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In hindsight, something was bound to happen that night.
In hindsight.
At present time, though? They are too busy being Buck-and-Eddie to care.
“Man, we should do bachelor parties more often.”
“Get married again and I’m throwing you one.”
They are shouting a little, the music is louder every time their improvised dj’s find a track they love. Eddie’s shirt is already ripped in half, somewhere on the floor and Buck’s pants are looking sort of disgusting, but talk about having fun, those two are sure they’re walking out of the hotel room with a PhD in the subject.
“Do we really need a wedding to have a bachelor party?” Eddie asks, leaning into Buck’s side.
He knocks their shoulders back. “If there’s no groom, then it wouldn’t be a bachelor party.”
Eddie looks around. “We don’t have a groom here.”
“The intention counts, doesn’t it?”
“So, in order to have our next bachelor party we need someone getting married?” Buck nods at him. “But it’s not mandatory for the groom himself to be in attendance at his own party.”
“Basically.” Buck shrugs.
Eddie’s so smart. He gets it on his first try.
“That makes no sense.”
“Here we are anyway, aren’t we?”
Eddie has to concede Buck this one. They are at a groom-less bachelor party after all.
He decides to lean closer to talk in Buck's ear. “So, who’s getting married first, you or me?”
They’re dancing―Buck is trying at least―and while he’s not a professional of any means, his hips are doing mean things to Eddie.
“Between your fear of the word ‘wife’ and my inability to keep a partner, I fear we are closer to organizing probie’s bachelor party.” Buck laughs loudly.
Eddie is not drunk enough to be above rolling his eyes at him. “It’s not fear―”
“You don’t panic, I know.” The sweet smile Buck gives him is so genuine Eddie forgets what he is about to say.
He’s decidedly still too sober.
“Let me grab you another drink.” Eddie turns on his heels.
“Yeah, no, I’m coming with you.” Buck follows him, grabbing his elbow. It sends a tingle down Eddie’s body and now he really needs another drink.
It’s really a full room, bodies pressed together from side to side. They knock shoulders again as they make their way over the improvised bar―a table with everything they thought of ordering to room service―laughing at nothing in particular. Once, twice. Buck loses his balance and Eddie catches him, throwing an arm over his shoulder.
Maybe they can’t knock them like that but it’s close. Tonight, Eddie would go as far as to say it’s better.
Way better.
He wouldn’t ask Buck.
Buck thinks it’s miles better, nonetheless.
Already past the nice, savory cocktails―that was phase one of the party, when they still resembled Crockett and Tubbs, or Crockett and Crockett, whatever―Buck is not paying much mind to what he drinks, scanning the table for a not-completely-empty bottle of anything.
“Tequila?” Buck asks, lifting a bottle with some left.
Buck doesn’t like it that much.
“Is there any vodka left?” He raises a couple bottles, trying to find some. When he does, he serves himself half a cup.
Buck stares at him, a bit confused, before shrugging and pouring some tequila in his own cup.
“You sure don’t prefer this one better?” Eddie asks, raising his cup Buck way.
He just grins, clinking his cup with Eddie’s. “Nah, I’m good.”
Weird.
But okay.
They try to make their way back―it’s crowded, in the end, it’s a hotel room―walking close by, Eddie leading and Buck right on his heels. It’s not going that well, not that they care too much.
They’ll probably end up dancing or talking-shouting right there anyway.
Still, they try.
Passing by their unexpected party friends, Eddie realizes he can’t remember a single name. He chuckles to himself and hears Buck reacting the same way from behind him―don’t get him wrong, Buck doesn’t know what they are laughing at―and hums, happy, pleased to know Buck has his back.
My inability to keep a partner―
Eddie stops in a halt and Buck, too entranced by the way the lights are making shades in Eddie’s bare back, stumbles right into it.
“What about Tommy?” He hears Eddie spat out.
“Who?”
Eddie turns around to face him. “Tommy.”
He blinks. “Your friend, Tommy?”
“Your date, Tommy.” Buck seems so clueless it comes out a little bit questioning at the end. Like he’s gaslighting Eddie into thinking they aren’t a thing.
Buck takes a while to catch up. He looks at Eddie right in the eyes, hazed expression, mouth slightly agape. Right when Eddie thinks he’s about to do something deranged, Buck scoffs. “If it were up to him, I would be alone right now.”
