are other relationships and clubs are business.
“Cartomancy,” Chris says, reading from his phone. “Has existed since the fourteenth century, coinciding with the introduction of the modern deck we still use today.”
“So what do you think came first? Poker, or the way to convince people they're gonna win big at poker?”
“Focus, Buck.”
Then there are the different pages that compare the card suits to the ones found in Tarot, that outline three or four card spreads, direct how to ask questions. Still, none of them can agree with what correlates to what. Buck tries to think of who he might know who would have an opinion to share. Maybe May? He'll have to remember to ask their next TV night.
“It's most popular with a pick-... piqu-... a deck for a french game where you take out anything that's lower than a seven.”
“Oh, so my little four doesn't even count?”
“You think everyone was playing picante and that's why you ended up with it?”
“Knowing us, probably.”
There are also lists of direct meanings, straight and to the point. Buck would probably appreciate it more if it weren't for the content.
Betrayal.
Broken trust.
Disagreements among friends.
“Four of diamonds means ‘unexpected financial success.’”
“See, why can't I get it to mean that? All I see is ‘need for advice on responsible spending.’”
Chris hums, frowning as he scrolls further. “Yeah, this has every diamond mean financial success.”
“Oh, no warnings about ‘guarding your resources from enemies within?’”
Chris snorts, unimpressed. “All of this sounds like a lot of stuff people just made up.”
“Ah, there's your dad. Knew there had to be some skeptic in you.”
Chris rolls his eyes as he turns back to his drink, scooping out a chunk of fruit that survived the blender. “I think that means it can mean whatever we want it to mean.”
Oh, he likes the sound of that. Buck sets his phone aside and gives the card another thoughtful twirl through his fingers. “So, four of diamonds. What does it mean?”
“That you'll find four diamonds, obviously.”
He bites back a smile. “Only four?”
“Yeah,” Chris says with a mouth full of mango. “Then you can split them up. One for you, one for me, one for Dad.”
“And the fourth?”
Chris grins at him, mouth shiny with juice and stained red with tajin. “Well, only one of us has college to think about, right?”
Buck laughs, head thrown back, his whole body light and bursting with it. Like this kid doesn’t know he would give him it all, give him everything he would ever ask for, if he could.
Later, when they're gathering their trash, he slips the card into the mesh section at the front of Chris's backpack. Four diamonds. Kid deserves that and so much more.
Have another 9x13 coda, featuring the Buckley Sibling Reunion!
The neighborhood is peaceful, with barely any other cars out on the road this late at night. Or, this early in the morning. This is Los Angeles, after all, and traffic into the city had stayed a nightmare even as the clock ticked over to AM. But now they've been swallowed into the quiet of Buck's new street, where all is dark and still.
Except, there is one house, a warm, glowing beacon in the darkness, every window bright.
Eddie never thought it would feel so good to pull into this driveway. He always thought he'd hold onto his silent grudge against this house until the day Buck moved out. But now, it's a relief. It feels like home.
They probably should have stopped hours ago, found some cheap motel where they could stretch out their aching limbs and get some real sleep. But every time even a hint of that idea came up, they would share a look and double down and keep on course. They were determined. The next beds they would sleep in would be their own.
Well, not Eddie. Eddie’s going to drag himself into Pepa’s spare room and crawl into bed next to his son. He’d already warned Chris when they stopped for dinner, standing in the relative safety of the parking lot of a rest stop McDonalds, full of delicious, greasy calories he’d come to regret soon enough. He was keeping a careful eye on Buck as he took a lap around the picnic area, forced to get his medically necessary steps in. He watched as Buck tried to bend and pet someone’s dog, russet red and floppy eared, and had to stop himself from going over there when he saw his wince of pain, the way he wrapped a protective arm around his torso. Buck was fine on his own, he told himself, while in his ear Chris audibly rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, Dad, just try not to wake me up.”
Chris will have been asleep for hours by now. He can wait just a little bit longer.
Eddie looks at Buck as he turns off the ignition. His cheeks shine in the honeyed light shining by the front door, wet with fresh tears. Buck scrubs at them, self-conscious, and breathes deep as he braces himself before opening the passenger door.
It takes effort for Buck to unfold himself, knees stiff from being held in position for so long, hissing as the pain of his other injuries flares. He clutches at the door once he's on his feet, needs a moment to catch his breath. Eddie doesn't have much of an easier time of it, shoulder aching, pain shooting down his arm whenever he moves it wrong. He'll have to get it looked at again. But later. Later.
