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Buck wasn’t sure when the animosity between them started. He wasn’t sure when it ended. Part of that tension stemmed from his bitterness towards the guy—because Diaz came sweeping into the 118 with his perfect body and his perfectly white teeth and his perfectly tousled hair and his… perfect, stupid-dumb face. There was a heavy feeling that crawled into Buck’s chest the first moment he saw him, something that he couldn’t exactly put a name to—envy? Insecurity? Resentment? Whatever it was, it sank its claws deep and refused to unlatch.
There was always a healthy dose of ribbing into new recruits at the station, but Buck couldn’t seem to bite back the cutting tone that sometimes seeped into his words. Usually, the idea of competition didn’t bother him in the slightest, but competing against Eddie Diaz felt like a battle that he couldn’t lose. People like Hen and Chimney laughed at him for caring so much about the firefighter calendar, but was it really such a discomfiting thing? Probably. Maybe. Yet, he felt like it was the principle of the thing.
Although, the shockwave that passed through him when a grenade blew up the ambulance that he and Diaz both had very recently occupied made Buck rethink his petty stance on those principles… just a little.
So, sure, he could admit, if he were a better man, Buck wouldn’t have antagonized Diaz—Eddie—as much as he did when they first met. If he were a better man, Buck wouldn’t have let Eddie burrow so deep under his skin. If he were a better man, he wouldn’t have been caught making out with Eddie on top of a firetruck, either, but Buck had never once claimed to be a better man.
Eddie had offered, was the thing. Not to kiss him, certainly, but to help him take better photos to submit for the calendar. It was a favor, an olive branch, a white flag. Buck saw it for what it was, but that didn’t mean the gesture remained that way for long.
There was a lull in the day, a short reprieve where Eddie followed Buck with his camera phone, taking snapshots of him in the fire station where the light was not-flat and not-blue and not-soft. Some of them were action shots of Buck sliding down the poles, storing away his uniform, and rearranging tools in one of the trucks. At one point, Eddie suggested climbing up top to get better angles. Buck thought it was ridiculous but humored him anyway.
“Sit back on the hose bed,” Eddie instructed, adjusting his stance on the step ladder.
“Right here?” Buck questioned, leering. He shifted onto the folded hoses, leaning his weight back onto the palms of his hands. “I feel stupid doin’ this.”
“You look stupid,” Eddie jested, cackling when Buck half-heartedly nudged him with the toe of his shoe. “Nah, c’mon, man, pose for me or something.”
Buck grumbled under his breath but listened anyway, folding one leg to his chest, and leaned an elbow over his knee. He watched Eddie frame up the shot… and caught himself staring at the satisfied smile tugging on Eddie’s lips.
“Ha. Good boy. Just like that.”
A harsh shiver rolled through him, with Eddie’s words striking a chord. Buck felt heat crawl up his neck, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “We good now?”
Eddie swiped through the photos for a moment before shaking his head. “Dunno, let’s try one more.” He placed a foot higher on the truck, scrutinizing the limited space before saying, “Lay down for me.”
Buck blinked. “Wh-what?”
“Scoot over.” Eddie stepped up onto the hose bed before Buck could say anything else, motioning for him to move further into the truck to give him space.
“I think you’re just fuckin’ with me at this point,” Buck huffed, tensing up to keep from falling in between the length of hoses.
“Lay down,” Eddie said once more, and Buck did. He positioned his phone over Buck, scrunched up his face, and then moved to stand over him instead, his feet at either side of Buck’s hips.
“Uhh…”
“Sorry, the lighting was giving J.J. Abrams a run for his money right there.”
Buck snorted, unable to keep the amused smile off his face. “That’s… definitely a way to say there was a lens flare.”
Eddie grinned as he took another photo. It almost seemed like he was going to respond to Buck’s slight, but all he replied with was: “Lookin’ good, Buckley. I’d say we’re done.”
“Awesome, I was starting to get—”
“Wait, don’t, your foot’s caught in the—”
If their life were a movie, it would’ve been the point in the film where audiences either cooed or booed at the screen, since the next thing Buck knew, the wind got knocked out of his lungs as Eddie fell on top of him.
“…ow.”
“Oh, shit, are you okay?” Eddie’s hands were braced beside Buck’s head, holding the weight of his upper body from crushing the man underneath him.
Buck opened his mouth to say something quippy like your balance is shit, Diaz, but the words died on his tongue when his eyes flickered to Eddie’s face. The familiar feeling of claws, tight and sharp, returned to Buck’s chest as they locked eyes. Having Eddie so close made him realize that the feeling of heaviness in his ribcage wasn’t resentment or insecurity at all—it was a deep-seated want.
Eddie’s gaze wandered down to Buck’s lips, and that was that. Buck craned his head ever slightly forward, delighted when Eddie closed the remaining distance between them. Their kiss was brief, a too-quick brush of lips that had Buck surging forward for more. He chased Eddie’s mouth, slotting their lips together, and the feeling in his chest exploded out to the ends of his fingertips.
Buck wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes, but he was slow to open them when Eddie pulled away. Speechless. Buck was downright speechless.
“Um,” he said intelligently.
Eddie was grinning down at him with his stupid-dumb face, his brown eyes shining with mirth, his cheeks brushed with the lightest pink. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Me three!” Chimney’s voice was bright with amusement. He hopped up on the truck ladder to watch Buck and Eddie, smirking as he teased, “So, we having a love-in?”
Eddie stifled his laughter, pressing his face against Buck’s neck, and honestly, Buck wouldn’t have asked to be anywhere else in that moment.