“Oh.” Eddie tilts the drink he has in hand, paying it half a mind―the rest of it laser focused on Buck’s response to what he’s about to say―before taking a long sip under his attentive gaze. “Sounds like an ex to me.” He gives it a carefully calculated shrug.
Buck hesitates before answering. “I don’t know.” Eddie’s heart stops at that, but before he can think too much, Buck follows up. “I mean, for there to be an ex, you need to have dated first right? Like, titles and shit.”
Eddie lets out an audible sigh of relief.
“Right.”
Because yes, that sounds logical, yeah.
He is not the one making the dating rules.
“Good.” Buck scrunches his eyes at the taste of tequila.
Eddie’s still trying to figure out why he picked that drink.
“So, no partner,” he charges again.
“Again.” Downing the rest of his cup in one go, Buck goes back to swaying his head, the rhythm of the music lost somewhere.
“Well,” Eddie muses. “Maybe it's better that way.”
By his side, Buck snorts loudly enough for him to hear. “Okay, mister nun-lover.”
“Oh, you don’t want to get into the diss-your-ex territory, orc-dater!”
Buck burst out laughing. “Orc?”
Eddie can feel the mirth tugging the corner of his lip upward. He tries to hold the laughter at bay, he really does.
What a splendid night to be failing miserably at being polite.
“C’mon Buck, you date one man and he’s like the crappy version of human shrek.”
Buck can’t stop laughing, can’t focus, can’t pay too much mind to his own words with Eddie’s waist on show, no sir.
“And what would you know about handsome men, Eddie?” It comes out flirty, the way it does when he’s a bit tipsy in alcohol and very much high in Eddie.
“I know you,” Eddie manages, a bit breathless.
Buck takes a while to register Eddie’s words, but when he does, the urge to be alone with him hits him like a freight train. His throat feels dry, but he wants to remember this and the improvised bar is too far away and Eddie is here and he’s not blacking out. Not tonight. Never with Eddie.
For a while now, Buck has been finding himself staring more openly, blinking a little less, lingering in rooms and feeding into Eddie’s presence like a starved man.
He pays half a mind to steal Eddie’s cup but that would ruin the tequila aftertaste―he doesn’t like―and that’s an even worse idea.
A drop of sweat pools above his top lip and Buck gets the imperious impulse to lick it dry.
Eddie is feeling a bit dizzy. No surprises there, he’s not that gone on alcohol yet, but Buck is staring at his lips with hooded eyes and it’s like the world is spinning too fast.
“Hey,” he studies the way Buck’s lips move as he speaks. “Eddie?”
Eddie’s eyes snap back up, up, up to the blue he sees in his sleep.
“Yeah?”
They’re close, again.
Looking at his cup, there’s a bit of vodka there. He takes a deep breath and drinks that last bit. Then, he leans back and drops the cup somewhere. A chair, a windowsill, a food cart, he’s not sure, he can’t tear his gaze from Buck’s.
Why is the music so loud?
Right, they are celebrating Chimney.
Who’s not even here.
Missing the best night of his life.
Or maybe Eddie is a little bit biased, since Buck’s still looking at him, reaching out for him while Eddie can’t do a thing but ache for his touch. He doesn’t know how it happened or when, maybe years ago, but Eddie’s getting impatient for it, so he takes Buck’s cup from his hands and places it next to his, somewhere, wherever, it doesn’t matter.
What does matter is that Buck’s hands are free now, free to grab his waist and hoist him closer.
The warmth of his strong grip sends a violent shiver down his spine.
Buck can’t stop the gasp from escaping at the feeling of Eddie’s reaction to his touch. It’s addictive and he’s thirsty.
The bass of the song playing makes the whole floor vibrate and Buck feels his hands slipping a little when Eddie goes to circle his neck with his arms.
Buck is greedy, he has spent countless nights dreaming about those two hands. He wants them on him, but as the second passes, he finds the feeling of those arms like an anchor.
With little effort, Eddie drags Buck’s neck down just enough to touch noses. This close he can hear Buck’s giggle. It’s contagious.
A wave of contentment surrounds the rise and fall of his chest, putting a bit of reassuring pressure in his lungs and settling right into his heart. It can’t be farthest from the type of suffocating feeling that comes with a panic attack, no.