The front of the house bursts open, loud enough to wake the whole street. It’s a sound of relief, of fear, of decades of worry and exasperation. It’s a sound of pure love.
“Buck!”
Maddie barrels into her brother, arms thrown around him the second she’s close enough, and Buck’s response gets lost in his cry of pain. She backs away immediately, but not far, hands up and hovering right above his chest, his heart.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says before her face crumples around a sob. She pulls herself together quickly, and her hands come up to cradle his face, gentle now. She lifts herself up onto tip toe to press a kiss to his cheek, to his forehead, to his eyebrow, his birthmark.
“C’mon, Mads,” Buck chides, but he’s given away by the wide smile overtaking his face. He's stooping to give her better access as she peppers more kisses anywhere she can reach that’s not scraped or bruised.
“God, look at you,” she says once she’s had her fill, frowning as she tilts his face towards the light spilling out of his open front door. They probably look so much worse in person than they had over FaceTime, and the exhaustion that's set in over their time on the road surely isn't doing them any favors.
“Nah, I'm fine,” Buck says with a bashful grin. “You should see the other guy.”
“That’s me,” Eddie says, dropping Buck’s bag at his feet. He’d taken his time getting it out of the trunk, letting the Buckley’s have their moment, but that was certainly his cue. “I’m the other guy.”
Buck snorts around a chuckle. Yeah, this is gonna be a thing.
Maddie looks over at him like she forgot he was even there, which, he can’t blame her for that. To his shock, she actually lets go of her brother, steps away from him, around him, and then Eddie is the one getting barreled into. Maddie’s arms squeeze him tightly, her hold like iron, surprisingly strong. He knows he’s just a proxy, that he’s getting every ounce of pressure that bruised ribs can’t handle.
He wraps his good arm around Maddie and squeezes back, just as tightly.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two even talk to each other,” Buck says, amused, looking between the two of them with enough soft affection Eddie feels like he’s going to choke.
“What, us? We talk all the time,” he says. That’s certainly been true the last few weeks, between the auction and… everything they’d just gone through. Nevermind the part where their text thread only had about four other conversations over the past ten years.
“Yeah, we’re basically best friends,” Maddie insists. She tips her head back, pressing a soft kiss all his own to Eddie’s cheek.
Buck rolls his eyes at them, still betrayed by his smile. “Well, I’ll leave you two besties to it. I’m gonna just…” He gestures towards his house, taking a slow, halting step back. He holds up his hand as Maddie starts to follow, an offer to help dying on her tongue. “Sometimes a guy just needs his own bathroom, you know?”
“Ew, Buck,” Maddie complains, face scrunching again. But she steps back, lets him go.
Buck meets Eddie’s eyes, and, God, there’s still so much they need to say. Over twelve hours on the road was not nearly enough time. But it can wait for another day, for them to be ready. They make due with a short nod, a sign of understanding, an agreement, an acknowledgment. It’s a good night and a thank you and a next time all rolled into one.
And then Buck’s gone, disappearing into his home and out of Eddie’s sight for the first time all day.
Maddie turns back to him, her eyes shining once again. “Thank you,” she says, voice cracking.
Eddie shakes his head. “I only did what he would have done for me.” He sees it in his mind's eye, Buck bloody and soaked through to the bone, collapsing in relief as Eddie holds his whole world in his arms. “What he has done for me. And for Christopher. Which, speaking of…” He takes a step back towards the car.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Maddie sniffs loudly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You two should come by for breakfast tomorrow. Give us the whole story, start to finish.”
“Well, there's no way I'm getting out of bed until at least noon, but…” Eddie shrugs. It sounds nice, in theory, but he’s not so sure it’s a story he wants to tell to a full audience. Especially this audience. And his son may be growing up, may be a fine young man now, but there’s still plenty of things he can protect him from, if he can help it. “I’ll let you know.”
He’s bracing himself for the struggle that is climbing behind the wheel when he hears another, “Eddie?”
He stops to turn and look at her, and Maddie hesitates before she continues. “I’m… I’m so happy that he has you.”
He's suddenly overwhelmed. It feels the same as it has the last few days, a pulse deep in his core at your kind and princess and the significant pause before friend. But this time, it’s not panic, not being exposed. It’s a balm. It’s being seen.
