Work Text:
“Fuck,” Eddie presses him against the countertop, slotting himself between open legs. “You're so perfect.” Lips trail downwards, tongue licking at his stomach and teeth catching on the denim of his waistband as Eddie's mouth is called lower.
He grips at the granite, breathing nearly impossible. He regains just enough composure to shift enough so he can feel as much of Eddie against him as he can. Another shift of his hips and fingers dig into his fabric covered thighs hard enough to bruise.
Kisses and whispered promises are pressed against his bare skin as he hurtles towards the edge, gasping under the weight of it all as–
Buck jerks awake, sitting up straight on the couch as his eyes fly open. He runs a hand through sweaty hair and flops back with a groan. This has been happening more lately. Since the breakup with Tommy and Eddie's sudden move to Texas, it's been nearly nonstop.
It's happened before, he won't lie about that. Even while in his relationship with Tommy, he'd wake up with sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and guilt heavy in his stomach. If his boyfriend ever noticed, he never said anything. If he ever heard breathy whispers of another man's name in their bed, Tommy was kind enough to ignore it; to keep pretending. It was never constant though, not like this. Ever since the extreme changes in his life, the dreams have gotten to be more. More frequent, more intense, more real. It takes him out at the knees every time. He wakes up in shock, with heat in his stomach and tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. He wakes frustrated every morning, even the warm embrace of the shower against his slick hands unable to satisfy him, to help dim the things he sees when his eyes close.
It used to be vague. Just hands on his body and a face obscured in darkness. He always knew it was a guy, the deep voice and large hands making appearances frequently. The scratch of stubble here or there would startle him sometimes. Never did he know anything more about the man in the shadows of his mind. But it's gotten more specific over time, more of something that feels tangible. It used to be more of a rarity as well. Semi-regular, he'd say. Something that happened when he was stressed or pent up. Now, it's almost nightly. There are days after a long shift that Buck fears closing his eyes because he's going to see something that he'll never have. It's fully unsustainable, at least once Eddie comes back. If he comes back, the pessimistic side of his brain amends. No one comes back.
It's untrue, he knows. Maddie is the perfect example. She came back. She was lost, but she found herself and she came back for Buck. But, he also knows that although her love and support is important, it's not all that he needs or wants.
He reaches blindly for his phone on the coffee table. He should be in bed, but he can't force himself to move to it. He gave up the loft easily when Eddie was lamenting about selling the Diaz home. It was close to the station and fairly easy to afford with his VA loan. Buck had stepped up quickly, saying he'd stay and just look for a new apartment when Eddie came back. For him agreeing to stay was just insurance that Eddie and Chris had something to come back to, that they'd come back. But he's never slept in Eddie's bed without the man next to him. And really that should tell him something about their relationship, but he's been choosing to ignore it.
He rubs his eyes and checks the time, seeing that it's 1am which would make it 2am in El Paso. It's really too late to call Eddie. It's not like he could have a late shift because he isn't a firefighter anymore. Really, Eddie isn't anything anymore. He used his stipend to move and stay with his parents and fix his relationship with Chris. There's still a spot for him at the 118 when he comes home, Bobby had promised that. But as of now it's too early to be calling Eddie, to be putting that burden on him. He calls anyway.
“Lo?” Eddie's sleep mused voice comes through the phone. It's thick and raspy, exactly the way it always is in Buck's dreams and it makes him shiver. Buck puts it on speaker and lays down, the phone balanced precariously next to his head on a throw pillow. “Buck?”
“Hey, Eds.”
There's a beat of silence where all Buck hears is some shuffling around. There's a click that must be a bedside lamp and a creek that he recognizes as Eddie rolling over, probably onto his right side. Because that's the side he feels most comfortable sleeping on and Buck knows that, and that doesn't make his stomach squeeze, absolutely not. “You okay?” Buck doesn't know how to answer so he doesn't. He just shrugs and gives a noncommittal hum. He knows it won't appease his best friend, but he's not sure how to vocalize why he had to call.
“It's two in the morning,” Eddie says seriously, all traces of sleep gone from his voice. “I know you didn't have a shift, what's wrong?”
