Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Pepa thinks I’m lonely,” Eddie says as he walks into the kitchen, clutching the sesame oil Buck needed, his phone in his other hand. He’s wearing a furrow between his eyebrows, a little frown, and Buck can tell he just got off the phone with her because despite the disgruntled look, Eddie’s shoulders aren’t up to his ears at the accusation.

“Can you add that to the sauce and mix it?” Buck says, pointing his chin at the bowl. “One teaspoon,” and then the sentence registers with him. “Christopher is back in LA though,” he points out as he cubes the chicken. “And,” he says lightly, “I can’t find an apartment.”

Eddie is already nodding, looking relieved that Buck is on the same page. “That’s what I said,” he complains, cracking open the oil. “I’m not lonely. I can’t even get a moment alone around here.”

Buck can’t help but grin at that. He missed this, this easy back and forth and bullying his way into Eddie’s space, making dinner for them, minus Christopher this evening because he went to see a movie out with friends. This is what he wanted, in the end, Eddie and Christopher back in LA, and all that’s left is finding an apartment and things will be exactly back to the way they used to be.

If he thinks it enough times, he thinks eventually he’ll believe it.

Buck can’t stop himself from wanting to stay sometimes anyway. There’s so much that matters here. There’s so much he wants to give. He knows he’s not really infringing, and he knows Eddie doesn’t care, that he’s always welcome, but Buck knows things need to go back to the way they were before, as much as they can without Bobby.

It’s a reminder that they can’t go back the way he wants to, but Buck tries not to think about that either.

Instead he teases, “Can’t even get a moment alone, huh? You need me to vacate so you can—” He raises his eyebrows, does a little glance down, and then laughs when Eddie catches his drift and flips him off.

The stir fry comes out successful, and then they fight over who’s doing the dishes, as they often do, and Eddie wins, as he often does, but only because he sends Buck to vacuum the bathroom so he isn’t sitting around, hands itching to do something.

This is something Buck missed too: Eddie handling him like it’s easy, anticipating where he’s going to get stuck before they even get there.

When Buck finally emerges, Eddie’s already sitting on the couch nursing a beer, an unopened bottle sitting on the table waiting for him. Buck grabs it, settles down next to him, watching as Eddie sits there, restless, fiddling around on his phone, before he abandons it and leans his head back with a sigh. “She wants to set me up.”

It takes a moment for Buck to remember what he’s talking about. “Pepa?”

“Mm.” Eddie stares at the ceiling, lost in thought, frown tugging at his face again. Buck looks at him for a long moment, at his dark eyebrows and his nose and the press of his lips, the stubble just clinging to his face.

I could kiss him, he thinks, and that’s a thought he’s never had before, and one he’s not quite sure what to do with. That makes him think of a conversation with Tommy, and Maddie, and—he’s not in love with Eddie. He really isn’t. It would feel different, wouldn’t it? Things would be different. It wouldn’t be impossible, if Buck were, so Buck doesn’t think he can be.

He just needs things to stay as they are, and he needs Eddie in his life, and Christopher, and Buck isn’t heartbroken. If he were in love with Eddie, he would be, he thinks. But he isn’t.

“Well,” Buck reasons, “you don’t have to date. Pepa wouldn’t make you do that if you really didn’t want to.”

Eddie hesitates, and then picks his head up and readjusts himself so he’s angled towards Buck, his shoulder pressing into the couch, fingers wrapped around the bottle in his lap. Buck slings an arm over the back of the couch too, angling towards Eddie to match him, make sure he knows he’s listening. “I know,” Eddie says, quieter now that they’re facing each other, and Buck missed this too, desperately. They talked quietly on FaceTime sometimes, when Eddie was already in bed, but it’s not the same hearing Eddie’s voice, seeing his face and watching his body language. Eddie continues, “She and Abuela keep saying they don’t want me to be alone forever.”

Buck tilts his head because he can tell that’s not the end of it. “But,” he prompts.

“But,” Eddie repeats, shrugging one shoulder, looking down at his beer, “Christopher just got back, and I don’t want to disrupt things,” and Buck understands where Eddie’s getting caught up, pulled somewhere between Abuela and Pepa’s wishes, and what Eddie thinks Christopher needs. That’s a lot of what Eddie does, thinking about what others need, juggling demands and trying to anticipate where someone will need him to be.

Buck knows it’s worse because Christopher just got back, but—

“Okay,” he says, nodding slowly, once. “What about you?”

Eddie glances up at him, eyebrows quirking up. “What about me?”

“What do you want?” Buck says, tilting his bottle at him, and Eddie’s expression cracks open just like that, which Buck knows means he’s been thinking about it. Probably driving himself crazy, Buck can’t help but think fondly, either thinking about it or trying to avoid thinking about it.

“I don’t know,” Eddie sighs, his shoulders slumping. “It’s just—a lot of effort.”

“You put in a lot of effort with Christopher,” Buck points out, because he doesn’t really think that’s the issue. “Bought a house. Moved to a whole different city.”

Eddie gives him a weak smile at that. “That’s Christopher.” He shrugs, smile fading. “Dating’s good in theory,” he says. “You know, having someone to come home to, giving Christopher someone to rely on.”

Those parts are good. But there’s more to it, for Buck at least, and he thinks there’s more to it for Eddie. Things like intimacy and trust and belonging. But Buck thinks about the things they’ve talked about with Eddie’s relationships, and he offers, a little joking, “Sex.” He knows Eddie enjoys that, even if it isn’t always for the right reasons. Buck’s familiar with that.

Eddie’s gaze looks a little distant now, rather than the breath of laughter Buck expected though. “Sex,” he repeats, quieter, so Buck forgoes the teasing.

“Love,” he offers instead, and it makes his throat feel a little tight for no reason at all. He likes that part most, but Eddie closes his eyes, like he’s resigning himself to something. Buck can’t figure out what that expression means, so he says gently, “Eddie?”

“That’s a lot to ask,” Eddie admits, eyes still closed, like it’s easier to say when he isn’t looking at Buck, like Buck’s gaze might see right through him.

Buck stares at him then, uncomprehending. “Love?” Because that’s not hard, not for him. It’s easy to love.

“Being in love,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck doesn’t understand that either. It’s easy to fall in love. Like breathing, sometimes, when someone cares enough, when someone looks at him like they want him to stay.

It would be easy, Buck thinks unbidden, if Eddie wasn’t straight and he wanted—it would be easy. Buck would fall in love with him so easily, but only if Eddie wanted him to, and Eddie doesn’t, so Buck isn’t.

Eddie opens his eyes beseechingly. “I’m not ready for marriage, Buck.”

“Woah,” Buck says, laughing despite himself, “no one said marriage.”

“But isn’t that the point?” Eddie groans. “That’s what Pepa keeps telling me she wants for me. But all of my relationships have ended badly. Maybe I’m just—not meant for it.”

“Maybe you need to date casually,” Buck offers instead, trying to think. Eddie looks at him then, and he reasons, “Okay, you and Shannon had a kid together. Christopher loved Ana. You freaked when you felt like you were a ‘ready-made family,’ your words not mine, and you said things were moving too fast with Marisol when you asked her to move in. So,” Buck concludes, “you need to date in a low pressure situation. Casual.”

“I don’t do—casual,” Eddie says, expression pinched, and it’s true—he doesn’t. It makes sense for Eddie, with Christopher, in a way that Buck doesn’t have to worry about besides that tight knot in his chest that’s always insistent upon wanting more. But Eddie is also slow to trust. He keeps his cards close to his chest, and will keep a secret until he’s found out, and it’s not that he doesn’t want to be loved, Buck knows, because he knows Eddie. Eddie does want to be loved, in the way that Buck loves him, Buck thinks, except Buck is a man, and he is not in love with Eddie, and Eddie wouldn’t want Buck to be in love with him. That would be too serious, anyway, and in a weird, jealous way, Buck doesn’t want Eddie to be serious with someone else, not when things are just getting back to normal.

Buck prompts, “Maybe you should try casual.”

“Then it’s just sex,” Eddie sighs. “And sex fucks things up.”

“Okay,” Buck allows, thinking casual, no sex… “Then date a friend.”

“A friend?” Eddie says, looking scandalized. “Isn’t that worse? That’s not casual.”

“Date a friend who would still be your friend after you break up,” Buck says, and in the same breath, without thinking, “Date me.”

He snaps his mouth shut, his entire body flushing with heat. Eddie looks at him for a very, very long second. “You.”

Through the sudden panic, Buck’s mouth goes on autopilot, “No sex, just a few dates, we’ll have an amicable break up. I already know and love Christopher. And anyway, I’m a guy. So, no need to worry about you catching feelings either.”

Eddie grins at that. “You think you’re such a catch?”

And it defuses Buck, just like that, the panic receding just as rapidly as it flooded him. After all, this is Eddie. This is Eddie. Buck can’t fuck this up. They’ve been through worse, worked through things, survived arguments. And Buck can’t—he won’t lose Eddie. He won’t.

He offers a tentative grin back. “I don’t think. I know,” he says, puffing his chest out just a bit, pleased all over when it makes Eddie’s eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Sure, Buck,” he says, dry, and then, “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” Buck repeats dumbly. Casual, he thinks, with Eddie. He’s going to do casual with Eddie. He’s going to date Eddie, but no he’s not going to date Eddie, not really. And he’s not going to ruin this, because he won’t let himself and Eddie won’t let him, and that’s the thing, isn’t it. Eddie won’t let him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, trying to stuff down his smile now as he examines Buck’s expression, and Buck gets a little breathless still sometimes at the way Eddie looks at him. Not in a feelings way, but in an Eddie way, in a way he’s always gotten with Eddie. “Don’t tell me you’re already backing out.”

“I’m not! I’m not,” Buck insists, blinking, but he has to check. “Are you sure?”