So he nods at this woman, his family, possibly the only other person on this earth that understands the depths of the feeling thrumming through his heart. “You know I have his back. Always.”
(So @perlaret made a dumb post and I wrote some porn so.... enjoy?)
(Here on A03. Warning for dubcon related to condoms, clarified over there if you need it!)
“Oh, fuck.”
They’re past the point where that would be a gasp of passion, but Buck doesn’t need any clarification. He can tell what Eddie means from the gush that follows when he pulls out.
“Condom broke,” Eddie clarifies anyway, tone sheepish and tight. He frowns down at his flagging dick, the head a vivid pink as it pokes out from the curl of latex, bunched around like a second foreskin. He grimaces as he pulls it off, the mess spreading to his fingers as he flicks it in the vague direction of the trash in the corner.
Buck braces himself for the swell of anxiety, for his mind to go off a mile a minute with thoughts of clinics and blood and exposure protocol checklists. It never comes. There’s only the flush of embarrassment as he tries to clench his hole closed.
It’s Eddie. He trusts Eddie completely, intrinsically, as easy as breathing. There’s nothing to worry about. And even if there was, it’s nothing they couldn’t get through together.
He tries to lower his legs, needs to stretch out his knee before it ruins tomorrow, but Eddie’s grip stays strong and firm on the backs of his thighs. Buck cracks an eye open, and yeah, his idiot boyfriend’s gaze is caught between his legs, his lips parted slightly around each ragged breath.
This all is still fairly new, but Buck’s familiar enough to know this isn’t him cooling down.
He nudges him gently with his foot, gives him a knowing eyebrow when their eyes meet. Eddie snaps his mouth closed, the color in his cheeks deepening. “Shut up.”
Buck bites back against a laugh as Eddie finally helps him guide his legs down, rough hands soothing along his thighs as they settle around his waist. Instead, Buck smiles indulgently, squeezing his knees into his sides. “I didn’t say anything.”
They may have finally cleared the hurdle of Eddie letting himself want what he wants, but he’s still got a tight fist around anything beyond the general concept of ‘men.’ Or the specific concept of ‘Buck,’ which fills him with a warm fuzzy feeling he never wants to let go of. But Buck’s trying to encourage this exploration a little, and he can’t let himself pull too much focus.
So he rolls onto his stomach, arranging himself so Eddie is still kneeling between his spread legs, and cants his hips just so. And just like in the field, just like always, Eddie understands, follows his lead without missing a beat, putting those wide, rough hands on his ass and spreading him back open, letting himself look.
Buck lets his muscles relax, feels another dribble of come flow out of him and down his taint. Eddie sucks in a breath, loud in the quiet of the empty house. One of those hands moves to cup his balls, a thumb stroking through the spill, gathering up as much as it can before it’s pushed back inside his fucked-out hole.
He still feels tender, sensitive, but he doesn’t flinch away. It still feels so, so good. He feels the warmth start to build up deep inside again as his cock perks and thickens. They’ve been stuck in a constant, horny feedback loop for the past week, since their first time dry humping to completion on the couch. Since their first kiss only minutes before that. Since Eddie had finally looked at him, face naked of anything but pure want, and said his name like he was dying.
Buck honestly could not imagine being any happier than he is right now.
“Fuck,” Eddie moans, low and liquid as he pulls his thumb free, replaces it with two thick fingers that slide in easy and deep. He spreads them wide, opening Buck’s ass and just looking at the mess he’s made. A shiver goes through Buck that’s both a hot pulse of shame and an electric thrill of desire. It makes him spread his knees wider, tilt his hips further up, wanting, needing Eddie to take his fill.
There’s a soft, wet feeling along his rim as Eddie leans forward, lets his tongue lap its way inside. Eddie moans, the taste of his own come and the essence of his boyfriend swirling together beautifully. Or, that’s how Buck imagines it must be, as another bolt of pleasure zips along his spine. And he whines, can barely stop himself from shoving back against that slick warmth, all wet muscle and hot breath, begging for more more more more more…
“Fuck,” Eddie says again as he rips his mouth away. The hand on Buck’s ass disappears too, and he hears Eddie spit, then the wet sound of his hand on his cock, his erection back and demanding attention. Then his fingers pull free, are replaced by the hot, blunt press of more more more more more…
Eddie pushes in hard, quickly working up to the same brutal pace as before, like they had merely changed positions instead of coming once already. And fuck, it’s so good, so deep, the angle just right, that it barely even registers in Buck’s fuck-hungry brain.
