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It happens on a Saturday.
Or, it starts on a Friday that turns into Saturday, the easy joy of the night tipping over into the pale, vulnerable light of the morning; dazzling in its inevitability.
It’s Ravi’s birthday, so they all go out for karaoke and drinks. Maddie and Chim sing Dancing in the Dark for him, and Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen the kid look so confused and mortified and happy, all at the same time. The beer is watery but cold, the snacks are endless (leave it to Bobby to make sure they remain nourished even while actively poisoning themselves) and if Eddie’s casual touch lingers on his shoulder in a way that makes Buck’s stomach do an inexplicable flip, or if Eddie holds his gaze a little longer than usual — well.
That’s just them feeling loose and relaxed, at ease with each other and the world around them.
Eventually the night draws to a close and Ravi is the first to leave in a flurry of hugs, trailing two foil balloons forming the number twenty-six.
“Do you remember being twenty-six?” Eddie asks Buck as they pile into the back of an Uber, the seatbelt caught in the crook of his arm.
“It wasn’t that long ago,” Buck huffs, reaching over to tug Eddie’s belt free.
Eddie slumps backwards, looking out of the window. “I had no fucking clue when I was that age,” he says after a pause, glancing at Buck.
A part of Buck wants to rib him, to say he’s not so sure Eddie’s got that much of a fucking clue now, but somehow he knows now is not the time.
They sit in comfortable, drunken silence for the rest of the ride, their shoulders occasionally bumping against each other as the car swerves this way and that. Buck lets himself zone out, enjoying the soft buzz of the alcohol and the contentment of just being with Eddie, like this; hearing him hum a disjointed tune under his breath, something Eddie only does when he’s drunk, and being able to smell the warmth of his skin under his cologne.
The car pulls up on the driveway and Buck tries to make himself snap out of his fog long enough to tell Eddie he had a really good time.
But Eddie — Eddie does something that changes things.
And Buck is just sitting there, watching his life happen as Eddie does something that changes everything and nothing, depending on how you look at it.
Eddie leans over the middle seat, so close Buck can taste his beer-warm breath, and says, “You know you promised Chris a waffle breakfast this weekend.”
Buck feels his pulse pattering against the roof of his mouth, all the words he knows in the English language caught behind his teeth.
“So I figured you might as well stay the night?” Eddie goes on, easy as anything.
Like it’s nothing.
Like it doesn’t make a thousand butterflies erupt into flight inside Buck’s lungs, blocking his airways. “Uh.”
Eddie flashes a quick smile, the corner of his mouth doing something fascinating, and nods towards the house before getting out of the car.
Buck follows him in a daze, his feet carrying him inside with no conscious effort from his brain.
They end up sharing one more beer, even though neither of them exactly need it. Eddie is slouched in a chair while Buck busies himself with making them a couple of sandwiches to soak up some of the alcohol. Also, it helps with getting flustered every time Eddie’s eyes meet his, although he can still feel their weight, even with his back turned.
It’s close to 2 am when Eddie finally yawns wide enough to crack his jaw, and Buck ushers him out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom before grabbing a quilt from the armchair and arranging the couch cushions to make room for himself.
The mumbled goodnight, Eddie feels like it wants to die somewhere in his throat, and Buck is thankful that the overhead light isn’t on so that he doesn’t have to stumble over his own words in its harsh, artificial glare.
“Goodnight, Buck,” Eddie says, and Buck thinks he can hear the gentle smile in his voice.
Buck is wiped out, so sleep should come easy, but it doesn’t — the too-small couch that he usually finds weirdly comfortable suddenly seems entirely made of hard planes and uncomfortable angles, and Buck finds himself tossing and turning around as much as the limited space allows. He suspects he pulled a muscle lifting someone out of a window the week before, and his back has been feeling a bit stiff ever since.
Eddie must have heard the couch squeak under his weight, because sometime after five in the morning he appears in the living room doorway, looking tired as all hell but also undeniably adorable with his hair all mussed up.