Eddie shrugs. “The hardest thing will be convincing Pepa I shouldn’t marry you.”

Buck chokes on his sip of beer at that. He recovers quickly as Eddie watches with amusement, glancing at the bottle in his hand and putting it safely back on the coffee table so he can wipe his sweaty palms on his pants and ask, “Is that… a common topic of conversation?”

“Eh,” Eddie says, feigning sudden interest in the bottle in his hand, not giving him an inch, and Buck knows he’s doing this on purpose.

“Come on,” he whines, delighted when Eddie’s mouth twitches with another poorly concealed smile. “You have to tell me.”

Eddie gives in, thinking for a second, before he says, “She’s never said anything directly, but… it’s in the eyebrows.”

That opens a whole can of worms on the Diaz eyebrows, and Buck forgets, when he’s making Eddie laugh, all those months of missing him. He forgets that it had been a long time since he’d last been lonely, really lonely, because Eddie had been there, through breakups and people leaving. He suddenly understands the look on Eddie’s face when Buck said he was transferring because he’s remembering when Eddie said he was leaving, and he remembers how much it hurt, how much it felt like Eddie was leaving him. But Eddie didn’t leave. Eddie didn’t leave him. And even going back to Texas, Eddie’s eyebrows betrayed him, and Buck knew he didn’t want to go. He needed a push, and Buck gave him that, and Eddie’s back where he belongs, close to Buck.

It’s unfathomable that they wouldn’t survive a break up. So Buck is going to give Eddie another push, because Pepa’s right, Eddie shouldn’t be alone, and because Eddie is always there when Buck needs him. He’s just returning the favor.

And maybe he can reassure himself that he’s not in love with Eddie. But that’s the part of himself that Buck needs to stop thinking about, so he buries it deep inside, imagines locking it in a box, but throwing out the key wouldn’t work, so instead he imagines handing it to Eddie.

-

“Buck,” he hears from far away, a voice he knows better than anything, sleep making everything sound soft, his body warm from the afternoon sun in the living room, limbs content to stay where they are.

“Mm.”

“Buck,” he hears again, and this time, he places it as Eddie’s voice, quiet, the sound of it familiar and full and real. “Come to bed.”

“I am in bed,” Buck mumbles, only complaining a little. He’s on the couch, really, but it’s home to him, familiar shape under him, and sometimes when he lays down it’s like his body remembers where it belongs and he seeps straight into it, like a little bit of him could be preserved here. Is that greedy?

“I think I would be a bad boyfriend if I made you sleep on the couch,” Eddie says, and Buck gets this little shiver in his chest at the word boyfriend, at Eddie saying it about himself in relation to Buck, and Buck is lonely, he thinks. He’s lonely, and it’s been too long, and he likes the way it sounds when Eddie says it, but he likes the way everything sounds when Eddie says it, and that has the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“I haven’t even taken you on a date yet,” Buck says through a yawn, but Eddie’s helping him up anyway, pushing him out of the living room, guiding him. Then they’re in his room, and Eddie holds up the covers so Buck can slip under them, his eyes falling shut again, the bed cooler from the lack of body heat but smelling more like Eddie, and this too is good. He can feel the bed dip when Eddie sits next to him, leaning against the headboard, close enough to touch but not quite touching.

Would that be casual? Buck hasn’t done casual before, not really, not on his end. He’s sort of done casual every time things haven’t worked out, but he’s always wanted more, and that scares him a little, how easy it is to want with everything he is, suddenly, fiercely.

He wants to go closer to Eddie. He wants to touch him, and to feel that he’s real, and really here, and he doesn’t think Eddie would mind so much. Buck is already laying on his side, and he doesn’t think before he wriggles a little, and then his brain catches up and he stops.

He’s never been in Eddie’s bed before. It feels like Eddie’s giving him an inch in some odd way, something that Buck has already given him. After all, Eddie has been in Buck’s bed, when they were in quarantine.

“Getting comfortable?” Eddie asks, misinterpreting the movement, his hand finding Buck’s hair, and it hits Buck that Eddie is taking on the role of boyfriend, and that—that’s something Buck hasn’t considered before.

Eddie is going to—he’s going to be Buck’s boyfriend. For a little. But this isn’t for Buck, this is for Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t have to do that.

Sleep feels a million miles away so he blinks his eyes open, looking up at Eddie. “You don’t need to act,” Buck says, disoriented, and then his heart seizes at the look on Eddie’s face, startled and a little hurt.

“I’m—” Eddie says, swallows. Doesn’t look at Buck for a second. “You know I’m not.”

“I know,” Buck replies immediately, because he does. Eddie tries to move his hand from Buck’s hair, and Buck catches his wrist before he can, giving silent permission. Eddie appraises him for a moment before his wrist relaxes in Buck’s grip, and he combs his fingers through Buck’s hair when Buck lets go. “I know,” Buck repeats, “but you don’t need to with me.”

Eddie exhales hard. “Doing casual doesn’t mean I should be a bad boyfriend.”

“Eddie,” Buck says because he thinks he knows what’s wrong. “It’s just me.”

Eddie looks at him then. “It’s just you,” he echoes, quiet. Says, “I have a bad track record with my exes,” and Buck understands.

“I think we’d survive anything,” Buck says, and then he has to close his eyes at it, his throat full of it, and he hears Eddie shift, scooting down on the bed and Buck can only tell because Eddie’s knees bump into his. He opens his eyes and they’re face to face now, close, and Eddie’s looking at him like he’s afraid.

“We would,” Eddie says, as if he’s reassuring himself. “Fuck,” he exhales. “How do people do casual?”

“I’m pretty bad at it,” Buck admits, and now that they’re talking about it, he feels like he needs to get everything off his chest, to confess because he’s—he knows how he is. He doesn’t want Eddie to go in blind. “I fall in love really easily.”

“Imagine that,” Eddie says, laughing like he knows, and he does. He does know Buck.

“Maybe casual is just us,” Buck offers through his own responding smile, and upon saying it, he feels like he can finally breathe, like a weight has been relieved off his chest. Eddie seems to decompress too, letting out a breath that sounds like it’s been stoppered up for a while.

“I’m good with that,” Eddie says, with clear relief, and Buck knows they’re on the same page. “No pressure.”

“No pressure,” Buck agrees. It’s Eddie, he thinks. This is Eddie. He’s not afraid of that, not even a little, and he thinks Eddie isn’t afraid either, with Buck.

“You’re going to kiss me, right?” Eddie asks a second later, and Buck’s entire body goes warm with affection of all things. It doesn’t feel like fear, or nerves, or fucking things up. It feels the way Buck always feels with Eddie, like there’s a tiny tug deep in his navel, a thrill of something familiar and new at the same time.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Buck asks curiously, pleased as he watches Eddie go pink.

“I like kissing,” Eddie tells him anyway, “and if we’re dating, we should definitely kiss.”

Buck’s breath catches. “Okay,” he says, feeling breathless with something like want. “You can kiss me too,” and that’s what he says, but he’s thinking, please, please kiss me, and he wants it suddenly and terribly, as if his body is overriding any logical thinking.

Eddie is looking at his mouth, and Buck’s mouth is so dry he has to swallow. It’s been too long, and he likes this, and it’s Eddie, and Eddie’s never looked at him like that. “Okay,” Eddie says softly, the corners of his mouth turning up when he examines Buck’s face. “You want that?”

“Yes,” Buck confesses, easily, and then he has to close his eyes with how much he wants it. This isn’t about Eddie, not really. It’s been a while now, since Tommy. It’s been a while, and Buck loves dating people, and he loves love, and he loves kissing and showering together and getting handsy, and he loves falling in love. He knows it’s not casual, he knows, but it’s hard to fight against the part of himself that wants it so badly anyway. “We don’t have to do everything I want,” he has to say.

“What else do you want?” Eddie asks, sounding serious, and Buck opens his eyes to see that his expression is just as intent, full attention on Buck, and it occurs to him that Eddie would give it. That if Buck asked, Eddie would, just like he often does.

“From you?” he asks, his voice cracking a little. He clears his throat. “Or from casual dating?”

Eddie shrugs. “Either. Both,” he offers, and Buck has to take a deep breath at that.

“Well, usually I’d have sex,” and of all the things Buck has said, Eddie seems most unphased by this one.

“You want to?” Eddie asks, but it’s not the way Buck’s been asked before, not the way someone asks if he’s willing. Eddie doesn’t move an inch, just looking at him, and Buck doesn’t move either, afraid to break the moment because he realizes Eddie knows him, and is asking him, really asking him, if he wants it.

“Yes,” Buck says first, and it’s honest. And then, “You said you didn’t want to.”

Eddie closes his eyes briefly. “I don’t want us to not talk,” he says, so quiet Buck leans in to hear him, close enough to count Eddie’s eyelashes, and then Eddie moves to close the distance, bumping his forehead against Buck’s. When he speaks this time, Buck can feel the soft puff of his breath on his lips. “Shannon and I had sex instead of talking.”

Eddie’s skin is warm against his, hair a little ticklish against his forehead, and Buck can see everything here, could map out the contour of Eddie, and he’s momentarily speechless at the breadth of him, of how real he is. Eddie’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, and Buck has seen him without a shirt, but it hits him for the first time that Eddie has a body he can touch. That he could use his palm to smooth over skin, and it’s been off limits, except they’re talking about sex, and Buck can read between the lines even though Eddie hasn’t confirmed anything, but he thinks that Eddie would be okay having sex with him.

“We’ll still talk,” Buck tells him, earnest, private, breathless. “I want to talk to you all the time.”

Eddie makes a soft sound. “Me too,” he admits, like it’s safe here. “Okay. Let’s have sex,” and Buck shivers, his whole body thrumming with it.

“Now?” Buck asks, not sure if he’s terrified or desperate.

