1 - 20 of 52 Works by rhodeys
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There’s no marriage left to salvage. Shannon left him two years ago, and whatever fragile hope he was holding onto, whatever flickered in their bed two days ago, died the moment she recognised Buck.
But that’s not what he tells Buck.
“Right,” Eddie says, shifting his weight, crossing his arms across his chest. “And Shannon’s back, I mean you saw her the other day, so we’re gonna—” Eddie takes a breath. “—try again. And me and you can, you know, move on.”
Buck indulges in a threesome with a married couple in El Paso, Texas. Two years later, Eddie Diaz joins the 118. Buck really wishes those two facts weren’t related.
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“This your first commercial flight or something?”
“With you, yeah.” Buck’s grin widens, playful now, the earlier panic tucked safely away. “What, no commemorative gift?”
Eddie glances down at their joined hands—Buck’s fingers still loosely tangled with his, thumb still stroking the skin there. “Permanent custody of my hand ain’t cutting it for you?”
Or, Buck gets over his fear of flying, and joins the Mile High Club. Exactly in that order.
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“Oh.” The new toothpick is already sliding into Eddie’s mouth, making itself at home. Buck’s fingers had held it a moment ago. “Y’know, I didn’t— never realised you did that. W–with your mouth.”
“Did wha— Oh,” Eddie catches on mid-word, shrugs. “Yeah. Childhood habit, I guess. Thought I kicked it years ago but…”
“You do it a lot,” Buck blurts, then wants to saw his own tongue off.
It all starts with Eddie performing fellatio on a ringpop.
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And, well.
It keeps happening.
Buck invites: a dinner, a game, a just swing by, man.
Eddie dodges: laundry, groceries, whatever comes first before his mouth can betray him by saying I can’t be inside your house.
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“Catwoman, huh?” Buck’s eyes flick down again, snagging on the shape of Eddie’s torso. “Yeah, you’re, uh, pulling it off. But, uh…”
Buck straightens, licks his lips, voice shifting to something practiced, polite, and extremely strange to Eddie’s ears. “Look, you seem cool, and that suit’s... heh, working, but I’m— I’m not really doing the whole hookup thing anymore."
The words don’t register at first—then they do, and the world tilts, grin falling right off his face.
Buck doesn’t know it’s him.
Buck doesn’t know it’s Eddie.
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“What do you want?” Buck whispers, his hand trailing down Eddie’s thigh, fingers grazing the sensitive skin at the juncture. “Tell me.”
Eddie’s head thuds back against the pillow, eyes screwed shut. “Just—fuck—untie me, man.”
Buck leans close, shaking his head slowly, eyes flicking between rosy cheeks and taut arms, savouring Eddie’s obvious strain against the ropes. “No,” he drags out the syllable, “that’s not it. What do you really want, Eddie? What’s got you so worked up?”
“Shit,” Eddie breathes out, more to the heavens than to Buck. “I want—want you to touch me.”
It starts, as most things do, with a late-night research spiral.
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Buck’s hand slides up the length of Eddie’s arm, his palm catching along the edge of Eddie’s jaw. His other hand mirrors it, framing Eddie’s face with a careful reverence, eyes flitting across Eddie’s features, his lips the focal point.
“One kiss." Buck's words are so, so soft, laced with the slightest hint of determination.
“One kiss,” Eddie echoes, eyes fixated on the dark seam of Buck’s lips, the gentle arch of his cupid’s bow. “So I know.”
“So you know.”
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“And that’s what you want?
Buck meets his gaze again, steady. “I want sex to feel good. And this just makes me more sensitive to—heh—well, everything.”
“Sensitive?” Eddie asks, mouth suddenly dry. “How sens—sorry. Uh. Sensitive, how?”
Buck waxes his asshole. Eddie has a best-friend level of curiosity about that.
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The truth is, Eddie didn’t come back from Texas with just Chris.
He came back with the terrifying, undeniable knowledge that he’s in love with his best friend.
His partner. His co-parent. His person. And really—how else was this ever going to go?He just needs Buck to get with the program. And if he has to get a little crazy about it, so be it.
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“You’ve seen it, right?" Eddie drags a hand down his face before pointing at her with said hand. "He’s all… secretive. Texting all the time. Laughing. He’s just... not telling me things anymore.”
Hen gives him a flat look. “Telling us.”
“What? Yeah. That’s what I said.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. And for one sharp, uneasy second, Eddie braces for judgment. For the word overreacting. Which he’s not. Obviously. So she’d be wrong anyway.
Or, one's planning a Father's Day surprise, the other's planning a birthday surprise. Miscommunication galore.