“Eddie, you didn’t –“ he tries, but is cut off by the choked sound that forces its way out of him when Eddie slams against his prostate just right.
Eddie falters but doesn't stop, barely slows. “I thought…” He gasps and leans down over him, arms wrapping around his chest as he mouths at his shoulder. He roughly palms Buck’s pecs, getting a nice handful and squeezing until Buck whines again. “I mean, we’re already here, right?”
No, not right, Buck thinks. And this conversation is inevitable, just one that they should save for when they’re clothed and not drunk on pleasure or already balls deep. But the simple fact, there is nothing between us right now, is enough to make Buck shiver, to make him feel like he’s going crazy, to make him grind his hips back, desperate. Hungry.
Fuck it. They’re already here.
Eddie smears his lips up his neck in a mockery of kissing until he’s panting behind Buck’s ear. “You feel so fucking good like this, baby.”
God, if baby doesn’t still hit like a punch to the gut. But in a good way. Like how Eddie’s cock is punching him now.
“I already filled you up so good. You’re fucking dripping.”
Buck can feel it, Eddie’s come, coating his inner thighs, running down his ballsack. And the sound, the obscene squelch of Eddie jackhammering his cock into his well-used hole again and again and again, fuck, it should be disgusting. But it’s not, not at all. What it is is a thrilling reminder that Eddie’s inside of him. That part of Eddie’s going to stay inside of him.
“You ready for more?” Eddie’s voice is strained, his hips stuttering, rhythm lost. “You want it?”
Buck keens. He doesn’t want. He needs.
“Ask me.”
Buck doesn’t have to. Air catches in Eddie’s throat as he goes silent and still, but for the tremor that comes with his orgasm. He comes deep and deliberate and Buck swears he can feel every pulse.
He finally gets a hand under himself, giving his dick a few quick, tight strokes before he’s coming all over his fist, babbling, “Yes. Yeah. Yeah. Give it to me. It’s mine.”
He collapses then, Eddie’s full weight against his back, Eddie’s cock still pinning him in place. Buck can feel the sheets stick along his front, knows he should at least roll them over to the clean side of the bed, but he finds he doesn’t care. He wants to revel in how filthy he is. It makes everything feel so much more real.
When his brain starts working again, he lets out a little laugh. “Didn’t even have to say Please.”
Eddie stays quiet, and Buck wonders for a moment if he’s already fallen asleep. Then the arms around his chest tighten, just a gentle squeeze, and there’s a whispered breath at the base of his neck. “God, I love you.”
It’s not the first time for that, either, but it feels like it is every single time. Buck hopes that never stops being the case.
But instead of getting soppy, he laughs again. “You’re only saying that because I might be pregnant.”
“Okay, shut up,” Eddie says, hard enough to be a warning. But his hips grind forward despite himself, and he hisses at the over sensitivity.
(This became much more of A Thing than I thought it would, so it's up on AO3 here.)
One of the first things Carla does is kick Eddie out of his own house.
"Christopher and I aren't gonna find our own groove if you're still here, hovering in the corner," she says as she helps slip his jacket over his shoulders. "And I think you're long overdue for a night off."
"I... yeah," he says, double checking his wallet-phone-keys as she hustles him to the door. He's maybe a little grateful for how eager she is. If she weren't physically moving with him he'd probably still be on the couch. "Are you sure-"
"I'm sure."
"Do you need-"
"If I do, you're just a phone call away."
He hesitates with his hand on the door knob, a thousand and one scenarios of things that could go wrong flashing behind his eyes. "And if-"
"Eddie," she cuts him off again. She’s got both hands on his shoulders, and waits until she has his full attention. "I got this. Now you go out and have some fun." She pats his cheek, a little forceful but with affection. "Go explore! Grab a drink! Maybe make a mistake!"
He feels his face heat at the glimmer in her eyes. "That's, um... not really what I'm used to doing."
She smiles then, a knowing smirk that makes Eddie feel entirely too seen. "Well, lucky you, I think you know someone who would love to help you make some mistakes."