Eddie laughs at that. “No,” he says. “We’ll work up to it,” and Buck’s heart trips over itself at that.

“Okay,” he says, mouth numb before he manages to pull himself together. “But first I’m going to woo you.”

“You’re going to drool on my pillow,” Eddie teases, but he’s smiling. “Am I supposed to find that sexy?”

“I don’t always drool!” Buck protests, and Eddie laughs.

“Hm,” he pretends, and he reaches between them and thumbs at the corner of Buck’s mouth, dipping in just a little. Buck’s heart does this little flip like it’s missed Eddie, and every time Buck thinks it, it hits him just how much he missed him. “Look,” Eddie says, with this little goofy grin, and Buck can’t help but drink it in. Eddie shows off the damp tip of his thumb. “You’re already drooling.”

“Tell me it’s not a dealbreaker,” Buck begs, grinning despite himself, and Eddie pretends to think it over.

“You can make it up to me,” is what Eddie decides on.

“I’m good with my mouth,” Buck says without thinking, and Eddie laughs loudly at that.

“Show off,” Eddie chides, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, and then he briefly, so briefly Buck almost doesn’t feel it, touches his mouth to the corner of Buck’s, a barely there kiss before he’s rolling away, hair messy, ears and neck pink, shirt rumpled as he stands.

Buck’s heart is in his throat. “Where are you going?” he asks in a daze, and Eddie turns just in time to catch Buck touching the spot where his lips were, and Buck flushes everywhere at that, not even sure why. It’s Eddie, he reminds himself. It’s okay with Eddie.

There’s a smile curving at Eddie’s mouth when Buck looks at him. “I’ll wake you in an hour,” Eddie says, and then he simply walks out, and Buck lays back, trying to coax back sleep, the corner of his mouth tingling.

Eddie kissed him there, Buck thinks, and Eddie kissed him, and Eddie’s going to kiss him again, and then he has to bury his face into the pillow, because god, Eddie’s going to kiss him again.

-

Buck doesn’t do casual. It’s been long enough at this point that he can finally admit that, that he can finally look at the bone deep loneliness head on, and the way every part of him was desperate for more. He’s done it, in a way, hooking up, the bed empty when he woke up the next morning, but Buck doesn’t think he’s built for casual. He’s not built for temporary, and maybe that’s what his parents got wrong the first time around, because Buck is meant for permanent. He’s meant for forever.

Sometimes, Buck thinks he might be forever to Eddie, and that’s the thing Eddie got right from the beginning. Eddie wants him around, and Buck will forever be around, for as long as he’s wanted, and maybe that’s not—it’s not supposed to hurt a little, Buck knows, and he isn’t sure why it hurts. Eddie got it right, except Buck could swallow it all, could carry so much within him, would never burst with it. He knows Eddie isn’t going to stop wanting him around, and it’s what Buck wants more than anything, except Buck knows he’s Eddie’s best friend. He loves being Eddie’s best friend, but he’s never had a best friend before. He’s never had someone that means forever, and that scares him sometimes, because Buck doesn’t know what he’s doing with Eddie. He just knows he wants to keep it, and he’s willing to do anything to do so.

He wants to keep it the way it is and the way it always has been and he’s not sure if that could ever be casual. Not to him.

“Buck,” Eddie says sleepily, and Buck turns his head. He’s laying on his back, has been staring at the ceiling listening to Eddie’s slow breathing next to him for an undefinable amount of time. They’ve shared a bed before, and Buck is partly reassured by this at least because it didn’t feel that much different from when they did before. It didn’t feel different when Eddie roused him from his nap, when they made dinner together, when they got ready for bed together, bumping into each other’s space.

It didn’t feel different, and still, Buck is terrified. Casual, he promised Eddie, and the fear feels like it could suffocate him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Stop thinking,” Eddie murmurs, eyes closed. “Come to bed,” and it feels like Eddie takes a pin to the balloon of Buck’s terror, and it deflates just like that.

“I am in bed,” Buck complains quietly, smiling despite himself.

“You’re freaking yourself out,” Eddie yawns, shifting closer, then closer still, and Buck shouldn’t move into him for some unnameable reason, not even when Eddie drapes an arm over his chest, burying his face in Buck’s shoulder. “Stop that,” Eddie says irritably, voice muffled by Buck’s shirt.

Buck doesn’t dare move. “Stop what?”

“Stopping yourself,” Eddie says, and then he turns to rest his cheek against the swell of Buck’s shoulder, cheek squished, finally opening his eyes to blink at Buck. “That’s what we agreed, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know how to do casual,” Buck confesses, hushed, swallowing hard but safe here under Eddie’s eyes.

“Just us,” Eddie reminds him. “That’s what you said. It’s just us.”

“You’re not casual to me,” Buck whispers. It feels like an admittance.

Eddie looks at him for a long second before he whispers back, “You’re in my will.”

Buck’s heart thumps. They’d never talked about it again, not after that single conversation. Eddie had said it like it was easy, then, but Buck understands that it’s not easy now. That Eddie isn’t saying it lightly, that he remembers, and that it’s important. “I missed you so much,” Buck says, and it’s like a gasp, like it’s been wrenched out of him, like he can feel it torn out of his chest. “I know you had to go, but I missed you,” and he can tell Eddie missed him just as much before he even opens his mouth, just by the expression on his face.

“You didn’t ask me to stay,” Eddie chokes out, as if he’s going for anger, but Buck knows it’s not anger. Even when Eddie is angry, most of the time it isn’t anger.

He looks wounded more than anything, like he wants to say more but he can’t, and Buck thinks he finally understands so he says it for him, for the both of them, “You wanted me to.” Eddie’s expression crumples.

“Yeah,” he admits, rough, and Buck’s chest is warm and full and he—he loves Eddie, he does, he does more than anything. Buck never runs dry of it. “Why didn’t you?” Eddie asks desperately. “I wanted you to,” he says with effort, like he can say it only now that Buck’s said it.

“You had to go,” Buck says, voice trembling, heart trembling with it. You had to go, and I couldn’t stop you from that. I wouldn’t.

“You need to tell me when something’s wrong, Buck,” Eddie says, frustrated. “You always—I want you to tell me when something’s wrong.”

And Buck is—he thinks he’s been simmering for a long time, trying not to boil over, but he can’t stop himself now in Eddie’s bed, Eddie’s arm still warm weight over his chest, Eddie’s head on him, and Buck is full of hurt and empty of what he wants. “I want to,” he starts, his voice bleeding everything. Eddie’s face softens just like that, and Buck’s bottom lip trembles at it, because he understands suddenly that Eddie is going to give him what he needs. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Eddie has always given him what he wants when he asks for it, or gives him what he needs before Buck even realizes he needs it. “What do you want me to say, Eddie?” he says anyway, the hurt already slippery under his hands. “You needed to go. Christopher always comes first. Between him and me, it’s not a competition,” and the phrasing of that wrenches back a memory, again, and Buck falls silent, biting his lip.

“I know,” Eddie says, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Buck. “I don’t want to choose,” he says quietly.

“You don’t have to. It’s always Christopher,” Buck says, but then it finally registers with him what Eddie is saying. You felt like you had to, Buck thinks, and that’s—

“Eddie,” is all Buck can say, breathless with it.

“I’m just saying,” Eddie says, turning his face so he’s speaking against Buck’s shoulder again. “You said casual is just us. And this is us. Is that okay?” he asks with a glance back.

Buck nods, worry gone just like that, warm all the way through. Eddie knows. Eddie knows him, and he knows what he’s getting. “That’s okay.”

“Is my head too heavy?” Eddie asks, lifting it. Buck’s shoulder aches a little, and he stretches his arm out, which Eddie seems to take as an answer because he moves closer to duck down and rest his head on Buck’s chest instead, the weight of him draping over the rest of Buck’s torso.

“You’re heavier like this,” Buck complains, but he’s already bringing his arm over Eddie.

“You don’t seem opposed,” Eddie says through a yawn. He’s warm and alive on Buck, and in a way, Eddie is giving this too. He might not know it, might not know how much Buck has been mourning sleeping in an empty bed, but he’s here where Buck needs him, and what they have isn’t casual, and they can still date casually, and all of that can be true, and Buck doesn’t need to have everything figured out.

They can figure it out together. That’s what Eddie really means, and that’s what Buck wants more than anything because when he’s with Eddie, he isn’t afraid. He doesn’t have to fight himself, and he doesn’t get stuck. He’s just everything he is, and Eddie doesn’t ask any more or less.

Buck has already done the hard part. He’s let Eddie go, and he’s missed him with everything already, so now he’s going to enjoy it, having him back. He’s going to love Eddie the way Eddie deserves, the way Buck wants to, and Buck can say that because even if he weren’t in love with Eddie, he would still love Eddie like he’s never loved anyone. Eddie is still Buck’s favorite person to be around, and in that way, it makes sense that dating Eddie won’t feel that much different, that it won’t feel casual, even if it is.

After all, Buck has never loved in pieces, especially not Eddie.

“Sleep, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, sounding like he’s on the brink of sleep, and Buck dutifully closes his eyes, everything in him already looking forward to waking up tangled up, to sleepy morning conversations, and a first date and a second and a third, and to holding hands, and to coming home to Eddie. To being home with Eddie, the way he’s always been.

-

“I have a bad track record with first dates,” Buck blurts out when Eddie opens the door, wearing a dark brown suit, and then he shoves the flowers he picked up on the way at Eddie, and he isn’t sure why suddenly his heart is in his throat.

Eddie accepts them, raising an eyebrow at Buck. “I know,” is all he says before he disappears back into the house, the empty space an invitation that Buck takes gladly as he steps in too. He dismissed the tie earlier, going with just the green suit jacket instead, and he knows this isn’t really casual, except he and Eddie like to go out and try new places all the time. It’s like a little game with the two of them, play acting in places they don’t usually frequent.

