Archive of Our Own

“What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly. I choose you and me, religiously.” — Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift

It begins with a text. Sent by Hen Wilson, to the 118 group chat. An invitation to a Halloween party at her and Karen’s house, because for once in their lives, they don’t have to work the busiest night of the year, and it deserves a celebration. Costumes mandatory.

It ends with Eddie Diaz getting pressed up against a wall, making out with his best friend.

*

It actually starts with Eddie being twelve, barely a teenager and fresh out of a growth spurt, eavesdropping as his parents talk about his friend from school, William, who got caught kissing Diego T. under the bleachers the other day. The words coming out of their mouths are laced with hate, with disgust, and Eddie’s heart is racing, because Billy is one of his best friends, and when he told him about not liking girls, Eddie hadn’t cared much. Why would he? Billy was still the same Billy, and Eddie doesn’t care that he’s put posters of Justin Timberlake up on his walls instead of Jennifer Aniston ones. 

He knows he is supposed to be disgusted by it, because that’s what his family has taught him, but how can a young man be against something he can so utterly and completely relate to?

Ramon and Helena call him into the living room, and they tell him about Billy, about how they don’t want him to be friends with a sinner, about how disgustingly unnatural it is for someone to love their own gender. Eddie, unable to look them in the eyes, nods and agrees, his entire body on fire, and he finds himself assuring his mother to never hang out with William again. “ Prometo ,” he says, I promise . The amount of relief in his parents’ faces makes him queasy, because now he knows that he cannot talk to them about it, about the way he feels and doesn’t feel and whatnot. But he’s just a teenager, maybe he is simply confused, maybe he will come around and find himself gawking at Angelica B.'s bra peeking out the top of her shirt in the hallway before she gets dress-coded like the other guys. He’s just a teenager, and he loves his family more than any God, any sinful thoughts he’s had about Luis García from the school’s baseball team. There is no way he’d ever want to disappoint them, make them disown him and throw him out of the house, so when he silently walks back to his room, parents still arguing about poor Billy and his ‘ unnatural tendencies’ , he fights the urge to throw up and makes a promise to himself, instead. 

Eddie Diaz is not gay. Except that he is.

*

Buck is a cowboy, because of course he is, and he wanted to finally wear that hat he once brought during a drunken online shopping spree. His white t-shirt is way too tight on him, Eddie knows he’s been going to the gym more since his break-up. The gigantic belt buckle glistens in the party lights, and a curl hangs out from underneath his cowboy hat, right where his birthmark paves through his eyebrow. His head is thrown back in laughter, hands up in the air as he jumps to the music, beer spilling from his red solo cup onto his shirt, making it see-through in places, because apparently, the universe hates Eddie. 

The only sound in his ears is the loud beats of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ as he watches his friends and a few more others, friends of Hen and Karen, dance it out in the living room, furniture pushed aside. He wishes he could hear the laugh that comes out of Buck’s mouth, because he knows his laugh is like a soft blanket wrapped around you on a cold winter’s day, but it’s all just lyrics about monsters being out to get you or whatever. Eddie adjusts the fit of the black mask tied around his head, realizing that he’s lost his hat somewhere. He is on tequila number six—or maybe seven?—and is starting to get dizzy, so that hat could be anywhere, really. He’s almost forgotten how wonderfully dull everything becomes with alcohol. No more sadness over how Chris didn’t choose his costume this year, and he had to decide on Zorro all by himself. No more guilt aching in his chest about how he feels like he’s failed as a father when that’s all he really was for over ten years. The fear about his growing feelings for his best friend is just a dull ache in the very back of his mind, too, and the lack of fear, ironically, scares him, because what if it’s becoming too much? Buck’s still happily singing along to the music with his sister, attempting to recreate the dance from the music video but failing, laughing about it with the others. 

Eddie’s always been afraid of what Buck could do to him. Emotionally, that is. From the first time Bobby had them paired up on call, he’s felt this spark, this connection, and it was like his worst fear come true, because he’s gone so long without letting feelings get in the way. They’re close friends now, seeing each other basically every day of the week, and he’s been there through Buck’s ups and downs and those goddamn three minutes and seventeen seconds of death, all of which was more than Eddie should have allowed himself according to his own twisted and turned mind, because it’s hard to shake a habit of hiding your sexuality after almost two entire decades, even if you barely ever talk to your parents now and aren’t even sure about whether there even is a God listening to your prayers. 