“I missed you.” Buck thinks it's too honest, too vulnerable to say. He says it anyway. “I just–I woke up from a–a really intense dream and I needed to talk to you.”
He hears Eddie sigh. He knows it's kind of a low blow. They both suffer from nightmares. It's one of the reasons that they never actually quite stopped sharing a bed after lockdown. They'd gotten used to having each other there and then the shooting happened and Eddie couldn't be alone. It made sense and neither of them were weird about it, so it just…kept happening. So, he feels even more guilty about the dream because he knows that Eddie thinks it was a nightmare, a bad one.
“Tsunami again?”
“No uh–you this time.” The least he can be is a little bit honest.
Eddie hums. “Shooting?”
“I uh– I don't fully remember I just–”
He's cut off. “I know the feeling.”
“Uh-huh.” He doesn't really commit to an answer. He just sighs and twists a bit on the couch. “I just–I wanted to hear your voice.”
Eddie makes a noise that sounds almost like a whine on the other end of the phone and Buck closes his eyes, letting himself start to drift just by the sounds of Eddie breathing, as if he's right there curled up on the couch too.
“You still awake?” The question comes when Buck is teetering on the edge. His eyes are heavy, but he snaps back to reality by the rough call of Eddie's voice.
He coughs, sits up a bit. “Yea, yea.” He picks the phone up and cradles it in his hands, almost afraid that being even an arms length away from it will sever the flimsy connection between the two of them. “Can’t sleep?”
“Been thinking.”
“Uh-oh,” Buck tries to joke, “that's a dangerous game.” The joke falls flat, Eddie doesn't laugh. “About what?” He finally has the courage to ask after silence blankets them for a few moments.
“Us.”
He doesn't say anything else and Buck feels any words he wanted to say catch in his throat. Because Eddie doesn't understand, doesn't know. This is a can of worms Buck hasn't wanted to open. The type of thing he's shoved down as far as he can so he doesn't have to examine it. He knows Eddie has too. He's not an idiot and neither is his best friend. He knows that they both know that they tow the line, that their friendship isn't “normal.” But, saying it out loud? Talking about it? That's not a luxury Buck has ever felt that he could give himself. But right now, in this moment? Buck has sudden clarity. He doesn't know if it's remnants of the dream still clinging to his psyche or the fact that Eddie isn't right there with him, the barrier of the phone giving him bravery. He understands, though, what Eddie is trying to say.
They've been dancing around this for a long time. Maybe even longer than either of them have been able to recognize. He sometimes wonders if there ever was a before. If there was ever a time they weren't BuckandEddie. Before it all. Before Tommy and broken ankles from jealousy. Before the coma and Buck hanging from a ladder. Before the shooting and Eddie's life draining out of him onto the pavement. Before 40 feet of mud and some lady telling him that they had an adorable son. Before Shannon's death. Before…was there ever a before? Or, from the time Eddie stepped foot in their station, did Buck's subconscious already know? Did Eddie? He thinks the answer might be yes. He's not sure if that scares him.
“Us?” He questions quietly, giving Eddie an out.
There's a sharp intake of breath before, “Yea. Think we've been avoiding it long enough haven't we?”
He nods even though he knows that the other man can’t see him. He can’t trust his voice, that he’ll be able to say anything that makes sense.
“We uh–we should go to dinner when Chris and I get back.”
“You–”
“Is that okay?” Eddie rushes out the question. “I’m not reading this wrong, right? You and me?”
Buck laughs and he finds it’s a little watery. He lifts a hand to his face and realizes that he’s crying. “Eds,” he all but whines. “That would be–I would–Yea, Eddie. Yes.”
“Good, that’s good.”
The words fade from both of them and they go back to just listening to each other's restless sounds and small breaths. Buck can't help that it feels so good, so perfect. Eddie may not be right there with him but it somewhat feels like he never left. Feels like they’re wrapped around each other, even though the only thing in Buck's hand is the cold brick of his cell phone.
“God I love you,” comes from the other end of the phone, voice thick with sleep and smooth as honey. “You have no idea.”
Buck laughs a bit, just a huff, his body feeling like lead. “I think I have some idea actually.”
They finally drift off like that. Listening to each other breathe, the promises of tomorrow traded in the air between them.