They’re both familiar with nice restaurants, but it’s rare they find themselves in one together, and Buck wants to do this right. He wants to treat Eddie to it, just for the fun of it, and he’s reminded of this when Eddie comes back into the room flowerless and saying, with a knowing look, “Are you sure you wanted to take the first date?”

Buck had insisted, and Eddie had let him with a shrug as he often does. “Yes,” Buck insists, forgetting his anxiety in the face of Eddie’s skepticism. “Come on, I’m the one who asked you out.”

“If I remember correctly, we both agreed to it,” Eddie says, dry, ushering Buck out the door. Buck goes dutifully, still ready to protest.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t treat you,” Buck retorts, and Eddie gives him this small smile that Buck can feel down to his toes.

“You do like doing that,” Eddie says fondly, and then, “You’re driving, aren’t you?”

Buck gives him an offended look at that, and Eddie grins in response before getting in the passenger seat without another word.

When Buck turns the key to kill the engine half an hour later, he’s still nervous, afraid the moment he takes his hands off the steering wheel, he’ll be unmoored. He can tell Eddie’s looking at him, not moving either. “Buck,” is all he says.

“I know, I know,” Buck says, closing his eyes, swallowing. “Stop overthinking.”

“If you think about it, this isn’t our first date,” Eddie says, and it’s so absurd and reassuring and so Eddie that Buck has to open his eyes to look over at him.

“Eddie,” Buck says, incredulous. “What?”

Eddie shrugs, looking out the window. “We’ve been on a million dates before this. Our first one involved a grenade and neither of us got blown up.” He finally turns back to glance at Buck with a shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Besides a tracheostomy, you mean,” Buck says, but the corners of his lips are tugging up despite himself. “Or getting left on the side of the road.”

Eddie makes a sound at that. “Trust me on the first one. And I’m not doing the second. You’re my ride,” which makes Buck laugh, and, in turn, makes Eddie smile wide, looking pleased. “Come on, baby,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door, and Buck’s breath catches, just a little bit.

It’s been too long, he thinks. It’s just been too long.

Eddie continues, oblivious, “Knock my socks off.”

“You sure you want me to turn the charm on?” Buck has to ask, and his face must be doing something giving away the mix of mischief and sincerity he’s feeling because when Eddie glances back at him he just laughs before closing the car door on Buck.

They get there two minutes before their reservation time, the table is tucked away in a mostly private corner, and Eddie takes over on the wine, so Buck can feel himself finally start to relax. It helps that Eddie keeps cutting conspiratorial looks over the wine, and that Buck knows he knows debatably two nice wines compared to his endless knowledge on cheap beer.

“Good choice,” Buck comments when the waiter disappears, laughing at the face Eddie makes in response.

“Drink your wine, Buckley,” Eddie tells him sternly, but he’s grinning as he takes a sip before he leans back in his seat, crossing his arms to watch Buck put his own glass down before he finally looks away to study the menu. Buck lets out a soft breath once Eddie’s eyes aren’t on him, quiet but not quiet enough that Eddie misses it. His eyes flicker up to Buck, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You nervous?” he asks.

“No,” Buck lies through his teeth. Then, sheepish, “Yes. I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date. And it’s—” It’s you.

“It’s me,” Eddie completes for him, studying him thoughtfully. He doesn’t move for a second before he puts out his hand, palm up, and Buck doesn’t think, simply reaching out to intertwine their fingers, and it feels safer there, with his hand enveloped in Eddie’s.

“Your hands are bigger than mine,” Buck says dumbly, staring, entirely too hushed. He doesn’t know that he’s ever noticed it before.

Eddie’s eyes are trained on him when Buck glances up, intent, but he’s smiling. He says, “You can’t think about sex on the first date.”

“What?” Buck exclaims, flushing all the way up to his ears. “I wasn’t!” and he tries to take back his hand except Eddie firmly doesn’t let go, so he does this odd little jerk instead and his elbow bumps his wine glass. He watches in horror as it starts to tip, the wine sloshes, and—Eddie catches it, right before it spills. He moves it to the other side of the table, safely out of the way and raises his eyebrows.

“You really have terrible luck,” he says, and Buck groans, face still warm, giving in and wrapping his fingers back around Eddie’s hand, rewarded by Eddie’s thumb stroking his skin, making something pleasant and shivery zip up his spine. Eddie seems to read it all on his face, watching him like he’s entertained and endeared both. “My hand isn’t that much bigger than yours,” Eddie says first, studying their clasped hands, and then, “You like holding hands?”

“You don’t?” Buck asks, surprised, and that makes Eddie finally pause, a brief flash of something that reminds Buck too much of the look Eddie gets when he gets cornered, when he’s finally forced to think of something he’s been avoiding.

Eddie shrugs, feelings tucked away just like that, like it’s easy enough to brush it off. “Never really thought about it,” he says, but he’s looking at their hands staunchly, and Buck knows him and he’s not going to let it go, and he knows Eddie knows that.

“Okay, but now you’re thinking about it,” Buck points out, and that makes Eddie look at him, a huff of a laugh escaping his mouth. “So,” Buck continues, relieved that he can still do that to Eddie, “what do you think of it?”

“Holding hands?” Eddie hedges. Buck tilts his head in that way he knows will get Eddie, and Eddie cracks. “I don’t know, Buck,” he says, as if exasperated. “It depends. With Shannon—”

“With me,” Buck interrupts, and Eddie stops. “I’m asking how you feel about holding hands with me.”

Eddie looks at him for a very long moment in which chews on his lip. He laughs again, soft and with more embarrassment than anything. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

Buck grins. “When have I not?”

That coaxes a real smile out of Eddie. “Never,” he says, squeezing Buck’s hand, and answers, casual as anything, “It’s nice.”

“Just nice?” Buck pushes, just a little.

“The pout doesn’t work on me,” Eddie says dryly and goes back to studying the menu. Buck lets it go, smiling to himself and then looks again at their hands laying on the table, in plain sight, Buck’s hand enveloped safely, surely, and that isn’t casual, not really, but it is them. Eddie’s got Buck in the ways it matters, and Buck wonders suddenly when the last time someone had him the way Eddie has him was. Maddie, maybe, when he was a kid. Because Eddie’s not like anyone else, not like Abby, or Taylor, or Tommy. And Buck’s been on a million first dates, but never one like this where it slots right into place with everything else about Eddie.

Buck is nervous, sure, but not about chasing Eddie off. “Split an appetizer?” he asks just to ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie doesn’t even look up, saying, “‘Course,” so Buck gives a last look at their hands before turning his attention to the menu.

He’s vaguely aware that another few guests are being led by when he hears a choked noise directly next to him and, “Buck?” in a voice he knows far too well, and it feels like time slows as he looks up, thinking only, oh no, but there Maddie is, Chimney looking equally as stunned on her other side, both of them frozen midstep. The waiter a few steps in front of them seems to sense he’s no longer being followed because he turns too, and Buck can see out of the corner of his eye when Eddie casts him a quick glance. Through the haze of his panic, he has a stray thought as to how many other people are watching, and then another that wow, he really has bad luck on first dates.

“Uh,” Buck says eloquently, his entire body going hot, and he becomes hyper aware that his palm is starting to sweat where it’s still firmly in Eddie’s grip.

Chimney is the first to say, still looking shellshocked, “You’re holding hands.”

Buck attempts to loosen his grip again only for Eddie to tighten it and say, firmly, “We’re on a date,” and there’s something about Eddie being the one to say it that enables Buck to tear away his eyes to look instead at Eddie, who glances back again so their eyes meet. Buck can feel it like a spark coming alive in his stomach, a jolt at the realization that they’re on a date, they really are, and Eddie’s acknowledging it as one, and he’s still holding Buck’s hand, and Buck thinks, unbidden, he wants it to be.

“Yeah, we uh—” Buck says, stumbling over his words, but Eddie squeezes his hand just a little, and it gives him the courage to say, “We’re giving it a try. And it’s going well, so uh—” and he makes a little shooing motion when he looks back at them, which makes Maddie finally unfreeze, smile growing on her face.

“You’re not off the hook,” she says, going for stern and missing it by a mile, and then she drags off a still gawking Chimney. Buck makes the mistake of catching the look Eddie is giving him before he busies himself with the menu again, his face still warm.

“Going well?” Eddie says slyly, and Buck ignores how hot his ears feel to throw him a half concealed middle finger that makes Eddie laugh. “You know,” he continues, mild, “when you said your luck was bad, I thought I had an idea of it. I think I might have underestimated it.”

Buck groans, thunking his head on the table. “Of all the people,” he moans.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Eddie says, really laughing now.

“You do know Chim can’t keep a secret to save his life,” Buck says, just to get back at him, and he picks his head up to see Eddie’s smile fade into something like horror, which makes him burst out laughing in response.

“He’s going to tell everyone,” Eddie moans, but he’s fighting a smile at Buck’s amusement. Buck recovers himself, takes a deep breath, and then he sobers up because it hits him that Eddie’s not—that Eddie is—

“Is that okay?” Buck asks, quietly.

Eddie looks faintly surprised at it. “What’s wrong with dating you?” he jokes.

“Hey,” Buck chides, though it didn’t hurt. “You’re not—I mean, you’re straight.”

Eddie shrugs. “We’re not really dating,” he says, and for some reason that hurts. Buck doesn’t recoil exactly, but there must be something on his face that Eddie recognizes, because Eddie can read him better than anyone, and Eddie’s already leaning forward, saying, “Buck.”

“I know,” Buck says, because he does, but his chest is aching. “It’s just—it’s only for a little.”

Eddie looks at him for a long time before he says, “I wouldn’t mind dating you. Straight or not.”