In the mornings at Buck’s loft, the sunlight washes every corner, making it impossible to sleep in―Eddie remembers from brief time they had to share, the bed that’s it―and even though he used to hate it, there was beauty in the moments right after waking up, where Buck’s blond curls would look even softer and for just a second, he would feel less alone.
Then Buck would emerge out of his cocoon, bleary eyes barely open and so impossibly blue. Every day, without a miss, Eddie would feel the sort of warmth that builds a home.
Now, in the middle of the nosiest, most impersonal hotel room, leaning back, Eddie manages to catch those blue eyes he didn’t know he could obsess so much over.
“Thank you,” he manages and a little bit drowsy he adds, “for existing.”
How much more could Buck love those words?
The rapid thrumming of his heart beats the music in loudness, it’s exciting and overstimulating all the same. Buck knows. He knows too well, too much. Ragged breaths only for Eddie to witness, the quirk of a lip reserved just for him and the sense of belonging, unique, earthshattering and final he found one afternoon, sitting on the couch in the living room of 4995, South Bedford Street.
Buck knows. This type of feeling is a one of a kind thing. The kind that tends to go wrong for him. Leave first before you get left behind and you’ll miss it forever. The neverending turmoil of one Evan Buckley, widely known for staying.
But, oh, he wants this, he wants him. Enough to believe that the day where he gets left behind by the one soul he matches perfectly never arrives.
He places his forehead close to Eddie’s. “I don’t want this to end, I don’t wanna leave.”
“Then don’t,” Eddie responds like it’s the simplest thing in the world as he leans on the gesture, eyes closed.
Buck audibly gulps. “I―”
Eddie can hear the uncertainty and with sudden clarity, he knows he can’t have that. He opens his eyes again and the burst of blue is so disruptive and beautiful his voice comes out uneven.
“Don’t leave, Buck. Please?”
Buck is not leaving. Ever. The deal is sealed at his end.
“Okay.”
They stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the sound of twins breathing and heartbeats. At some point, Eddie starts swaying, slow dancing to an upbeat song, getting the tempo all weird―if he’s with Buck it can’t be wrong―in a way it would give his ballroom instructor a stroke.
That rips a small chuckle out of Eddie that has Buck opening an eye and returning him a curious look. Eddie just shakes his head. There will be time for silly stories and ballroom career disclosure statements.
Eddie sighs, getting lost in the feeling, so entranced in blue he can’t help but murmur, inching closer to Buck’s lips. “What are we doing?”
But that seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Buck is now pushing him slightly away, dropping his hands from his waist. And in a room full of people dancing, bursting with bodies sweating and moving, Eddie feels cold.
“Wait.” Is the only thing Buck gets out and when Eddie doesn’t answer, he continues, rushed. “You are drunk.”
“Aren’t you drunk too?” Eddie’s pissed, and pissed always puts him on the wrong side of bold. “I’m not that gone, I know what I want, Buck.”
Buck looks at him now, eyes open wide. He opens his mouth and closes it. “I―I don’t wanna do this drunk,” it’s the next thing he says.
Oh.
Buck is telling him something.
Eddie is having a harder time than usual catching up with his cues.
Maybe he is, indeed, drunk.
“What about sober?” An idea starts taking form in his mind.
“Eddie.”
“Would you―?”
“Yes, Eddie.”
Eddie? That glad to be interrupted? Who would’ve thought.
He doesn’t need anything else. Grabbing Buck’s hand he drags him all through the room. There’s supposed to be a bathroom somewhere, fully equipped or so he remembers.
“Eddie, what are we―?”
“Bathroom,” he only says. That makes Buck stop. “What now?”
“Wrong side of the room, bud,” he replies with a lopsided smile.
They make what definitely is a nasty U-turn for two drunk people. Buck lets himself be dragged along, dizzy for the shoving and heat and Eddie’s bare skin.
He has to consciously stop his hand from touching where he shouldn’t.
Eddie opens the bathroom door and heads straight to the shower.
“Uh, Eddie?”
Eddie is busy. Taking down the handheld shower from its holder.
“I’m giving you shower―sober―whatever, just you wait.”
He grabs the shower head and starts the water at full pressure.
It’s cold and drenches him in record time. From the fixed shower above him.