“Buck.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Buck coughs quietly, trying to wriggle into a better position. “I’ll try to settle down.”
Eddie shakes his head, an exasperated look on his face. “C’mon. There’s room enough for two. I can’t have you hurting your back even worse, turning around like a goddamn rotisserie chicken.”
Buck blinks, his one good brain cell pinponging between there’s room enough for two and Eddie comparing him to a roasted chicken.
Eddie gives him a one-shouldered shrug and disappears down the hallway without another word. For the second time that night Buck follows him feeling like he is stuck inside a dream he’s had before, but it has never felt this real.
The bedroom is slightly muggy and smells of Eddie — not just his cologne, but also beer and tequila mixed with sweat, and Buck wants to drown in it. It’s only then he realizes Eddie is wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, and Buck stops in his tracks to wonder if it would be weirder to take his own t-shirt off or to keep it on.
Eddie takes the side closer to the window, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. Buck jolts back into motion, deciding to leave the shirt on.
“You should get that checked out,” Eddie says, throwing back the covers and waiting for Buck to climb in. “It might be your S1 joint.”
“Um.” Buck settles against the bed, not daring to breathe while Eddie all but tucks him in under the same blanket. “I will. Next week,” he promises, the severity of his mistake finally starting to dawn on him.
Because how in actual the fuck is he supposed to get any sleep, less than a foot away from a half-naked Eddie Diaz?
Buck is so fucking dumb. Which, okay, is not exactly news, but this— this takes the cake.
He tries to lie as still as possible, staring at the ceiling and willing his pulse to quiet down.
“I still can’t believe how many shots Maddie and Ravi did,” Eddie says after a while, his voice cutting through the hush of the room.
Buck huffs a laugh, grateful for the break in silence. “Yeah,” he says. “Liver of steel, those two.”
“I think he had a good time, right?” Eddie asks, the mattress heaving as he turns on his side.
Buck glances to his left, searching for Eddie’s eyes in the dark before rolling over to face him. “Yeah, I’m sure he did.”
Eddie hums in agreement, which makes Buck even more aware of how close to each other they really are. Sure, Eddie’s bed is big enough for two people, but when those people are both grown ass firefighters, there’s not a lot of space left between their bodies.
That doesn’t matter, somehow, when Eddie starts talking — telling a story about that one time he and Ravi were doing engine service and ended up saving a bird they found inside the grill. Buck has definitely heard this one before, but he will never ever get tired of listening to Eddie’s voice, low and a little rough with sleep, slipping more easily into his accent when he’s tired or still a little tipsy.
It goes on like that; them exchanging little stories and anecdotes about nothing at all, giddy with laughter despite being tired to the bone, like kids at a sleepover. Buck is smiling at something Eddie said, so hard it’s starting to hurt his cheeks, and the way Eddie looks at him makes his breath snag in his chest, like his heart and lungs are suspended in air.
Buck feels like he should say something, anything, and then Eddie beats him to it.
“This is nice,” he says, very quietly.
“Yeah.” Buck’s hand twitches against the bed, like wanting to reach over of its own accord. “It’s really nice.”
The sun has traveled high enough that light is beginning to spill inside, finding its way around the blackout curtains. Buck keeps watching Eddie, his dark eyes wide and open like he’s asking Buck a question.
Buck hopes it’s a question.
He lets his hand move, his knuckles brushing the back of Eddie’s hand, something like electricity sparking just before the touch. Eddie draws a sharp breath and Buck’s heart flutters, not entirely pleasantly.
“Is this—“ Buck cuts himself off, swallowing around nothing. “Is this okay?”
Eddie turns his wrist, brushing his thumb along the callouses on Buck’s palm. “Buck.”
The flutter turns into a somersault, almost sickening in its delirious joy. Buck is smiling again, couldn’t help it if he tried. Eddie looks at him, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip in a way that is incredibly distracting, and then he bursts into laughter.