Buck is free, of course Buck is free, and so is Chimney, and Eddie gets added to the group chat so he can watch them bully Hen into joining them too. They have a regular bar, some badge and ladder tucked away in a neighborhood Eddie's still not familiar with. Chimney's been talking about needing to see his karaoke chops. But for some reason, they end up at the honkey-tonk from the call last week.
If it was bad during the lunch rush, it's awful after dark. It's a sea of rhinestoned cowboy hats, daisy dukes and tied off flannel shirts. They're playing the kind of music that's all about trucks and America and raising the perfect nuclear family with your high school sweetheart. Eddie feels like he should be offended. Eddie is a little offended, actually.
Chimney disappears as soon as he arrives, leaving the rest of them to try and wrangle some seats. They manage to catch a group of girls as they get to their feet, the one with the Bachelorette sash gushing that she looooves this song. They all sensibly bring their drinks with them, leaving their booth for the taking.
Eddie watches them go, in case one of them turns back to grab a forgotten purse or to try to start something over their stolen table, and that’s when he sees it. Most of the floor space in the back is cordoned off by yellow caution tape, leaving only a sliver of space for people to stand and mill around. And behind that caution tape is a mechanical bull, surrounded by gym-mat padding, a little booth with the controls and a bright flashing timer tucked away in the corner.
He watches as some guy with his flannel unbuttoned to his navel heaves himself up onto it. It takes him a minute to get his bearings, swaying slightly as he fights his drunken body for balance. It takes a single jerk for him to be sent sprawling to the floor, not even three seconds on the clock.
The crowd cheers like he’s done something, and he fist pumps once he finally gets to his feet.
A thought blips through his mind, but no, that’s probably not the kind of mistake Carla had meant.
Eddie’s about to start taking bets on how long before they have to go help with a concision or a broken arm when Chimney reappears, a tray of salt rimmed glasses balanced in one hand and a full pitcher clutched in the other. "The owner remembered us," he yells over the noise with a smug grin. "And members of the LAFD get margaritas for free."
Well, at least that explains why they’re here, of all places. Eddie joins in with the little cheer that goes up as they start to divvy up the glasses.
"So, no Bobby?" Eddie asks once he's had a drink. It sounds absurd as soon as he says it, hey, why isn't our boss joining us? But the 118 actually feels like the kind of place that would describe themselves as a family without it feeling like a line.
There's a moment where everyone exchanges uncertain glances before Chim shrugs. "Bobby doesn't drink." He side-eyes the crowd as another cheer goes up, almost twenty seconds on the timer. "He'll start an evening with us, sometimes, but I don't think this place and him would get along too well."
"Besides, he's got a date tonight," Hen says knowingly. She pauses to let them all "Oooh," like they're in a sitcom, before dishing some of the dirt she got from Athena.
It gives Eddie an opening to ask what had happened between the two of them to warrant a betting pool, which leads to the general lowdown about Bobby. There are enough gaps in their stories to let him know there are parts that should come direct from the man himself, but everyone clearly adores him, loves working under him, learning from him. Hen and Chim tell some tales from the pre-Bobby days, when they were each other's only port in the storm, and it hits Eddie once again that, for all his bluster, Buck has still only been with them for barely a year, that there are stories he still hasn't heard either.
It's weird, but it's not. It's so utterly unlike any other time he's gone out with people from work. Granted, he could probably count those times on one hand, the very rare occasion where they wrapped up early at the work site and he wasn't scheduled for a night shift as security at the fucking mall, where the thought of having to deal with another "conversation" with his mother managed to outweighed his desire to spend time with Christopher. They'd end up at some dive bar, surrounded by the same handful of faces that had probably been there since their liquid lunch, and no one would say much beyond some commentary about The Game that happened to be on.
It had driven Eddie crazy, back then, made him want to scream that he was only 25 for God's sake, and he didn't deserve to be here already.
But now? Even in a place like this, surrounded by stereotypes of his upbringing, just being with people whose compassion and love come off them in waves, who make him genuinely laugh?
It's good. It's so, so good.
They're halfway through their second pitcher and deep into tales of the shit they've seen when Chimney brings up his rebar incident, ignoring the groans and eyerolls from the others. And Eddie finally feels like he has something to contribute, waits patiently for an opening before saying, "You know, I saw something similar in Afghanistan, when-"
He's cut off by all three of his companions making wild noises, pointing at each other and flailing as they grab their glasses and chug.