Great.
A groan of protest makes its way out of him without his permission, but he makes no effort to stop the water.
“Fuck―Eddie you okay?” Buck all but tries to muffle a laugh.
Eddie swears he is not that smitten, but the annoyance puffs into thin air the second the sound reaches his ears.
“Oh, c’mon, get in here, this will do.” He goes to tug Buck’s arm to get him into the shower, grinning so hard it makes him look mad.
The coldness is so sudden, like the clarity that comes with it. Buck can’t help but laugh, louder.
“Sober?”
Buck doesn’t answer, his lips are on him in an instant. His hands fly to his hips, to his back, eager to touch what he’s been dying to the entire night. He tastes like tequila and Eddie feels himself go a little crazy, because what is the possibility of them doing the exact same embarrassing thing―to get drunk in a shitty ass drink just in hopes to kiss the other.
“You’re insane,” Buck murmurs, reading his mind, the music now muffled at the other side of the bathroom door allowing him to talk to Eddie and just him, the water rattling down the shower as their only company.
“You have that effect, it seems,” he answers, smiling into the pecks Buck’s placing all over his lips.
Eddie dives into his mouth again, lips now parted, fighting a little with the wet fabric to push a hand under Buck’s t-shirt, letting them roam freely through the expanse of skin on his stomach. That elicits a sound out of Buck and Eddie feels like he just discovered a new religion.
The kisses become sloppy, the shower still running, making them shiver under the cold water. Buck is helpless, he can’t push away, his hands are locked in Eddie, too lost in the feeling of the heat of his tongue in his mouth.
For a second, Eddie puts his hands away and maybe ever-so-responsible-Eddie will cut off the water―they have a wedding to attend in a couple of hours, this is a bachelor party―but the thought is promptly whipped out when those hands land on his hair, nails scrapping his scalp making Buck whine a little. Finally.
“Shit, I want you, Eddie, I love you so much.” It escapes him, he can’t help it.
Eddie parts away, just to look at him directly. “Are you―are you serious?”
Those gorgeous eyes, Buck would do everything and anything to see them full of love for the rest of their lives.
“Dead serious.” He’s in too deep now, too happy about it. This is it.
“You can’t back out,” Eddie says hastily and flustered. “Can’t call it a drunk accident, Buck.”
“An accident? Oh, you know this is way more than that.”
Buck kisses his smile putting so much care Eddie didn’t know it could ever feel like that. As a single tear runs down his cheek, Buck is quick to place his lips on it too, peppering kisses over his nose and forehead, making a path down his other cheek and through his jaw to his chin. Eddie giggles at the contact and caresses Buck’s shoulders, finding that place carved for his hands only.
“I love you, Buck,” he says when Buck is about to find his lips again.
Such a bright smile. “I know you do,” he whispers. “I love you too.”
Eddie just nods, biting his lip before brushing his lips again. He’s feeling a little bit drunk again, just by the taste of Buck, but also knows he has never been more sober in his life.
There’s few people Eddie Diaz has ever felt completely sure of their place in his life. Buck is one of them.
Buck is his.
He is Buck’s.
That sums it up quite perfectly, if you ask him.
Hours after, now dry and sharing a bed that wasn’t meant for any of them, Buck breaks the silence. “What if someone finds out?”
He has an arm thrown over his bare back, drawing small patterns with the tip of his finger tips. Eddie told him already that it tickles, but Buck seemed too fascinated to do something else than put a bit more pressure.
It felt nice, to be sprawled out over Buck’s chest, not having to care about crushing him with his weight.
When Eddie lifts his head from the crook of his neck, he finds himself in front of Buck’s, expectant.
If Buck can be brave, Eddie can too.
“Let them find out,” he drawls out, running a hand over his chest, up to his neck.
“What?” Buck lets out a little breathless.
“They say it’s good luck.” Eddie only adds, between quick kisses.
Bullshit.
“And you believe in luck now?” He can practically hear Buck’s raised eyebrow.
“No, but you do. That’s enough for me.”
In an hour or two, they’ll have to walk out of the room and it’s pretty obvious. Someone is going to find out. Eddie is fine with it. He gets to kiss Buck and fail because they’re both smiling too hard.
And if someone has a problem with it, they’re more than welcome to fuck the hell off.
Good luck to them.