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“Do you think I look stupid?” Eddie twists in front of the mirror again, examining himself in the reflection.
He’s wearing a black tank top with drop armholes, exposing the shadows of his ribs, the subtle curve of his pecs, the long flexing muscles of his lats. And, if he stretches the right way, a dusky flash of nipple. Across the chest of the tank is a black, white, purple, and gray rainbow. It’s not subtle and that’s the point.
Buck peeks his head around the bathroom door. He grins when he sees Eddie, a flash of teeth. “You look hot.”
Eddie blushes a little, feeling the heat in his cheeks. “Yeah?”
Buck comes into the bedroom. Fresh from the shower, he’s only in his underwear, a tight pair of boxer briefs that cling to his thick thighs and ass.
“Give us a spin,” Buck says, twirling his finger in the air.
“Buck.”
“Come on.”
Eddie slowly turns around, arms held out in display. He’s wearing shorts that end a good couple of inches above his knees, showing off hard won muscles and dark leg hair and the scars he’s gained over the years.
Buck wolf whistles at him.
“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles around a laugh.
Buck comes closer, sidling up behind Eddie and curving his hands around Eddie’s hips to turn him back towards the mirror.
“You look hot,” Buck repeats, but this time he’s meeting Eddie’s eyes in the reflection.
Objectively, Eddie knows he’s attractive. Objectively. He’s been hit on by every gender under the sun since he passed puberty and it’s flattering, he guesses. Objectively. It doesn’t really do much for him - empty compliments from people he doesn’t know and will never see again. He hears the words and sends them on their way. Thank you, next. They’re not meaningless, but they’re not meaningful. The same way having sex with Marisol was something that gave her pleasure, and giving her pleasure made him feel good in a number of ways. But if it had never happened his life wouldn’t be missing anything.
But from Buck. When Buck tells him he’s beautiful, Eddie’s believes him. It makes his skin warm and his heart beat faster.
Eddie watches in the mirror as Buck pushes up the hem of his tank, exposing his firm stomach, the lines of his abs that age and contentment haven’t yet softened. Buck’s hand slides low across Eddie’s belly, settling under his bellybutton, pinky dipping under the waist of his short. Possessive. Eddie’s breath deepens, a long inhalation that causes Buck’s hand to rise with the movement of his diaphram.
“You look fucking incredible,” Buck says, low in his ear, and Eddie shivers.
Daily, Buck looks at him like he wants to devour him. Like he wants to crawl inside Eddie’s skin, make a home in his chest. Like his body isn’t just a tool to make someone orgasm, but a gift. A blessing. That his arms aren’t just muscular and look good in a shirt, but are able to lift someone to safety. That legs can carry him up flights of stairs to run into a fire, not just look good in pants. That his abs aren’t just for a firefighter calendar, but give strength to his spine, keep him upright.
Buck makes him feel like he’s telling the truth when he says he looks good.
Buck hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. He smells like shampoo and soap and toothpaste.
“I’m going to be fighting people off you all day,” Buck says and slides another finger under the waist of Eddie’s shorts.
Eddie snorts. “You’re not.”
If anything, Eddie’s going to be the one glaring at overeager people over his sunglasses to get them to back off of Buck.
Buck takes in compliments like he expects them. Not because he’s vain, but because he’s received so many compliments during in life they slide off him like rain.
It might be easier if Buck had a shiny ring on his finger to ward off strangers.
Eddie’s done a lot of things out of order in his life: knocked up his girlfriend before he went to college; killed a man before he held his son; tried to die before he really lived. He’s not going to ask Buck to marry him before he goes to his first Pride parade. He needs to do one thing right.
“Stop it,” Eddie says. “We have to get ready.”
Buck’s bare chest is warm against his back even through his own shirt and it’d be so easy to sink into him. Forget about the parade and fall back into bed for the day. But Eddie made a promise to Buck and Christopher and their friends. And to himself.
Eddie steps forward, forcing Buck’s hand to slide off his stomach. A chill is left in the wake of the missing touch.
“Get dressed. We have to get to Hen and Karen’s and you can’t scare them with how pale you are.”
Buck drops a kiss on the back of Eddie’s neck. “You know I’m going to be bringing sunscreen to reapply every two hours.”
Buck looks like the biggest, bulkiest sprite in Los Angeles. Karen has painted delicate swirling patterns in blue, pink, and purple from Buck’s eyelids to his temples and down across his cheeks. A wash of pale shimmer lays over the paint, making everything sparkle and catch the light. His eyes look fucking luminous, the color brought out by the makeup.
