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Buck’s standing by the revolving doors of the charity gala, hammering his thumbs into his phone like a man possessed.
Buck: Where r u guys???
Hen is the first to reply, saying she’s already at the bar with Karen, while Athena and Bobby are at the 118’s designated table. Eddie, Ravi, Maddie and Chim are suspiciously quiet, and Buck’s about to fire off another text specifically targeting them when a pair of feet come into view.
“You planning to stay out here the whole night?” comes Eddie’s voice.
Buck looks up, prepared to lecture the man about punctuality and commitment to the cause—
And promptly forgets how to breathe.
Eddie’s standing there, oh-so-casual, hands in his pockets, looking like he stepped straight off the cover of GQ. The dark navy suit fits him like a goddamn glove, the crisp white shirt underneath somehow making his skin look even more golden. His hair’s looking longer than usual, swept back just messy enough to make Buck’s brain short-circuit.
“Damn, Diaz,” Buck breathes out before he can stop himself. “You clean up nice.”
“Wish I could say the same for you,” Eddie says, looking him up and down. His eyes linger on the open collar of Buck’s grey suit and black shirt combo. “Button up, Buckley. You look like you're about to go clubbing."
Buck, who deliberately left two buttons undone, just grins shamelessly. He pops open a third one, just to be a menace. “Maybe someone’s into it. You never know, desperate times, desperate measures.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, dry as a desert, “I can sense the desperation, all right.”
Buck laughs, bumping Eddie’s shoulder with his own, heart doing little cartwheels as they walk into the event together. The auction hall is buzzing. There’s fairy lights strung across the ceiling, big round tables decked out with decorations, and a makeshift stage up front with a massive banner displaying the words:
WIN A DATE! ALL PROCEEDS GO TO FIREHOUSE CHARITIES!
"You boys ready to sell your dignity for charity?" Hen says, popping up behind them with Karen in tow.
Buck spins around, grinning and moving to hug them in greeting. "I'm actually pretty sure this makes us philanthropists."
“You keep telling yourself that, baby boy,” Hen says.
“You guys been here long?” Eddie asks, smoothing his hair back down where Hen mussed it up, and Buck’s gaze lingers only for a second.
“We got here just before you,” Karen says. “Went straight to the bar. I don’t think I could watch this without a drink.”
They find Bobby and Athena at their assigned table, and Buck happily wedges himself between Hen and Eddie, with Chimney’s empty seat next to Eddie. Ravi joins a few minutes later with his own drink, taking a seat next to Bobby.
"Ravi, you doing okay there?” Karen asks, brow raised at the younger firefighter who is now smoothing down his hair anxiously.
"Bet Ravi goes for way more than me," Buck leans over to Eddie, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "Young, charming, fit? Absolute catnip."
Eddie smirks, not looking away from the stage. “You’re young, charming, and fit.”
“Yeah,” Buck snorts. “And you’re the hot single dad. You’re gonna break records tonight.”
Eddie rolls his eyes at that, but Buck catches the faint pink creeping up his ears and feels slightly victorious.
Maddie and Chimney rushes in with hushed greetings and whispered apologies right as the auctioneer taps the mic to signal everyone’s attention.
"Alright, everybody! Welcome to the Annual Firehouse Bachelor Auction!” He announces with a grin stretching from one ear to the other. “Let’s give a big round of applause to our brave bachelors ready to sacrifice themselves for a good cause tonight!"
There’s a big, rowdy cheer. Chimney leans over Eddie’s shoulder and says to them, "May the odds be ever in your favour."
A few firefighters go first – Martinez, Deeks, even Captain Mehta. Buck makes a huge show of cheering them on, pretending to bid outrageously just to get laughs. (and also because heckling your colleagues is a sacred LAFD tradition)
Everything’s shaping up to be an extremely fun night, right until the announcer grins and says,
"Next up, Eddie Diaz!"
And just like that, any shred of Buck’s self-preservation leaves the building.
He watches, absolutely dumbstruck, as Eddie stands, dusting imaginary crumbs off his well-fitted suit, and strolls up onto the stage. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he gives the crowd a shy little half-smile that makes about half the room swoon.
But Buck recovers fast. He lurches to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth without thinking.