And it truly didn’t feel like any God ever heard any of his devotions when Buck had come out as bisexual a few months ago. He isn’t sure if he’d been able to hide the disappointment on his own face right then, or if his face had just slipped. It was the best and worst news he’s heard in years, really, and he’d cried in bed about it that night and a few more nights since then. 

“Eddie,” a voice rips him from his trance, and he realizes he’s been holding that almost-empty bottle of tequila for the past ten minutes or so and hasn’t moved even a step away from the table with all the snacks and booze on it. His eyes find Buck’s, and they’re still so brightly blue in the dim lights that it feels like there is a glow coming from within him.

“Love th’ ‘stache, by th’ way,” Buck grins, words slurring, motioning to Eddie’s mouth. “Looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” he musters, voice raw, his throat aching from the sting of the tequila. 

“Where’s your hat ? I thought Zorro is s’pposed to wear a hat,” Buck notices, tilting his head like he’s trying to figure out whether he is missing something. Eddie shrugs.

“Lost it.”

“Here,” Buck eagerly declares, and before Eddie can object, the cowboy hat is atop his head now, revealing more of Buck’s soft-looking curls. “Cowboy Zorro.”

“Now you don’t have a hat,” Eddie laughs, but it’s an insecure one that doesn’t let his smile reach his eyes. Rather a scoff than anything, really. 

“Eh, who cares,” Buck shrugs, running one hand over his hair. “Looks better on you, anyway.”

Eddie is sure his face is the same color as a goddamn fire truck, and he turns to refill his shot glass, palms sweaty. 

Chimney is suddenly next to them, snagging a handful of roasted peanuts from a bowl.

“Nice ‘stache, Zorro,” he comments, his eyes then flicking between Buck’s now empty head and to the hat sitting on Eddie’s, crooked. “Careful. You wear the hat…”

“Chim!” Hen shouts out, and he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead jogs away, over to Hen and Karen on the dance floor, without another word. Eddie throws back that shot, because oh boy, he needs it. The wonderful warmth spreads through him again, and he licks his lips, catching Buck’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. It feels like his skin is on fire now, like Buck can somehow read his face, or even his mind, and know the kinds of feelings swirling around in there, feelings hidden for too long.

“Don’t listen t’ him,” Buck eventually says, nudging Eddie’s shoulder playfully. “The ‘stache is hot.”

Eddie chokes on nothing then, coughing and holding one hand flat to his now-aching chest, heart pounding against his rib cage like crazy. 

“Don’t say that,” he croaks, patting his chest a few times, his face even more flushed, if that was possible. He’s grateful for the mask tied around his head now more than ever.

“Just did,” Buck grins, and he leans closer, his eyes glistening with mischief. “And I meant it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Eddie insists, throat hurting from his now-faded coughing fit. Another shot, maybe? “You said mustaches are lip weasels and should be illegal just a few weeks ago.”

“I was ref’rring to Gerrard’s ‘stache,” Buck clarifies, arms crossed, the fabric of his shirt struggling with how bulky his biceps are. “Not m’ fault that thing makes you look like an even hotter Agent Tequila.”

“You are so drunk,” Eddie laughs, to cover up how much his pulse has gotten out of control, how much his skin feels like it’s on fire once again. This bantering-thing is killing him, the mere fact that Buck has called him hot, the way he’s still leaned in, their faces a little over one foot apart. The rest of the world has somehow faded away, and even the music—now the ‘Monster Mash’—is only reaching him through a layer of cotton.

“Drunk? Me?” Buck gasps, pretending to be appalled by this accusation. “Ridic’lous.”

“You just compared me to Pedro Pascal,” Eddie reminds him, like that proves anything. 

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s hot as hell in that Kingsman movie?!” 

“Is he?” Yes, he is, but Eddie won’t allow himself to say that out loud, not even right now.

“Oh, yeah,” Buck scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous question he’s heard all night. “Your hat d’sn’t make it any better, either.”