Buck wants to shush him, tell him he’s going to wake Chris up, but seeing Eddie like this, open and unguarded and happy, feels like something pretty damn close to a miracle.
Still, he needs to know — cannot bear the thought of not knowing.
“Feeling kinda vulnerable here, y’know,” Buck says, trying for levity. “It’s not nice to leave a guy hanging.”
His hand is starting to sweat against Eddie’s, and any moment now Eddie might decide that holding hands with him is actually gross.
Eddie brings their joined hands to his lips, kissing Buck’s knuckles while he hooks his ankle over Buck’s shin to keep him in his place. “How’s this for not leaving you hanging?”
Buck doesn’t say anything.
Eddie lets go of his hand to lift his palm up to Buck’s cheek, his thumb fitting against the corner of Buck’s mouth. The only coherent thought in Buck’s head is that he might very well die if Eddie doesn’t kiss him right now, but then Christopher’s voice rings through the walls, loud and clear.
“Dad! You awake?”
Eddie swears under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll be right up, buddy!” he calls back, now looking at Buck.
“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Buck says, because of course he has to state the obvious.
Eddie shrugs, tapping the pad of his thumb against Buck’s mouth. “No, but I think the waffle excuse is gonna fly with him just fine.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, trying to nip at Eddie’s finger before he snatches it away. “So it was an excuse?”
Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t joke about waffles, man.”
Buck just nods, not wanting to leave this fever dream he has stepped into.
“I’m gonna go get coffee started and tell Chris you stayed the night, and you can… I don’t know, maybe take a cold shower?”
“What makes you think I need one?” Buck asks, cringing slightly as he sits up and feels his dick straining against his underwear.
“Just a guess,” Eddie mutters, pulling the covers back.
Buck tries not to look, he really does, but he can’t help his eyes zeroing in on the obvious bulge in Eddie’s boxers. He groans, letting his head hit the headboard while Eddie scrounges around for a pair of loose sweats and a shirt.
God-fucking-damnit.
Eddie rounds the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. “Hey. You alright?”
“Yeah.” Buck nods, a whirlwind of mixed emotions flitting wildly around his skull. “I think so?”
“We’ll talk about this,” Eddie says, pushing a sweat-damp curl off Buck’s forehead. “I want to do this right.”
Buck can’t help leaning into the touch. “You want…? he trails off, having no idea how to finish that sentence.
“I mean.” Eddie traces the tips of his fingers along the arch of Buck’s brow, brushing gently over his birthmark. “Of course it’s not just about what I want. But in case I haven’t been clear enough – it’s you. I want you. And I want… this. Whatever this is.”
It punches the breath from Buck’s chest, leaving him cut open and grasping for words.
“Eds,” he says, hoping it’s enough.
“Yeah.” Eddie smiles, bright and brilliant, and drops a featherlight kiss to Buck’s forehead.
Buck knows he should leave it, but Eddie is right there, and Buck is just a man, so he tilts his head up, bumping his nose against Eddie’s before bringing their mouths together. Eddie makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, but his lips are pliant under Buck’s, his mouth warm and impossibly soft.
Buck Buckley is kissing Eddie Diaz, and Eddie Diaz is kissing him right back, and maybe the whole world has gone and tilted off its axis, but it still feels more right than anything else ever has.
They’re eventually interrupted by the clatter of dishes, Chris pulling out bowls and ladles for the promised waffle extravaganza.
“Coffee,” Eddie murmurs into the kiss, even while not doing a very good job of extracting himself from it.
“Shower,” Buck replies, with not enough blood left for higher brain function.
“Later,” Eddie promises, resting his forehead against Buck’s.
Buck smiles, smoothing his hand down Eddie’s flank. “Later.”
+
Buck takes the coldest and quickest shower of his life and Christopher gets his waffles, even though Buck almost drops the batter bowl when Eddie noses against his cheek while the kid has his back turned to them.
And later?
Later is the night after that at Buck’s loft, with just them and nothing but time.