Buck feels it like a punch to the gut. “Eddie,” is all he can muster.

Eddie shrugs. “Seriously,” he says. “What’s wrong with dating you? I don’t understand why people keep breaking up with you. You give people everything.”

Buck swallows hard, blinking. “You’re my best friend,” he says, trying as hard as he can to stop his voice from wobbling. “You have to say that.”

Eddie’s shoe bumps his beneath the table. “Did you know people get to choose their best friends?” he replies, and his eyes are very dark and very warm, the corners of his lips turned up, something affectionate written all over his face as he looks at Buck, and Buck doesn’t understand how Eddie does that, how Eddie loves him that much.

“Very funny,” Buck says, but his voice comes out all drenched anyway.

Eddie smiles at it. “Choose something,” he urges, nodding at the menu, “or I’m choosing for you,” and his voice is swallowed up in an odd little way so that for a moment all Buck hears is, I’m choosing you, and for another moment he absorbs it, before he lets it go.

-

“You’re not how I thought you’d be,” Eddie says when they emerge into the night air three hours later. Buck sighs when the cool breeze hits his face, watching as Eddie unbuttons his collar, revealing a sliver of his neck that Buck can’t look away from for a second, but he’s still stuck on what Eddie said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, faking indignance, casting an accusing sidelong glance at Eddie.

Eddie shrugs, unbothered as they enter the parking garage. “I figured when you went on dates, you fluttered your eyelashes and then made a complete fool of yourself with bad pickup lines.”

Buck laughs in protest. “Uh, my pickup lines work,” he points out, pleased at Eddie’s responding scoff before he gets a hand on Buck’s elbow to steer them towards where they parked. It makes something tremble within Buck, despite the familiarity of the gesture, something they’ve done a million times, and Eddie’s arm and shoulder bump against his, and Buck doesn’t even think before he leans into it. He tries to continue, distracted now, and that’s what he blames for it when he says, “And anyway I’m not trying to get you into bed yet,” and he flushes all the way up to his ears when he realizes it.

“So this isn’t the real experience,” Eddie fires back like normal, and Buck can’t help the fondness that rushes through him.

“I’m being a gentleman,” Buck retorts, easy, smiling. Eddie squeezes them through the gap between two cars to where the Jeep is sitting, and then he leans back against it, giving Buck a look he’s never seen on Eddie’s face before, something daring and playful.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, voice threaded through with a challenge. “You still going to kiss me?” and Buck finally understands.

“Tongue or no tongue?” Buck asks back, which makes Eddie laugh.

“Isn’t tongue a bit much for a first date?” Eddie asks, watching amused as Buck gets all up in his space. Buck knows Eddie’s asking him for it, in the way that Eddie asks for things sometimes with just a look at Buck, and he knows how to bluster and how to push, but still, he’s careful with his hands, even as he puts a palm on Eddie’s chest to push him more firmly against the Jeep. Eddie goes, easy, his chest rising and falling under Buck’s hand, heart beating fast, the defiance on his face gone and replaced by something else, his eyes wide as he looks at Buck.

Buck shrugs, keeping it easy. “Depends on the customer,” he says, rewarded by a soft breath of laughter.

“This customer requests tongue,” Eddie decides, his voice hushed, right before Buck kisses him. Eddie goes very quiet then. Buck doesn’t go for it straight away, just a closed mouth kiss that floods him with warmth, and he sways back just a little to make sure it’s okay. Eddie takes a soft little breath into the space between them before he closes the distance, and he’s the one who bites gently at Buck’s bottom lip before he slips his tongue into Buck’s mouth.

It’s hot. Eddie’s a good kisser, and Buck gets a little handsy, tugging at Eddie’s neat hair and pulling at his lapel, and it just feels good, Buck’s entire body warm under Eddie’s wandering hands too, slipping under his jacket to run them over Buck’s chest, thin shirt barely anything when those are Eddie’s hands on him, when it’s Eddie touching him. Eddie’s the one who finally breaks the kiss, and Buck chases his lips before he realizes he’s doing it, stopping himself, as Eddie laughs a little into his mouth. He didn’t go far, and Buck is glad of it, their noses bumping, something settling within Buck when Eddie thumbs at his ear, sighing softly before he rests his forehead against Buck’s.

“So,” Buck says, his voice rough. He clears his throat. “You kiss all your dates like that?” He feels more than hears the ghost of Eddie’s laugh again, the vibrations in his chest under Buck’s palm.

“No,” Eddie says, leaning his head back against the Jeep instead, and Buck finally sees what he’s done, his heart jumping up to his throat, and oh fuck, he should’ve been more respectful because Eddie looks like sex, pupils blown wide, hair mussed, shirt rumpled, and Buck has to close his eyes at it, his thoughts running ahead and ahead, to getting Eddie like this and pressing him into his bed instead, and Buck thinks he’s finally starting to realize this might’ve been a bad idea.

It’s just—it’s not that he’s in love with Eddie. Eddie wouldn’t want that. It’s just that his wires are getting a little crossed, and he—it’s been a while since he’s kissed someone. It’s just been a while, that’s all.

His palms sweating, he takes a wobbly step back. Eddie lets him go, easy, and Buck’s hands hover in midair before he stuffs them into his pockets, swaying a little. He tries for a smile at the confused look Eddie gives him. “We should go,” he offers, “before Maddie and Chim see us again.”

That has Eddie running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to flatten it, with an unreadable little look at Buck before he pushes himself off the side of the Jeep, and they bundle themselves in, Buck driving back too. It’s easy like that, in the safety of his seatbelt, when Buck’s hands are occupied, except he feigns walking Eddie to his door, and then Eddie is looking at him again, like he always looks at him, and Buck wants to kiss him again, more than anything.

It takes everything within him to usher Eddie through the door instead. They kick off their shoes, Eddie goes to check that Christopher got himself ready for bed, and Buck locks the bathroom door behind him, taking a deep breath now that he’s finally alone.

Eddie isn’t going to catch feelings, Buck knows, and Buck isn’t either—hasn’t since he realized he swings both ways, and if that doesn’t prove it, then what will? After all, Eddie’s pretty amazing, and Buck would have fallen for him first, before anyone, but he didn’t, and he wants to tell himself it’s because Eddie wouldn’t want that, except Buck can’t stomach that particular lie. He looks at himself in the mirror, and he can still feel Eddie’s hands all over him, and hear Eddie’s voice, and he thinks, Eddie would be fine with it. Eddie would be okay with it, if Buck fell in love with him, because Eddie loves him and he knows him, and they’d survive anything.

Eddie knows Buck falls in love easily, he knows, and Buck knows, except maybe he didn’t realize what that meant, except he’s not in love with Eddie, except except except—

A knock at the door. Then, Eddie’s voice, “Buck?”

“Uh, just give me a second,” Buck says, determined not to unlock the door, not yet.

“Open the door,” Eddie says.

Buck unlocks the door. Eddie doesn’t bother with pleasantries, opening it, stepping inside, and closing it behind him. “You’re freaking out,” he says flatly, and Buck bristles at his tone, feeling the accusation.

“I’m not,” Buck denies automatically.

“What is it then?” Eddie asks, eyebrows furrowed, looking a little angry, and Buck thinks that’s unfair when Buck hasn’t done anything. “Why are you—” He makes a vague gesture towards the door. “—locking yourself in the bathroom?”

“What,” Buck says, a little hotly, “am I not allowed to use the bathroom in peace?”

“You know that’s not the issue,” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice down.

Buck matches his volume, aware that the walls aren’t that thick, not wanting Chris to hear them arguing for who knows what reason. “Well, what is the issue?” he replies, face hot. “I thought the date was good.”

“So did I,” Eddie retorts, and then they both stop, just looking at each other, and Eddie looks—

The thing is understanding Eddie is like cracking him open, bit by bit. Eddie lets Buck see more of him than anyone, and he still tries to cover up the cracks like he doesn’t understand that Buck doesn’t care what lies underneath everything. But even with all that covering up, Eddie can’t keep everything hidden. Buck knows him too well to miss it, and Eddie looks a little like the ground got swept out from under his feet.

“It was,” Eddie says, voice hoarse. “I thought you were going to kiss me on the porch.”

“I wanted to,” Buck says without even thinking about it.

“I’ve never kissed a man before,” Eddie says, and it sounds like it just slips out of him, but he squeezes his eyes shut, and it wasn’t like that for Buck, not whatever expression is on Eddie’s face.

It catches Buck off guard, because he knows how to calm Eddie down, knows how to try his best, but this. He’s not sure about this. “That bad?” he says lightly. Eddie shakes his head minutely, eyes still closed, and Buck takes that in for a while in which he watches Eddie breathe, slow and even.

“We’re okay?” Eddie says after a while, something desperate in his voice.

“Eddie. Yes,” Buck says, giving him a look of disbelief, and Eddie cracks a smile despite himself. “I mean,” Buck continues, letting that little bit of cockiness slip into his voice, “you know I’m a good kisser, right?”

“Yeah, figured that one out, buddy,” Eddie says, and Buck can’t help his own responding grin, except Eddie steps towards him, punching Buck’s chest without any force, staring at his own hand, and then he looks up and Buck’s breath gets swept clean out of his lungs. “We’re okay?” Eddie repeats, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Can’t scare me off that easy,” Buck tells him, nothing but honest, and Eddie only hums in acknowledgement though he looks clearly relieved.

“Now, really,” Eddie says, and Buck groans, realizing Eddie isn’t going to let it go, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Buck tries weakly.

“You said you’d talk to me,” Eddie says, unwavering, and Buck opens his mouth, finds he has nothing to say because they both know when Eddie asks him for something, Buck gives it, easier than breathing, and he closes his mouth, turning to sorting through his thoughts instead.