“It’s your hat, and you can have it back,” Eddie tries, and it’s entirely too warm in here. He’s sweating, even though he’s just in a black t-shirt under this cape-thing, and he needs fresh air and also a fucking break from all of this before the tension is ripping him apart. 

“Nah, you keep that. Another shot of tequila for Agent Tequila?” Buck giggles at that like it wasn’t a ridiculously dumb joke, and Eddie watches him step away, leaving his personal space to pour two more shots for them, and when they drink up, his eyes are intently on how Buck’s throat works as he gulps it down. 

“I’ll go take a breather,” Eddie announces, voice raspy because that goddamn tequila never backs down. “The air in here is the worst . Be right back.”

With every step he takes away from Buck, his body is screaming at him to turn around, but he can’t, and he walks into the dark hallway leading to the back door, the party behind him fading into silence, only interrupted by the booming bass of the music. His ears are ringing, and his mouth feels fuzzy from the booze, and how is he too warm and shivering at the same time? He is almost at the back door when he hears quick steps coming up behind him, and the familiar pattern of them makes his heart skip a beat. He can’t be here, not alone with him, in the darkness with their minds hazy from the amount of shots they did tonight. 

“Eddie,” Buck whisper-shouts, and it makes him stop in his tracks. Eddie doesn’t turn, but he knows he is coming closer, puffy little breaths escaping his mouth. 

“Is everythin’ okay?” 

Eddie can’t help but scoff now. “I just need air.”

“Is it ‘cause I called you hot?” Buck asks meekly, his voice barely above a whisper now. 

“No,” Eddie croaks, adjusting this stupid cowboy hat on his head. “No.”

“I didn’t mean t’ make you uncomfortable.” Buck is even closer now, Eddie can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he comes up behind him, and it’s suddenly so hard to breathe.

“I know,” Eddie breathes shakily, “It was just… unexpected.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says in the same tone, and Eddie, all automatically and without overthinking it, turns around to find Buck’s face in front of his in the darkness. 

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, eyes drifting over what he can see of Buck’s gorgeous face laying in the shadows. 

“So are you,” Buck shoots back softly, his eyes hooded, but Eddie can see where they focus on, and it’s making his skin crawl with desire he never wanted to feel with him. Because he could see himself falling for Buck entirely, if there wasn’t that promise he’d made to himself twenty years ago, the very one that is still ever so present in his mind even though he knows times have changed.

“I wanna kiss you,” Buck mutters under his breath, his eyes flicking back up to Eddie’s, and he is holding his breath, unsure of what to say. His silence spans too long, the air is too palpable, and Buck sighs and steps away, shoulders dropped.

“Forget it,” he mumbles, and the hurt in his voice is breaking Eddie’s heart in two, so he just steps forward, grabs this deliciously thick bicep before it’s out of reach, and pulls Buck against him, his lips finally finding sweet salvation when he crashes them onto his. 

So this is what it’s supposed to be like. 

Buck gives in instantly, his hands finding Eddie’s face as he hungrily kisses him back, the party forgotten, because now it’s only them and their heavy breaths mingling, their tongues sliding against one another. Clumsily, Eddie gets pushed backward until his back meets a wall, and he huffs into Buck’s mouth in surprise, his hands clawing at this stupidly tight white tee, like it was even possible for them to physically get any closer. The cowboy hat falls off his head from getting squished against the wall with him, but neither of them cares very much.

Nothing has ever felt so right, so meant to be, so completely and utterly blissful, and Eddie wonders how his parents could have ever vilified such a thing in the first place. 

Buck’s strong arms hoist him up, and he has his legs wrapped around his waist as he’s being kissed against the wall, holding back moans and groans of pleasure. His hands are in Buck’s curls now, and they’re softer than they looked, so he wishes he would never have to take his fingers out of them, wishes this moment would never end, and he could just keep kissing his best friend like this till the end of time.

“Evan,” he almost whimpers when Buck’s lips follow an invisible trail down his jaw and neck, hands tight on his thighs, and he feels how hard he is against him, hips grinding all automatically. “ Dios mío , you’re killing me.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes against his hot skin, and it tickles, making him stifle a giggle. A giggle , for God’s sake, when was even the last time he’s done that?