Eddie never thought he’d be turned on by face paint. But it’d taken decades to realize what turned him on in the first place, so what’s adding the love of his fucking life done up in bisexual fairy face paint to the mix?
“Did we know Karen was a professional make up artist?” Buck asks, looking at himself in a handheld mirror.
Karen laughs. “You have enough kids and you get good at face paint.”
“This isn’t face paint, Karen. This is magic.” Buck reaches towards his face like he wants to touch one of the swirls but stops before his fingertips make contact. “You’re magic. I’m keeping this forever.”
“It’s Pride, baby,” Karen says. “We’re all magic.”
“I don’t think Bobby’s going to let you come to shift like this,” Hen says from her spot on the couch.
She’s wearing cut off jean shorts, a white crop tank top, and a short sleeved button down open over the tank, patterned all over with the word GAY in graffiti-style. Her nails are dusty pink and Karen has already painted a Lesbian pride flag on her cheek.
“I’ll call him out for discrimination,” Buck teases.
“I think you look pretty,” Mara says. She, Denny, and Christopher are gathered together on the living room rug, working on their own, slightly less professional face-painting.
“Thank you, Mara,” Buck responds. “You look gorgeous.”
Mara has hearts and flowers painted across her cheeks and down her arms, matching her sundress. Christopher is currently, politely, allowing Mara to draw abstract rainbow art on his arms. Denny is taking photos of everyone, probably for blackmail later.
“You’re next, Diaz.” Karen waves Eddie over to the table where her face paint and makeup supplies are laid out.
Eddie pauses. “Oh, I don’t think-”
Buck bounces over to him. “You don’t have to do anything crazy,” he says, a warm hand on Eddie’s wrist.
“I-”
“I mean, we COULD have matching fairy faces,” Buck adds. His smile is so bright, hopeful, endearing. Eddie loves him so fucking much. He’s not sure there’s much Buck could ask of him he wouldn’t do.
Eddie’s not used to standing out. He got very good at fitting in: with his family, at school, in the army. He danced until it wasn’t fun and then he stopped shining altogether. It’s a habit now, fading into the background. Darker clothes. Just the few tattoos. Speaking English when he wants to swear in Spanish. Walk softly and carry a big heart.
Coming out, Eddie’s realized, isn’t just about sexuality and gender. It’s about revealing the parts of yourself kept subsumed. Hidden. Wrapped in the shrouds of polite society. The real, weird things that bring joy. The savage pieces that drive people away. The sharp edges that might draw blood if someone comes too close, too fast.
“Maybe not a full face,” Eddie starts. “But I could do a little something.”
Buck’s arms are around him so fast Eddie almost doesn’t see it coming. It’s an affirmation as much as it’s a hug.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” Buck whispers.
“I know.”
Eddie sits down in the chair facing Karen and glances at the spread of face painting kits and makeup bottles and brushes. He remembers watching Shannon put on makeup in the bathroom a few times, during those scants months they actually lived together as a married couple. The drawer in the bathroom that was dedicated to foundation and mascara and concealer; eyeshadow palettes and lipsticks and so many brushes.
He remembers feeling something close to pity, or confusion, that Shannon felt like she had to spend all that time on her appearance when he already liked the way she looked. But he hadn’t understood a lot about her or what fulfilled her. He hadn’t yet understood much about himself either.
“You’re a combat medic who’s been in an active war zone and was shot out of the sky,” Karen says. “Why do you look more scared now?”
“I had a gun then,” Eddie replies. He looks over at Buck, who’s moved to join Hen on the sofa. He must sense Eddie’s attention, because he looks up from his phone. When he catches Eddie’s eyes, his face changes, shifting from frowning concentration to this open-hearted love that brightens his features when he looks at Eddie.
It makes Eddie smile in return. A reflex. Buck smiles, he smiles. Buck’s sad, he’s sad. Buck hurts, he hurts. The quantum entanglement of two firefighters in their mid-thirties raising a teenager.
“Hold still,” Karen chides. “Or this flag will be waving in the wind.”
Eddie blows a breath out of his nose and schools his face back to neutral. The little, fine-bristled paint brush is cold on his cheek while Karen works, and Eddie stares at a painting on the wall so he doesn’t accidentally look at Buck and smile again.
It doesn’t take long before Karen’s handing him the mirror and he has to look. It’s a flag with three horizontal stripes in white, purple, and gray. A black triangle on the left points inwards, with its tip bisecting the narrower purple stripe.