Eddie waits for him, patient. Finally, Buck says, mouth numb, “I think I want you too much.”

Eddie stares at him. “Too much?” he echoes, and Buck prays only that he doesn’t ask what that means because saying it would make it too real, and he doesn’t even understand the fear himself, just that he knows it’ll change things, and Buck doesn’t want things to change.

“I don’t—” Buck starts, stops. “I don’t know. I don’t want things to change. I can’t lose you,” he says, and it feels like something within him crumples just like that, emotion rising up. “I can’t lose you.”

“We’d survive anything,” Eddie tells him, sincere. “That’s what you said.” He takes a moment to study Buck, and then he says, quieter than anything, “I trust you. You should too.”

Buck can’t respond to that, swallowing hard, eyes growing blurry.

“It’s not too much,” Eddie says firmly. “Not for me.”

“What if it’s too much for me?” Buck has to ask, voice wet, and maybe that’s really what the fear is. Maybe it’s that he’s afraid of loving as much as he has because he’s afraid of getting hurt, because he’s been hurt and he’s not sure how many more times he can bear it, and his chest hurts, except Eddie is standing here and not in El Paso, and Christopher is asleep in the room over, and Buck is home, and he has so much of what he wants, and he’s not going to lose the things that Eddie can give him. That’s what Eddie’s telling him.

“I’m with you,” Eddie says, shrugging. “If it’s too much for you, let me carry some of it.”

Touched, Buck can’t say anything for a moment. Then, choked, “Sorry for ruining our date.”

Eddie pats his chest. “A little crying never ruined anything,” he says, and he manhandles Buck to the sink with an arm around his waist. “But I’m tired, and we need to hurry up and brush our teeth so we can finish this date in bed.”

“In bed?” Buck asks through sniffles. “That’s moving a bit fast, isn’t it?” but he accepts his toothbrush from Eddie.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me in bed with you, Buckley,” Eddie says, laughing again, already, like it’s easy with Buck, and Buck wonders if that’s what he needs to do.

That’s them, after all. It’s easy, with Eddie, and Buck tucks the fear away for now, just like that, in favor of absorbing the warmth of Eddie’s arm against his.

Easy, Buck thinks, when they’re changed and tucked into bed, and he can see it reflected in Eddie’s eyes when he looks back at him. He can let it be easy.

-

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to hide,” Eddie says from behind him. Buck doesn’t bother turning, sitting on the edge of the roof of the firehouse, but his body goes warm when Eddie joins him, just as close as ever, shoulders and arms pressed together when he’s settled. He looks out at the beginnings of the sunrise, and Buck glances at him.

“Sorry,” he offers, and Eddie looks at him with only a little judgement, which makes Buck snort despite himself.

“It takes two for us to be partners, you know,” Eddie says, but Buck is relieved to see his face isn’t as pink as it’s been all shift, through all the teasing from the 118. “It’s kind of nice, actually,” Eddie says, now squinting at the horizon like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Buck continues to stare at him in question, and Eddie cracks after maybe ten seconds when he makes the mistake of looking over at him. “Talking about you,” he adds on, begrudging.

Buck’s heart skips a beat. “Don’t you always do that?” he has to tease anyway, rewarded by Eddie elbowing him in the ribs, not too hard because they’re on the edge of the roof, and Buck has to laugh at it.

“I heard you’re worse than me,” Eddie says, eyes glinting now. “Ravi said you wouldn’t shut up about me when I was in El Paso.”

Buck groans. “I missed you, and you know it,” he whines, pleased anyway at the way Eddie’s face softens, like he still doesn’t know just how much Buck loves him. “Why were you asking Ravi about it anyway?” Eddie’s ears turn red, and Buck, sensing blood, gleefully chides, “Eddie. Don’t tell me you were asking everyone about me.”

Eddie opens his mouth, hesitating. “I was—I wasn’t exactly asking about you.”

“O-kay,” Buck accepts, suspicious. “Then what were you asking about?”

Eddie shrugs. “Us,” he offers shortly, and then he reaches out and slips his hand into Buck’s, where it’s sitting on his lap, and the amusement within Buck dies in favor of holding Eddie’s hand instead. “Can I plan the second and third dates?” Eddie asks, eyes dark and close enough to drown in when he looks at Buck, when Buck looks back at him. They’re practically nose to nose, and neither of them moves away.

“That’s not fair,” Buck protests, voice hushed now for the little space between them.

“I’ll plan the third one,” Eddie insists. “But you don’t need much for a date, do you?”

Buck blinks. “I mean,” he says, mouth dry, “not with you, no.”

Eddie stares at him, startled. “No, I meant—” he starts and trails off, and then he clears his throat. “I didn’t mean—” He stops again, really staring at Buck. “Buck,” he says helplessly, “what?”

“What?” Buck asks, not understanding.

“You like it when people put in effort for you,” Eddie says, like an accusation, though it doesn’t hit Buck like one.

“Yeah,” Buck says slowly. “You put in a lot of effort for me.”

Eddie’s expression cracks, just a little. “That’s not a problem for me,” he says firmly. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Buck says, shaking his head because he’s not saying it for himself. He’s not saying it because he thinks it’s a burden on Eddie, because he knows it’s not. That’s just who Eddie is, and that’s just how Eddie is with him, and he thinks Eddie doesn’t understand that. “I’m just saying. You always put in effort for me. So yeah, I don’t need much for a date with you.”

Eddie blinks a few times, and Buck squeezes his hand, rewarded by a squeeze back. “I meant,” Eddie says, “all we need for a date is us and the sunrise.”

“Oh,” Buck says as it clicks, smile already rising onto his face. “You asking me on a date, Diaz?” he says slyly, and Eddie shakes his head fondly.

“Don’t play coy now,” Eddie tells him, nudging his knee against Buck’s as if chiding him, and Buck’s entire body feels warm. “It’s not as cute as you think.”

“But it is a little cute?” Buck asks, fishing now, and he laughs when Eddie completely ignores the question in favor of looking back out at the sunrise, and they’re still in uniform and Eddie’s right that maybe they’ve been on dates before because the only thing different is Buck’s hand clasped in Eddie’s, but it feels the way it always has, fundamentally, and that’s easy.

-

Eddie takes him out for a movie, some comedy, and burgers and shakes after, and he doesn’t say a word about it so Buck doesn’t even realize it’s a date. It’s only after they’ve been laughing for hours, after he’s been doing nothing except soaking in Eddie’s company, after Eddie gets a determined look in his eye when they’re on the doorstep that Buck realizes that was their third date, and he doesn’t have a second to overthink it because Eddie kisses him, and then Buck is lost in Eddie again, as he often is.

It’s not as heated as the last kiss was, but just as addicting, and Buck is again the one to chase Eddie’s lips when he breaks it. “You’re doing that on purpose,” Buck complains, Eddie already laughing.

“I just wanted to see if you’d do it again,” Eddie replies, grinning even when he lets Buck kiss him thoroughly a few more times for good measure until he looks well-kissed, and then a little dazed when Buck drags a hand deliberately down his chest, and something hot flashes through Buck.

He deliberately takes a step back, not trusting himself to keep his hands to himself, except then he can really see the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, and how mussed his hair is, and that Eddie is—that he’s—

“Go on,” Buck says, inclining his head at the door and purposefully looking away because he can’t think about Eddie being turned on, not when all he wants to do is touch him, and he knows Eddie gave him permission, and Buck’s had sex with a million people, people he dated and people he didn’t, but the thought of having sex with Eddie suddenly feels like a weight on his chest.

They haven’t talked about what Eddie said that last time. Buck knows it’s new, that Eddie’s figuring himself out, and, maybe selfishly, he’s glad it’s with him because he knows how to be safe for Eddie. He’s always known how to be that, and he could, is the thing. He could have sex with Eddie, and he would make it so good for him, except Buck just knows—he can’t.

It’s hard because sex with Eddie would be so easy. Buck can imagine it, can feel the way he’d have Eddie under his hands, how he’d press him against the wall on the way to the bedroom. He bets he could figure out how to coax little noises out of him, and he thinks he’d only need the once to memorize Eddie like that, and he’s terrified of it, and of how much he wants it, so much his throat aches with it, and he knows he told Eddie he wants it, but it’s just so much, and he’s afraid.

“Buck,” is all Eddie has to say.

“The third date is way too early to have sex,” Buck blurts out, and there’s a long silence before Eddie snorts. Buck can’t help but look at him, his own smile creeping up when he sees Eddie looking at him with something soft and amused and private. “What?” he asks.

“You’re not so good at following that rule yourself though, are you?” Eddie asks, barely suppressed laughter evident in his voice.

Buck splutters at it, and that coaxes real laughter out of Eddie. “I can be respectful, thank you very much,” he protests, but he can’t help getting caught in Eddie, and just like that, he feels settled back into his skin from wherever he was before, untethered.

“You’re always respectful,” Eddie reasons, clapping a hand on Buck’s shoulder, and they go through the motions of getting ready for bed the way they always do, Chris sleeping over at Pepa’s which turns out to be good because neither of them can control their laughter, and it’s easy, falling into bed with Eddie, and it’s easy cuddling up behind him and slinging an arm over his waist, and even easier when Eddie reaches behind himself to guide Buck’s thigh closer until they’re plastered together, and Buck buries face against the back of Eddie’s neck, where it’s warm and it smells familiar. In the dark there, he can hide and soak up the feeling of holding someone, and he falls asleep before he can even think of it.

He wakes briefly as warmth leaves him, reaching out blindly, but there—there’s a hand squeezing his briefly before letting go, and a kiss pressed against his temple, and then that’s Eddie’s voice, very quiet and very close, “Go back to sleep. I’m just going to pick up Christopher.”

“Okay,” Buck mumbles, sleep already pulling him back under, limbs already missing Eddie, and maybe it’s that that makes him say, with just a little longing, “Love you.”