Eddie lets the moment happen before speaking again. "So, drinking game rules when I mention Afghanistan?"
"Or when Buck talks about Abby-"
"What, wait, really?"
"Or Hen talks about her wife."
Hen nods solemnly, already refilling her glass.
"And for you, Chim?"
"Nothing, I'm never annoying about anything in my life."
"Okay, Mr. April," Eddie snorts, and Hen lets out a loud laugh.
"You. You get it," she says, and they tap knuckles, then glasses.
Buck suddenly slams his empty glass down. "Okay, who dares me to give it a go?" He gestures vaguely towards the crowd, losing it over barely fifteen seconds.
"Lord, no one," Hen is quick to say. "No one wants you to- And he's not listening."
Buck's already heaved himself out of his seat and gets swallowed by the writhing mass of glitter and denim. Eddie only realizes how close they had been sitting, pressed together on their side of the booth, once the solid warmth of him is gone.
"Not it!" Hen shouts, and near simultaneously Chimney yells "Noses!" and touches his index finger to his nose. They both give Eddie pitying looks.
"Uhh...?" Is the best he can manage.
"Congratulations, Edmundo," Chimney says, reaching across the table to slap him on the shoulder, nearly pushing his own half-empty glass to the floor. "You are now in charge of getting our lovely Buckin' Buckley to the hospital when he falls and breaks his neck."
It's a few minutes until it’s Buck’s turn. The bull is raised enough that they can see from their seats, but Chimney's pulled himself up to sit on the seat back, phone ready to document the show, swaying enough that the danger of toppling into the booth behind is very real.
Buck gets seated on the mechanical beast, takes a breath, and raises his hand to signal he's ready.
And.
He's good, is the thing.
Eddie's transfixed by the easy motion of it all. They start the bull off slow, an easy wave with only the occasional jerk, slowly building up speed and momentum. Buck just seems to roll with it, like it was natural, like it was nothing, his body loose and fluid. The muscles in his thighs clamp down hard around the girth of the machine, keeping him seated, but then he’ll lift himself up to standing as the bull moves out from under him, just to come back together in perfect sync. His hand is sure and steady on the strap wrapped around his forearm, bicep bulging as he works to keep his balance. A relax smile spreads across his face, red with exertion, sweat rolling from his brow, his mouth opening to let out the occasional whoop or holler, inaudible over the cheering of the crowd.
Eddie wishes he were closer, had shoved his way to the front of the crowd to get up close and personal. Because it's very impressive, and he can't look away.
Hen and Chimney agree, have started screaming along with the crowd. Because it's impressive, and captivating, and Eddie lets himself enjoy it.
Buck manages over three full minutes before he gets tossed, laying out in the padding on the floor while he catches his breath. It's by far the best time of the night. The noise around them is insane, everyone losing their minds over how good the show was, disappointed that it's over now. Not that he and Chim and Hen are any better, because, hey, that's their friend!
Buck has to fight his way back to the table, enduring countless pats on the back and words of praise. Hen's already emptied the pitcher into his glass, and he downs it gratefully.
They should probably get some water in them at some point, a little voice in his head whispers. He fails to say anything before Chim's off to get the next round, too focused on getting his hand to land on Buck's shoulder in his own show of congratulations.
He might be a little drunk.
"So where in hell did you learn to do that?" Chim says once he's returned with a new pitcher and some freshly salted glasses.
"Oh, I worked on a ranch for, like, a year."
Buck's content enough to stop there, already focusing on licking the salt from his new glass while everyone stares at him.
"Is that all you're gonna give us?" Hen finally prompts. "I worked on a ranch, therefore I'm good at... that?" She waves her hand towards the platform.
Buck shrugs. "Not much else to say, really. They trained horses, and the staff would go to rodeos and whatever to do all the barrel riding and roping and stuff. It was fun."
"You did barrel riding?" Eddie can't keep the disbelief out of his voice.
"Oh, fuck no, horses don't listen to me," Buck says dismissively. "All I did was muck out stalls, haul equipment. Moral support."
He tongues the rim of his glass again, the last of the salt already gone before he's even taken a sip. Eddie watches him, can't seem to look away.
"So they just let you ride a bull?" It's Hen's turn to be in disbelief. "What, because you asked nicely?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Buck shrugs again. "After the crowds were gone. After a few beers," he adds with a grin.