"Show ‘em how it’s done, Diaz!" he bellows.
Eddie, halfway up the steps to the stage, trips slightly, whips around, glaring, face already turning an impressive shade of red, and it’s doing things to Buck. But he just shakes it off, grins wide and loose, shoots off a cocky two-finger salute before flopping back into his chair.
The auctioneer grins, like he himself knows he’s stuck the jackpot with Eddie. "Alright, opening bid for Mr. Diaz starts at twenty dollars! Do I hear twenty?"
Across the room, a woman Buck doesn’t recognise instantly raises her paddle.
"Twenty!" she calls.
Buck smiles tightly. Fine. Totally fine. Twenty bucks? Who cares. Bargain, really. Eddie’s worth way more, but hey, it's for charity. Buck sits on his hands. He can play it cool. He can.
"Thirty!" someone else yells.
"Forty!" Hen shouts, paddle raised.
Buck whips around, eyes wide from betrayal. Hen just winks at him. “Philanthropy, remember?”
He shoots her a glare, and then feels his soul depart from his body as the numbers creep higher.
"Fifty!"
"Sixty!"
Seventy-five dollars. Buck’s starting to bounce his knee so hard he’s probably gonna flip the table. Because oh, he’s just realised, people are seriously trying to buy a date with Eddie. His Eddie. Not that Eddie’s his. Yet. Maybe. Whatever. Not the point.
Someone yells from the back, "Seventy-five!"
Before Buck’s brain can catch up, his paddle shoots into the air.
"One hundred!" he blurts, voice way too loud.
The auctioneer blinks, clearing having recognised it as the very table Eddie emerged from. "Uh, one hundred dollars! Fantastic! Do I hear one-twenty?"
Eddie is now openly staring at him. Buck pays no mind, eyes darting between the auctioneer and the crowd that seems to want to to pounce on Eddie.
"One-twenty!" another bidder fires off.
Buck immediately, without hesitation, shouts: "Two hundred!"
Chimney chokes on his drink so violently Maddie has to slap him on the back. Hen is just cackling now, fully doubled over against Karen's shoulder.
"You doing okay there, Buck?" Bobby asks, amused.
Buck can’t even answer. His whole body is buzzing, vibrating, ready to throw down with whoever dares think they can walk off into the sunset with Eddie freaking Diaz.
"Two-twenty!"
"Two-fifty!"
"Two-eighty!"
Buck is practically on the table now, voice a little manic, hands flailing. "Five hundred!"
The room goes quiet. It’s the highest bid of the night so far, and frankly, if anyone deserves it, it’s Eddie Diaz. Eddie Diaz, who's standing stock still on the stage, wide-eyed, looking at Buck like he just declared his undying love.
The announcer coughs into the mic. "Uh... going once, going twice, and sold! To the extremely enthusiastic gentleman at Table 8!"
There’s polite clapping. Someone wolf-whistles. Hen’s holding onto Karen for stability, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, and Bobby just shakes his head, like he’d seen this exact outcome the moment Buck and Eddie entered the auction.
"If you’re handing out bids, wouldn’t mind if you threw some my way too," Ravi mutters into his drink, setting off another round of helpless laughter.
Eddie runs a hand down his face like he’s questioning every single life choice that led him here. He mutters something under his breath and makes his way off the stage, shooting Buck a look that screams we’re gonna talk about this later. Buck slumps into his seat, face burning hotter than the sun, very aware of literally everyone still looking at him.
After a long, torturous minute, Eddie finally makes his way over to their table, hands tucked casually in his pockets like he’s trying real hard not to smile.
Buck practically launches himself out of his chair in his effort to stand up, knocking it backward with a crash loud enough to make half the table jump. Hen makes a noise of complaint as she lifts the chair back to its legs.
"You alright there, Buck?” Eddie cocks his head, fighting a grin.
Buck straightens. "Me? Yeah. Great. Why wouldn’t I be great?"
Eddie takes another step closer, and it’s close enough that Buck can smell his cologne. He leans in, voice low and teasing. "Couldn't let someone else have me, huh?"