Everything is quiet for a second, and then Eddie’s hand briefly touches his cheek. “Love you too,” he says, soft, and then Buck is back asleep.

-

An hour after Buck wakes up, he hears the front door open and freezes in the midst of mixing up another batch of cookie dough. He remains frozen as he hears the familiar sounds of Eddie’s keys, and then one set of footsteps, so Eddie must’ve dropped Chris off at school, and Buck is still standing there with the bowl clutched in his arms when Eddie walks in.

Eddie’s eyes land on him, and he stops, looking suspicious. “This isn’t about Tommy, is it?” he asks.

“What?” Buck says, looking down at the bowl. “No,” he says, and Eddie resumes his path into the kitchen to get himself a glass as Buck watches him nervously. “I said I love you,” he has to say because he’s been freaking out about it for an hour.

“Third date too soon?” Eddie says, quirking an eyebrow at him as he fills the glass at the sink, and Buck breathes out a laugh despite himself.

“Definitely,” Buck says firmly, except Eddie doesn’t smile at that like he expected. Instead, he’s studying Buck like he’s trying to puzzle him out, and Buck doesn’t know what that look means.

The timer he set goes off, making him jump and Eddie startle, and then Eddie’s turning away from him as Buck rushes to rescue the cookies from the oven.

“But we do,” Eddie says from behind him when Buck sets the tray on the stove, and Buck turns and catches the expression on Eddie’s face, serious and a little troubled. He’s set down the glass, chewing on his lip though he stops when Buck looks at him, as if caught, and Buck feels like he’s missing something.

“We do what?” he asks.

Eddie gestures weakly as if Buck already knows, but when Buck doesn’t fill in the blank, he stands there helplessly for a second before he says only, “You know.”

Buck tilts his head. “I don’t think I do,” he says slowly, and the thing is he knows Eddie, and sometimes he’s the one who fills in the blanks because Eddie can’t say something, and then it clicks what Eddie’s trying to say and Buck’s entire body goes hot and then cold out of fear, panic gripping him as he thinks only, Eddie knows, and there’s the slightest second in which he feels relief, before he realizes Eddie said ‘we.’

“We love each other,” Eddie says the next moment, as if it’s both the easiest and hardest thing in the world. His hand is still held out between them as if he’s forgotten it’s there.

“Eddie,” Buck says, hushed, frightened suddenly because he thinks he—he thinks maybe he—he felt relief when he thought Eddie knew, but there’s nothing to know, except he’d be okay with Eddie knowing it, and Buck can’t repeat it back to Eddie right now, maybe not ever again because then he’d have to think about it and know what it meant even though he does. He does love Eddie. He loves Eddie so much it makes him breathless sometimes, and he wishes he never hooked up with Tommy because then they’d never have had that conversation, and then he wouldn’t have had that conversation with Maddie either, and he wouldn’t have to feel like time is running out before he has that conversation with Eddie, and—it’s Eddie. He has this way of coaxing everything out of Buck, of making him think about the things he’d rather stuff down deep inside himself.

“Look, maybe we should—we should just go back to how things were,” he says, heart thudding, because he’s afraid and because he thinks he’s hurting himself. He thought it would hurt more not having Eddie, that it would feel like the raw wound when Eddie left for El Paso, like sleepless nights in an echoey house, but Eddie’s back, and Buck did the same thing he always does, offering himself up for Eddie because Eddie deserves it and Buck loves him, except he’s gotten too close to something he shouldn’t touch, and Buck wants desperately to go back to steady ground.

Eddie’s mouth turns down in response, and Buck can practically see his anger igniting just like that as he accuses, low, “You’re giving up, Buck.”

Buck recoils, stung. “I’m not—giving up what?” he asks, genuinely hurt.

“I told you,” Eddie says hotly, “you’re not too much for me. It’s just us. This,” he says, gesturing between them, “is just us.”

“Yeah, well,” Buck says, feeling rising up within him, and he’s not sure if it’s at the accusation or if it’s frustration, if it’s the panic he’s been carrying, or if it’s regret or what, but it comes out bitter, “maybe that’s the problem.”

He doesn’t mean it, not really, not in the way Eddie clearly takes it, bristling. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie asks, eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t—” Buck starts, stops. He doesn’t want to fight, not with Eddie. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, and there must be something in the tone of his voice that makes Eddie swallow hard, and just like that his anger softens into hurt instead.

“Then what?” Eddie asks, voice shaking now. “You’re my best friend too, Buck. You don’t get to just—give up on me.”

I’m not, Buck wants to say. I’m never going to. Doesn’t Eddie know that Buck won’t? “Just a few dates,” he says instead, a reminder, but he has to clench his fists to stop his hands from trembling. “That’s what we said.”

Eddie opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking pained. “I don’t want—” He falters. Then, “I don’t want things to change.”

“Neither do I,” Buck confesses, soft, and maybe that’s the crux of the problem.

“Then we don’t have to,” Eddie says, like it’s easy, eyes begging him.

“I don’t think—” Buck says, words strangled now, and he doesn’t know how to articulate the fear within him, where it’s coming from. “I—” and it dawns on him that the only thing stopping him from wanting Eddie is that he’s Buck’s best friend. That’s it, but it’s also everything because with Eddie comes Christopher and home and Buck’s whole life could come crashing down, just like that, if things were to change.

“I don’t want to date anyone else,” Eddie tries instead, changing tacks. “And wasn’t the whole point of this to prove that I could handle another relationship?”

“You can,” Buck says, and he’s sure of it. He knows Eddie’s made a mess of his relationships before this, but he also knows that Eddie can love with everything he’s got, and he can work through things, and they can fight and Eddie can forgive him more easily than anything, and if he can handle Buck, he can handle a lot of things.

“But I’m ruining this one,” Eddie protests, and then he snaps his mouth shut like he didn’t mean to say that, and Buck hates the expression on his face, and he hates that Eddie always blames himself, and that that’s what Eddie thinks is happening.

“You’re not,” Buck says with emphasis, because he needs Eddie to know this. “You’re not ruining anything, Eddie. I’m—”

“It’s not always your fault, Buck,” Eddie snaps, but his bottom lip is trembling.

“And it’s not always yours,” Buck fires back. “You don’t think I don’t know you? You don’t think I’m doing this for you?”

Eddie’s eyebrows scrunch up together, something hard in his face all over again. “If you didn’t want it—”

“I did!” Buck exclaims, chest tight, face hot, truth sitting on his tongue. “I do.”

“Then why,” Eddie says, looking nothing but lost now, some quiet devastation in his face, “do you want to stop?”

And it finally hits Buck what Eddie is trying to say. “You don’t want to?” he asks, just to be sure. Eddie opens his mouth, and for the first time in this conversation, his voice fails him. They stare at each other, Eddie looking like a deer in headlights, and Buck thinks, unbidden, Eddie’s never kissed a man other than him. And if it were him, if he was sitting in the loft and about to tell his best friend that he went on a date with a man and his heart was in his throat even though he knew he wouldn’t lose him, even though he knew his best friend would still love him just as much, he’d still be afraid. “It’s okay,” he says, very soft.

Eddie is taking these shallow little breaths. “I’m ruining it,” he repeats, stuck.

Buck shakes his head. “I already told you,” he says simply, “You can’t scare me off that easy.”

“I’m—Buck, I’m trying to say—” he tries, finds himself stuck, and lets out this little strangled laugh. “I’m—you know I’m not good at relationships.”

“No,” Buck says. It’s starting to sink in exactly what Eddie means, and his entire body feels like it’s thawing, like he’s slowly going warm. “You’re not.” Eddie gives him a look at that, and it’s so familiar and barely offended and so Eddie that Buck has to laugh. “But,” Buck reasons, “I’m not like anyone you’ve ever dated,” and Eddie goes stock still at that, as if hearing it out loud makes it real. He takes a second to recover from it, blinking, and Buck lets him have it, because he gets it. He thinks he gets it.

“Shannon was my best friend too,” Eddie says weakly, swallowing. “But no,” he admits. “You’re not like her.”

“And you’re not nineteen, and I’m not pregnant,” Buck says, and Eddie exhales. “And I’m a man,” Buck adds on lightly.

Eddie nods, once. “You’re a man,” he says quietly.

“And it’s not casual with us,” Buck says, nervous all over again, except Eddie nods again, eyes trained on Buck, and Buck’s chest shivers with it.

“Don’t move out,” Eddie asks, simple.

“Okay,” Buck says, and it’s easy.

“And—” Eddie says, chewing on his lip as he decides, “I’ll take the next date.”

Buck can’t help but grin at that. “Come on,” he complains, just to bother Eddie, just a little. “That’s not fair.”

Eddie gets that glint in his eye he always gets when Buck’s poking at him on purpose, and when he’s up to the challenge. “Let me take this one, Buckley,” he teases back, and then quieter, more serious, “and don’t let me ruin it.”

Buck gives him a small nod, private and sincere, and says, “You know I got your back, right?”

Eddie hums, and it’s not often that Buck is the one to reach out for Eddie, but he does it now, pleased when Eddie doesn’t shy away, and then he’s got Eddie wrapped tight in his arms and he buries his face into Eddie’s shoulder, breathing him in and leaving a kiss there that makes Eddie say, soft, “Buck.”

“I got you,” Buck repeats, and Eddie, usually so solid and firm, gives way to Buck, just like that, and Buck knows what it’s like when fear leaves your body, little by little, and he knows what it’s like trusting someone and melting into them, and he knows how to hold Eddie, even if he still doesn’t know how much he’s allowed to love Eddie.

Maybe with everything. But for now, Buck can slow down, and breathe, and let Eddie hold him too.