There's a beat of silence while they all digest that information. "That sounds incredibly stupid," Hen finally says, staring at him like she wishes she could go back in time and slap some sense into him.
"Oh, it was. I could have died!" Buck gushes, with the brightest, cheeriest grin Eddie's ever seen.
And Eddie laughs. He laughs so hard his stomach hurts. He leans into it, digging his shoulder into Buck's side, and Buck's laughing too. They all are.
And it's so, so good.
A bottle of beer gets thunked down on the table and they all turn to look at the girl who did the thunking. And oh, she's the worst of the worst, with her baby pink cowboy hat and her low cut crop top that's barely keeping her contained and the cut off shorts with dangling pockets.
"That was really good," she says, words thick with vocal fry. "I'd love for you to give me a ride sometime."
It's not even a good line. It's embarrassing. She should be embarrassed.
Buck just wipes at his eyes, tears gathered in the corners from the laughing fit. He offers her a polite smile. "Thanks, but I'm in a relationship."
And Eddie's suddenly very aware that he is still leaning against Buck, thigh and chest and shoulders pushed together, and Buck has an arm along the booth back that he can feel firm against his shoulders, and also he's maybe been glaring at her since the moment she interrupted. Because she's being rude, of course, and she deserves it. But it probably makes quite the picture.
He knows it does, because her eyes turn to Eddie, sliding between him and Buck approvingly before she grins. "He can come too, if you want."
"No," Eddie spits out with a little more venom than is warranted.
And Buck. Buck curls his arm the rest of the way around his shoulder, fingers spanning gently around his bicep. "Nah, we're good." His smile brightens, just a little. "Thanks for the beer, though."
"Cool, whatever," she says, and with a flick of her hair over he shoulder, she's swallowed back into the crowd.
They all exchange glances, all a little unsure that what just happened had happened, and then they're all laughing again until tears flow.
"I've never been to a rodeo," Eddie says later, much later, when they're outside, leaning against each other to try and keep steady. Karen had picked up Hen and Chimney, had offered them a ride too, but Buck had already ordered their Uber. Of course, then he realized he never updated his Home address. And then he realized he got Street versus Road confused and they had almost ended up on the other side of the city. But it was fine, the night's still mild, and Eddie's content to stand here and wait while Buck racks up cancellation fees.
"Aren't you from Texas?" Buck asks, surprisingly coherent for how heavily he's leaning against his shoulder. Eddie doesn't mind, though. It's a nice weight to bare. Very grounding. "Aren't you, like, legally required to be part cowboy?"
"Part vaquero," he corrects, to be a little shit. He thinks about it for a moment, listening to the hum of traffic, the car horns blaring in the distance. "I feel like my mom would hate it. The smell, probably. And my sister Sophia was a total horse girl. She was probably worried she'd start seriously asking for one of her own if she let her anywhere near a real one."
Buck hums. "I don't think Maddie was a horse girl. But she's a lot older than me. Maybe before I was born?"
They let the silence descend, as much as it can descend when the bar behind them is hemorrhaging noise. Buck tips his head, the inch or two he has on Eddie letting him rest that weight on him too.
And it's good. So, so good.
"D'ya think Christopher would like the rodeo? They have them around here, sometimes."
Eddie considers. "Do the animals get upset?"
Buck snorts. "If course they get upset, they're getting tied up and ridden bareback." Then he giggles.
"Even though that sounds like a pretty good Saturday night."
Eddie elbows him in the side as hard as he can manage, and they sway apart before crashing back together, and they're laughing again.
Eddie can feel Buck’s breath, warm against his cheek, and realizes just how close they are. He turns to him, and his eyes a shining, an easy smile spread across his face, and his mouth.
His mouth.
Make a mistake.
"We should take him sometime," he says, and Eddie can't remember what they were talking about. "I'll look it up."
Eddie nods, because any idea Buck has should be good.
Also his mouth.
Then Buck is pulling away, bringing his phone up to his face, stepping closer to the curb to flag down their driver. Eddie needs a second a minute a year to get his balance again, because gravity's shifted, and also he is very, very drunk.
Once he's strapped in the back of the car, already struggling against motion sickness, heading towards nothing but the worst hangover of his life, he resolves to have no more thoughts about mouths ever again.
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.
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.