“Is this really okay,” Buck pants into the crook of his neck, “Because if it isn’t, we can stop, you know.”

“I know,” Eddie mutters, eyes closed to savor this feeling of being held up against a wall and having wonderfully soft lips finding the sensitive spot between his neck and collar bone. “It’s okay. More than okay, actually. Buck, I want you.”

The words slip out his mouth without hesitation, because they’re true, nothing has ever been more true than this. His wounds are mending with every touch to his skin, like these hands are holding him together. 

“Seriously?” Buck breathes, pulling back enough so that his gaze can catch Eddie’s, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Seriously,” Eddie finds himself saying, out of breath. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Buck blows out a shaky breath now, and his eyes seem glossier than a few seconds ago, but maybe Eddie is imagining things. 

“Fuck.” And then, their lips are meeting again, more intense, more passionate, and it’s so wonderful and not sinful at all, because how can something like this ever be a sin in the first place? 

Buck’s hips are grinding against him, groins meeting, making him lose his mind, and he wants more, wants to touch and explore what he’s kept away from him for years.

“We can’t,” he pants into his mouth, but they don’t stop kissing anyway. It feels too good to stop, really. 

“I know,” Buck breathes in response, “We shouldn’t.”

He gently lets Eddie to the ground again, still having to hold him upright because his legs are wobbly and about to give in, but their mouths are still slotted together perfectly, now at a slower, lazier pace. It still might just be the best Eddie has felt in years.

*

Eddie Diaz is gay, so gay, and even gayer for the man in his arms when he wakes up the following morning, smiling down at him and his adorable birthmark and messy curls hanging in his face as he quietly snores. Their bodies are bare underneath the sheets, and Eddie feels weary and worn out and oh-my- god so hungover, but he can only think about the way Buck’s blue eyes had glistened when he’d sunken to his knees last night, looking up at him through his lashes. There hadn’t been much talking when they’d arrived back at Eddie’s house, because it was closer to Hen’s and Karen’s place, and there was only huffing and breathing and whispers of praise, there was sucking and licking and kissing, and it all felt eternally blissful to the point where Eddie had forgotten all his principles, everything he’s convinced he was for twenty years. 

“Morning,” Buck mutters against his chest, and Eddie presses a soft peck to the crown of his head, still smiling. 

“Morning,” he whispers into his curls, still smelling the shampoo in them. “How are you?”
“Happy,” Buck smiles sleepily, kissing every patch of Eddie’s bare chest he can reach, and it turns him on so bad.

“Me too,” he rasps, eyes on the window and how the too-bright sunlight is creeping in through the blinds.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

Buck props himself up, eyes meeting Eddie’s, and the world stops.

“Did you clock what Chim said last night about the hat?” 

“What do you mean?” Eddie arches a brow, confused, because no, he doesn’t remember much apart from how free he felt the second his lips found their way home to Buck’s mouth.

“ Wear the hat, ride the cowboy ,” Buck says, unable to stay serious, a smile brightening his face and the entirety of the world again.

“Seriously?” Eddie laughs, tightening his arm around Buck’s shoulders, his other hand finding Buck’s face, softly cradling it.

“It’s the rules, apparently,” Buck chuckles, leaning into the tender touch. “All worked out, I guess.”

A beat of silence passes, even though in Eddie’s mind, there’s anything but silence.

“Buck, I’m gay.”

Where the hell did that come from just now? Eddie feels his face heat up, but Buck closes his eyes and kisses his chest again.

“That’s okay.”

“No lecture about how I shouldn’t have been hiding it from everyone in my life for twenty years after I decided it was going to make my parents mad, and so I forced myself to find something similar to love in women, trying to be someone I knew I wasn’t?”

Buck grins against his skin now, not stopping the kissing as he slowly works his way up to Eddie’s collarbone, and neck, and then his jaw. 

“You just lectured yourself,” he quips, his lips hovering inches away from Eddie’s now. “Now kiss me.”

And kiss him he does. So much more, too.

It begins with an invitation to a Halloween party, and it actually ends with Eddie finally finding happiness, right here in his bed.