-

Eddie says, oddly nervous, “It’s us, isn’t it?” to his request to bring Christopher on their next date. Buck’s chest floods with warmth before he gives Eddie a look that says, duh, and the three of them go visit the Natural History Museum the next Saturday morning, but it’s really because Buck had heard they’d gotten new varieties of butterflies at the Butterfly Pavilion and talked Chris’ ear off about it, and the two of them had coerced Eddie into taking them (he was the one with the membership).

They don’t hold hands during it, or sneak hidden kisses behind Chris’ back, or anything out of the ordinary, but when they go out for lunch later, and Eddie ducks away to use the bathroom, Chris says, “Are you and Dad dating?”

Buck stops right before he takes a bite of his gyro, and then he’s stuck, trying to think of what to say. Is it obvious? is the first thing. Was it obvious in the way their eyes meet? Was it obvious in the way Buck carries himself, or in the way Eddie stands just a little too close to him?

“Is that okay?” he lands on eventually, which is the most important question.

Chris, oddly serious, nods. “He likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone,” he says, and Buck’s heart tugs in his chest. “And I like when you’re living with us,” he admits, busying himself with his own gyro.

Buck clears his throat, touched. “I like living with you too, buddy,” he says, because he doesn’t think he can articulate how much he missed him too, this gangly, witty teenager he’s watched grow up, and he thinks, fiercely, he’s my kid too, and it’s like he can suddenly see how he slots in, how he’s always fit in, and how he can remain there forever if he wants. “And look, if you ever need me, you’re still my favorite Diaz,” Buck tells him, joking and sincere both.

“Duh,” Chris says, and they’re still laughing over it when Eddie gets back. Eddie gives Buck a quizzical look, to which Buck just shakes his head, gesturing for him to sit. They go grab ice cream after lunch, and then Chris gets dropped off at a friend’s house for a movie marathon. Buck’s chest is buzzing with warmth, and he locks his pinky with Eddie’s on the short walk to the front door, and he still isn’t expecting it when Eddie pushes him against the front door as soon as it closes and kisses him.

Buck kisses him back without even thinking about it, and they exchange slow kisses there for a minute, Buck’s hands finding Eddie’s jaw, cupping his face, Eddie’s hand on his waist, hips, holding him, and it feels so good to be held, and to be touched, and to be this close to Eddie, the way Buck can suck on his bottom lip and listen to Eddie’s breath hitch. “Hey,” he says against Eddie’s mouth, brushing Eddie’s hair out of his eyes just because he can, and he’s thinking, on repeat, I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Hey,” Eddie says back, breathless, and it wasn’t even that heated except Buck can feel Eddie hard against him, and Buck’s halfway there too. It’s a different type of arousal than the flash of heat Buck gets during a hookup, when clothes are coming off, and he knows they’re going to have sex. This arousal is somewhere deep within him, slower, heat building slowly, and it follows Eddie’s hands when they slide up the sides of his torso. “Can we—” Eddie starts.

“Anything,” Buck says before he can stop himself, and then he has to swallow hard, swallow the words down. “Whatever you want,” he says.

Eddie tugs him back, connecting their mouths again as he walks them backward, and it’s different than when Buck did this with Tommy. It’s not a frantic fumble in the dark, and it’s not a little hollow, and it’s not to forget something.

They kick off their shoes and nearly trip over them together, holding each other, and Eddie kisses him again, seeming unwilling to let him go far. When Buck remembers how to open his eyes on the way down the hallway, he sees Eddie in the afternoon light, startlingly real and warm to the touch when Buck slips his hands under Eddie’s shirt, the resulting sound going straight south. He’s operating on anything except thought now, pressing Eddie into the wall, a little too rough, except Eddie laughs into his mouth, tugging at his shirt. Buck obliges before taking Eddie’s shirt off too, and it’s better like this, skin on skin and he undoes Eddie’s belt as Eddie unbuttons his jeans. He almost trips trying to get them off, and Eddie laughs again before he steadies Buck and connects their mouths, and Buck is addicted to him, to kissing him, and to being close, and he can imagine that Eddie is kissing the words right out of his mouth.

“What do you want?” Buck manages to ask, voice already raw, after Eddie presses a hand against his chest and pushes him down onto the bed, following him so he can lay on top of him. They’re down to their underwear and socks, and Eddie is in his arms, and he’s hard against Buck’s thigh, and it’s real in a way that makes everything surface within Buck, all of the fear and want and truth, and—

“Anything,” Eddie says, and Buck knows he means it, and he still thinks maybe Eddie doesn’t understand, and that he doesn’t know what it’s doing to Buck, that if Buck is given an inch he’ll take a mile, except maybe Eddie does, and Buck just has to tell him one last thing.

“Everyone thinks I’m in love with you,” Buck says, because it feels like it’s going to burst out of him if he doesn’t.

Eddie doesn’t get off him, doesn’t back away. He doesn’t ask who, because Buck’s been known to exaggerate, and he doesn’t look bothered, not even a little bit. “Are you?” he asks.

And Buck can’t reply to that. He looks at Eddie, the way he’s just waiting, and he knows this is new to Eddie, new and familiar both, but he doesn’t want to scare him off. He doesn’t want it to be too much of himself all at once, for Eddie, or for him, because it’s too big and too raw and if he is, then that’s been true for far longer than Buck can even think of.

“I want you to be,” slips out of Eddie’s mouth, just like that, and Buck’s fear slips straight out of his hands. Eddie lets out a shuddering breath, and Buck feels it like a tug under his sternum. “I want you to be,” Eddie repeats, more of a sigh this time.

“Okay,” Buck replies, earnest, because he can do it for Eddie. He can trust Eddie with himself, with what might be too scary for just him. “I can be,” he says and then realizes, simply, out loud, “I am.”

“You are what?” Eddie asks, and it’s framed like a joke except it’s not even close, and he’s looking at Buck with tender eyes and he’s cupping Buck’s jaw and his mouth is still swollen from when Buck kissed him.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck gives him, easy, and Eddie’s entire body shivers at it, and Buck can feel it. “I love you,” he says, and this time when Eddie’s mouth tilts into his, Buck’s hips rut upward, and god, he’s so so hard, and he wants Eddie so bad, and he’s saying, begging, suddenly, between kisses, “Eddie, Eddie.”

“Buck,” Eddie gasps, pushing himself up off Buck, and Buck whines at the loss except then Eddie’s fingers are in the waistband of his briefs and Buck lifts his hips so Eddie can pull them down, his cock slapping against his stomach, and he’s tugging Eddie’s off too so he can look at him, at all of him, before Eddie’s dragging him into another searing kiss. He can’t think about anything, can’t overthink, or worry, and then Eddie’s hand finds his dick, stroking him firmly once, twice, before he lets go as Buck whines.

“Let me,” Buck begs, and he’s rolling them over so Eddie’s under him, flushed and chest heaving, and they’re not even fully on the bed, legs hanging off, except Buck moves his hips so their cocks rub together, and Eddie makes a punched out noise that Buck wants to listen to forever.

“Buck,” he moans, hands gripping Buck’s hips hard, trying to drag him closer, and Buck’s dick is so hard he might die, and it feels so good when they’re lined up, the friction, and the fact that it’s Eddie, and that they’re dating.

They’re dating, and Buck is in love with Eddie, and Eddie loves him too, Buck knows it, even if he hasn’t said it, because he knows Eddie better than anyone.

He’s gasping back, “Fuck, you feel so good,” and it’s too soon, but he can feel his orgasm building in his stomach already, and he’s helpless to stop grinding against Eddie, to stop looking at him, and Eddie’s the one who spills first between them with a groan, his thighs shaking with the force of it under Buck.

Buck desperately ruts against him, through it, and he feels it build and build. He’s helpless against it, and then, right into his ear, Eddie says, “Come on, Buck. Come for me,” and Buck comes harder than he has in months, whining, mouthing at Eddie’s shoulder where he’s buried his face as his hips chase the motion before subsiding into little twitches and then finally stopping as his body goes lax on top of Eddie. They’re sweaty and plastered together, but Eddie’s arms are around him, holding him there. When Buck looks at him, Eddie still looks a little like his brain has been fried, but he catches Buck in a soft kiss anyway.

“Eddie—” Buck says, not sure what he wants to say exactly. To ask him, maybe, if it was good as he thought or if he’s afraid. To tell him he doesn’t need to have it figured out. To tell him he loves him, again.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything, in the end, because Eddie says, helpless, “I think I love you,” and Buck’s entire body blooms with affection.

“Yeah?” he says, smile growing. “You think?”

“I know,” Eddie corrects himself, shifting a bit, and Buck becomes aware of the mess between their stomachs. Neither of them move. Eddie’s looking at him like he’s never seen Buck before, not really. “I know I love you. And I don’t want to break up with you.”

“Okay,” Buck says, listening intently now because he can tell Eddie just needs to say it all.

Sure enough, Eddie continues, like he’s spilling over, “And I don’t want you to break up with me. And I think I want forever with you if you—if you’ll have me. I’m good at fucking up relationships, but I really, really don’t want to fuck this up with you.”

Buck’s smile feels too big for his face. “Because you love me,” he says, and things aren’t the same as before, but Buck is glad of it for the first time in a while.

“Because I love you,” Eddie repeats, with a little wonder then. “And you’re a man.”

Buck nods. “Last I checked.”

“And I’m—I don’t know what I am,” Eddie continues, ignoring it as usual, and again, “but I know I love you.”

“Eddie,” is all Buck has to say, and Eddie goes quiet, and Buck knows that all it comes down to is that it’s them, and they’d survive anything, and this isn’t about anyone else, and that’s what he’s thinking about when he says, “It’s me and you. We’ll figure it out.”

“Me and you,” Eddie repeats, and this time, when he tilts his head into a kiss that Buck can barely return through his smile, it feels like a promise.