They’re not Eddie’s favorite colors. He doesn’t look at purple and gray and think, yes, that’s me. But Christopher sent him a dozen links to definitions and descriptions of the myriad sexualities in the world and the one that felt the best, the one that didn’t make his stomach hurt, was demisexual.
Eddie still doesn’t know if it’s right. If it’s perfect. Buck wears bisexual so easily it’s almost infuriating. But Eddie mostly doesn’t care if the label is exactly right. He loves Buck, is in love with him, and he’s so deeply, insanely attracted to him it sort scares him sometimes and that’s enough for him.
“It’s perfect, Karen,” Eddie says. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She squeezes his hand and kisses him on the cheek. She smells like sandalwood and plum.
“What do you think, Buck?” Karen asks, pulling back and taking Eddie’s chin to turn his face towards Buck.
Buck props his chin on his hand on the back of the sofa. “You’re perfect.”
Eddie rolls his eyes but warmth seeps all the way down to his toes. “You’re a sap.”
“Both things can be true,” Buck counters.
Next to him Hen groans. “You two are disgusting.”
Karen just smiles. “They’re young.”
Eddie feels the blush suffusing his cheeks. Across the room, Buck’s smile isn’t the blinding, teeth-baring one he gets sometimes. It’s softer, private, crinkling his eyes, and Eddie loves him so much.
“All right, kids.” Karen stands up. “Let’s get packed up and going.”
Eddie never considered himself as someone who was avoiding a Pride parade. For so long he never saw himself as someone who needed to go. He was a straight man married to a woman. And then he was a straight, single dad raising a kid by himself. A Pride parade wasn’t for him. He supported his friends, of course he did. And he meant it when he told Buck that nothing changed between then when Buck came out to him. Or he meant it at the time.
If Buck had wanted to go to Pride, Eddie would have gone with him. But he never did. It never came up. And if Hen and Karen celebrated, then weren’t inviting the 118 to join. At least not before.
And then, when Eddie realized what exactly the yearning in his belly was for, he didn’t see himself as someone who deserved to go to Pride. He hears words like authenticity and phrases like ‘living your truth’ and tries to connect with them, tries to fit them into his life. But they still taste a little like ash.
Maybe that’s being unfair to himself. He doesn’t think he’s been lying to himself or others. Not consciously. It just never occurred to him there was another possibility, another life for him. He was who he was - husband, father, soldier, firefighter. Until Buck. Eddie wonders sometimes if there was anyone else who could have broken him open the way Buck did. If anyone could have made him realize that all his talk of feeling like he had to perform on dates was just a deep seeded need for connection, for trust before anything else.
It’s not like his West Texas middle school sex education classes ran through the gamut of sexualities with a bunch of 13-year-olds. The teachers told them not to have sex and not get pregnant. His parents made him go to church and the inference was always one man, one woman. Nothing else. Other sexualities were for other people. And besides, he was married, with a kid, because he wasn’t so good about the not getting a girl pregnant part.
It’s a strange and stubborn endurance, holding yourself back for years. Being one person while another version lives inside, watching a life lived and not knowing if more, if better if possible.
And now, now Eddie stands on the sidewalk in the middle of West Hollywood with his son and his partner and his growing group of friends, along with hundreds of thousands of other people watching big, colorful floats move down the Santa Monica Boulevard. Eddie chafes against boyfriend but only because he’s in his 30s and it feels too small to encapsulate everything Buck is to him, to them. He has the flag of a sexuality he didn’t even know existed painted on his face and absolutely no one in the crowd gives a shit. He might be the least flamboyant person in attendance.
Buck has his gorgeous face paint swirling across his skin and a rainbow flag sticking out of his clear plastic backpack. He’s wearing shorts that end halfway up his thighs, showing off all that pale skin and the long roping scar from the surgeries that saved his leg after he was crushed by the fire engine. His tank top is almost a crop, flashing a bit of his belly if he reaches up too high, and highlighting the intense strength of his arms. Across his broad chest in pink, purple, and blue it says, “NOT A PHASE.”
The Gay Freedom Band of Los Angeles marches past in white shirts, white hats, and rainbow sashes. Eddie catches himself swaying to the music, head bopping while Buck grooves alongside, bumping their elbows and shoulders with every movement. Next to him, Maddie holds Jee-Yun’s hands and dances with her in a little circle. Jee’s in a frilly rainbow sundress and a pair of kid’s safety ear muffs to protect her hearing from the yelling and cheering and the pounding music. Chimney watches them like they’re his whole world, because they are.