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Eddie doesn’t mean to keep setting out two coffee mugs in the morning. It’s just habit — like glancing out the window for Buck’s Jeep, or cooking too much without thinking, or leaving Buck’s favourite throw blanket folded neatly on the couch, even though it’s been weeks since he last used it.
They say it takes sixty-six days to break a habit.
It’s only been eighteen.
Fuck.Or, Buck moves out, Eddie spirals, and a coffee mug becomes his final straw.
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“That’s literally what the flyer says," Buck points out. "First responders and their partners.”
He gestures between himself and the loft, where Eddie’s upstairs doing something productive and very unaware of what Buck is about to drag him into, and then shrugs like this is all very self-explanatory.
“We’re partners.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course!" Ravi says, and then slaps Buck on the back with a little too much enthusiasm. “Definitely sounds like you two could benefit from it.”
—
Or, Buck misreads a flyer, signs up for couples therapy, and accidentally starts a relationship he didn’t know he was already in. -
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Buck’s knuckles have gone white against the steering wheel. The car smells like oil, metal, and blood.
“I’m not going to ask,” he says, voice cutting through the silence. “But just one thing.”
Eddie finally turns his head, and Buck sees the blood on his face drying in the shape of a fingerprint.
“Is this your blood?”
“No,” Eddie says simply.
Buck breathes in, exhales, nods once. “Okay.”
He shifts the car into drive.The victims weren’t strangers. Their faces are familiar — courtrooms, call-outs, a history of hurting people who couldn’t fight back.
And when the bodies start turning up, the line between horror and relief blurs. -
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Paul Baker steps up beside him and leans in, shoulder brushing Anton’s, peering down with mock solemnity.
“Should we bury her?” he asks. “Give her a little headstone? Here lies Lady Whistlebrew, may her spout rest in peace.”
Anton turns to stare at him — and abruptly realises how close they are. The warm press of Paul Baker’s shoulder against his. The faint trace of toothpaste and sleep still clinging to his breath. The last time they were this close, it was barely twelve hours ago. One minute they were laughing about fake marriages, and the next — they were kissing.
Kissing like it meant something.
Until Paul Baker had put a hand on Anton’s chest and placed a harsh distance between them.
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“Yeah?” Eddie presses. “What’d you guys do?”
Buck lets out a startled laugh. “Eddie—”
“What?” Eddie says, tone casual, his gaze anything but. There’s something crackling in the air now, something hot and unspoken. “You brought someone into my house. I think I deserve to know.”Eddie’s not used to wanting something this badly. And he sure as hell isn’t used to seeing someone else with it.
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“You ever known anyone who sleepwalks?”
Buck pauses, brow furrowing mid-sip. “Uh… yeah, actually. Maddie used to say I did when I was a kid. I’d stand in her room and creep her out until she gave me cereal or something. Why?”
“Just curious,” Eddie shrugs, casual as hell. “Heard a story the other day.”5 times Eddie catches Buck sleepwalking, and the one time he doesn't.
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“I love it when you angels get all preachy," the stranger says, words laced with mild amusement. "Like humans are actually capable of the good stuff.”
You angels.
Eddie finally turns, just enough to get a look at him. The man has tousled curls, a grin built for trouble, and eyes far too bright for the winter’s darkness. The kind of gaze that sees through things and enjoys the damage.
A demon, then.
Eddie’s jaw tightens. “They are.”
“You’re adorable,” the demon grins, slow and lazy.-
Eddie follows the divine plan. Buck never believed in one.
And so, every time the world cracks open, they find each other on opposite sides. -
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Eddie Diaz.
Ghosting bastard. Shirtless menace. Walking thirst trap.
Looks him dead in the eye and says “nice to meet you” like Buck doesn’t have the receipts. Like they didn’t match. Flirt. Make plans.
Like Buck didn’t get stood up in public, drink in hand, heart in pieces. -
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“What do you think people think about us?” Eddie asks, almost too soft to hear. “Do you think they know?”
Buck stills. He doesn’t know where to look, so he picks the floor.
"I think they see two guys who’ve been through hell and would still take a bullet for each other.”
Eddie turns to him. “That’s not what I asked.”
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“Yeah, I don’t know,” Buck says, voice pitching up, his entire body screaming, “But you probably shouldn’t press anything.”
Eddie blinks. “Why not? You don’t know what it is, it’s active, and it’s probably something in the house. Are you sure you don’t...”
He presses a button.
Buck jerks like he’s been electrocuted.Or,
The one where Eddie doesn’t know what the remote does, but Buck’s whole body does.