Buck opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
Eddie’s grin turns wide, smug, and way too fond – like he isn’t just messing with him, like he likes that Buck lost his mind a little. And then, because he's operating on absolutely zero surviving brain cells, Buck blurts, way too loud,
"You think I trust anyone else with that face?"
Eddie freezes, blinks once, and then breaks into the biggest, most obnoxiously endeared smile Buck has ever seen.
Buck clears his throat, trying desperately to backpedal. "I mean, I just didn’t want you stuck with someone boring. Best friend duties and all that jazz."
Eddie laughs, a soft huff that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Buck thinks he might just die on the spot.
"Sure, bud," Eddie says, clapping a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before sauntering past him toward the refreshment table. "Keep telling yourself that."
Buck turns, dazed, to watch him go. He's absolutely, undeniably, one hundred percent screwed.
Eddie’s just getting his second drink when the call sounds.
"Next, we have Evan Buckley!"
He turns, freezing when he catches sight of what’s unfolding.
Buck, sauntering onto the stage without a care in the world, soaking up the spotlight. He turns to face the crowd, shirt unbuttoned just enough to flash smooth skin and collarbones, and smiles.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" the auctioneer booms. "We've got a certified hero, loves animals, and can cook a mean spaghetti – who’ll start the bidding?!"
Eddie back slides into his seat, heart already pounding way too fast. He knows he’s in trouble. He knew it the second Buck smiled at the crowd. For a second, Eddie wonders if this whole auction idea is a terrible mistake.
Sure, Buck's already won Eddie – he has that satisfaction – but now... now Eddie has to watch someone else try to win Buck?
"Twenty!" some random woman yells, way too enthusiastic for Eddie’s comfort.
He narrows his eyes, sitting up straighter.
"Fifty!"
"One hundred!"
"One-fifty!"
The bids are climbing faster than Eddie likes, and every time he flashes that stupid, brilliant grin at the crowd, Eddie feels closer to flipping his chair.
"Two hundred!" some jackass yells out. Eddie locks eyes on him immediately.
Enemy spotted.
"Two-fifty!" Eddie barks, loud enough that half the room turns to stare, but it doesn’t matter. Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Buck who is now, after having done a visible double take, looking between the crowd and Eddie with a little "what the hell?" on his face.
Their table goes silent for a second, then erupts.
Hen lets out a strangled noise. "Of course there’s a sequel.”
Eddie shrugs. He’s not letting some yacht dude sail off into the seas with his Buck. Over his dead body.
The auctioneer, looking delighted, claps his hands. "Two-fifty! Do I hear two-seventy-five?"
"Two-seventy-five!" yells Yacht Guy, sounding smug.
Heat crawls up his neck. He can feel it now, the competitiveness, the pure caveman instinct, and the only thing louder than the bids itself is the mine, mine, mine screaming inside his head.
He slams his glass down. "Three hundred!"
Buck is just standing there now, hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking like he’s trying not to bust out laughing.
"Three-twenty-five!" another voice calls.
"Three-fifty!" Eddie fires back immediately, not even glancing at the source of the sound, chin high, paddle up.
"Four hundred!" Yacht Guy again.
If there's one thing Eddie knows deep in his bones tonight, it's this: if someone’s walking away with Buck, it’s gonna be him.
“Five hundred!”
"Five hundred?!" the auctioneer echoes, eyes practically bugging out. Going by the look on his face, he’s clearly experiencing deja vu from ten minutes ago.
"Going... going... and sold to the gentleman on table 8!"
The gavel slams down. The crowd delves into applause, but all he can hear is the thudding of his own heart.
He doesn’t care how much he’s just spent. Hell, he doesn’t care about anything except the speed at which Buck comes off the stage.
Buck reaches him, eyes wide. "Dude."
Eddie blinks. "What?"
Buck just stares at him, mouth open like he’s forgotten how words work.
"You think I’m letting some guy in boat shoes take you to Olive Garden?" Eddie says, throwing a hand up. "Not a chance."
"You're so dumb," Buck says, shaking his head, fond.
Hen shouts from their table, "Get a room, lovebirds!"
"Preferably one that costs less than a thousand dollars,” Bobby says.
Eddie groans and drags a hand over his face – but when he glances at Buck, still laughing, still looking at him like that, he figures... yeah.
Worth every damn penny.