The parade advances. Thousands of different bodies and hair and make up and genders. Naked skin and painted stomachs, glitter and heels and confetti. Eddie’s never seen so much joy and love in one place before. Tears burn and he blinks rapidly, thankful for his sunglasses. He’s not ashamed of these tears, but he doesn’t need Buck worrying about him.
Hen and Karen cheer extra loudly for Allies for Every Child when the group walks by and Eddie watches Hen hug Mara so tightly to her chest that her daughter squeaks around a laugh.
“Mama!” Mara protests, wriggling, but she’s smiling so much her eyes disappear.
Someone in the parade from Allies sees them hugging on the sidewalk and waves. Eddie nudges Karen and Hen, who get Denny and Mara to wave back.
Next to him, Buck presses closer, as if the crush of bodies isn’t keeping them smushed together. His bare arm is hot and sweaty against Eddie; they’re both going to end up with sunburns despite rigorous reapplications of sunscreen and Eddie doesn’t care. Buck’s skin feels so good against Eddie’s, but it’s being in public, bare-armed and touching and not feeling weird about it that makes Eddie shiver.
It had taken time for Eddie to be comfortable showing affection with Buck in public, at the fire station. Not because he was embarrassed of Buck, but because of the mortification of being seen, being known by others. He’d never really been one for hand-holding and sloppy make outs in dark corners of bars, for telling someone loved them in the bright light of the afternoon. But he’s pretty sure that’s because he was never really comfortable in his relationships. Never really settled enough to feel good in his skin.
He’s settled with Buck.
Buck takes his hand - his palm is sweaty too - and curls their fingers together. Eddie squeezes Buck’s hand once, twice. Me, you.
Chris is in front of them, protected from the crowd by both of their bodies. Eddie coils his free arm around Chris’ shoulders and gently tugs him back into his body, holding him close.
"Daaaaad,” Chris complains, because a teenager and doesn’t need his dad cuddling him in front 100,000 Angelenos. But Eddie needs it. He kisses the top of Chris’ head; his shampoo no longer holds the strawberry scent of kid’s shampoo, but something sharper because he’s decided it’s time to buy products specific for his curls. Eddie has Buck to thank for the increase in drug store costs for the family.
“Love you,” Eddie tells Chris.
“Love you too, dad,” Chris replies, with only a hit of eye roll in his voice.
Buck reaches down and settles a hand on Chris’ shoulder.
A cheer goes up along the packed sidewalk as a line of fire engines come into view: the LA County Fire Department. Eddie recognizes a few people riding the engine from shifts working on wild fires. He wonders what it might be like to not just watch the Pride parade, but walk in it. Stand with his team and his partner in front of the whole city that he works every day to protect and say with his presence “this is who I am.”
“Jenna!” Hen yells out.
“Babe, she can’t hear you from here,” Karen says, rubbing Hen’s arm.
“Jenna!” Hen yells again and then time both Denny and Mara yell with her. From the top of one of the engine’s, a tall woman in a LACoFD hat turns and manages to spot their group in the crowd. Her face lights up in recognition and she waves. Eddie remembers her from a wild fire in San Bernadino.
“Think they’d let us join them?” Chimney asks and Eddie assumes he’s only half-joking.
The parade carries on. Buck’s shoulders turn pink and Eddie rubs more sunscreen on him, and then he slathers some all over Christopher’s face despite his son’s laughing protests. Buck is sweating enough under the California sun that his face paint is starting to smudge, making him look wild, unrestrained. Fucking otherworldly. Eddie wants to kiss him and let the paint smear all over him too.
So he does. He kisses Buck soundly in public, in front of their friends and son and the entire West Hollywood Pride parade.
When he pulls back, Buck is grinning and his carefully applied pride make up is smeared even more from Eddie’s nose and grasping hands and his smile.
“Got a little something on you,” Buck says, rubbing his thumb across Eddie’s cheek where blue and pink and purple paint has transferred.
“Yeah I bet.”
The day is raucous and joyous, loud and loving, and Eddie wants to bottle this feeling up for the days that aren’t quite so colorful.
Eddie leans back into Buck’s body, knowing Buck will hold his weight. Buck’s chest is warm against his back, damp through their clothes. Buck’s arm crosses like a band around his chest, holding him tight.
“You good?” Buck asks, close in his ear, breath hot against his skin.
“Yeah,” Eddie answers and feels it in his bones, his soul. “I’m good.”