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“You’re in luck, Buckley. Your Friday night is officially free.”
Eddie keeps his focus on tying his boots, doesn’t cut eyes or change his posture as his ears perk up like a goddamn dog.
“Aww, really?” He can hear Buck’s bashful smile in his response, can picture the tilt of his head in his mind’s eye. “You know I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, well, trust your sister to arrange a multi-person shift trade for the night off, and then immediately say yes to dinner with the Lee’s.” He hears Chimney sigh and lean back against the bank of lockers. “Now my kids are required and not just going to get in the way of-”
Buck makes a pained noise to cut him off, and Chimney laughs. “Date night! Get your mind out of the gutter.” Eddie senses him passing behind him on his way out the door. “We’ll pick them up by six? Gotta at least make time for a little afternoon delight.”
Eddie hears the dull thud of something – a wadded up towel? Some balled up socks? – bouncing against the wall of the locker room and Chimney’s cackle echoing through the app bay.
Eddie takes a breath. He stands. Gets his wallet and phone from his locker. Double checks his bag. Make sure he’s ready to go. Gives it another second.
“Hey, if you’re free tomorrow night then…” Buck looks up from his own locker, startled, like he had forgotten Eddie was even there. Eddie tries to keep his expression neutral as he gestures between the two of them, hoping it makes his point.
They’ve had this conversation so many times, probably hundreds if you go back through the years. Buck should be saying “Hell yeah,” and bumping their fists together right about now. Not looking at him with that sad look of confusion, like he’s been presented with some riddle he just can’t puzzle out.
It’s kind of a slap in the face, if Eddie’s being honest.
He ignores it, offers up a smile he hopes doesn’t look forced. “I haven’t seen the house since you’ve unpacked.”
I haven’t seen the house at all, is what they both know he means. Buck hadn’t even asked him for help with moving, had hired professionals to get all his stuff out of storage. And yeah, Eddie’s still stuck with the Prius, but he would have hauled a box or two, would have accepted his payment in pizza and beer. He wouldn’t even have complained that much.
Buck’s eyes widen in surprise, and for a split second Eddie’s sure that he’s going to try and beg off, make some lame excuse. He had already been miraculously double booked that night anyway, sorry. Maybe next weekend. Maybe after the holidays. Maybe maybe maybe.
Then Buck’s face splits into a grin, and Eddie barely stops himself from raising his arms in victory. “Yeah, sounds great. You and Chris?”
“Nah, I think Chris has a thing,” he lies. Or maybe he doesn’t; he’s not sure off the top of his head. But it’s not like Buck would know any better. So Eddie claps him on the shoulder like everything is normal. “Just you and me, bud. I’ll be there at eight.”
He shoulders his bag and is out the door before anything more can be said. He doesn’t think he could handle watching Buck change his mind in real time.
Not again.
~*~
Eddie’s late.
He was about to head out the door, ready and on-time. Then his mother had called to review the plans for the holidays that had been settled for weeks, had made him pull up the flight information and read her the confirmation numbers like they weren’t sitting in her own email. Then traffic had been a nightmare, with enough road closures and flashing emergency lights that his heart had been in his throat until he saw the tell-tale tower of a rain machine, had passed a lot full to bursting with trailers and equipment and idling film crew.
So here he is, over an hour later than he should be, and Buck isn’t answering his door.
He tries not to let the disappointment overtake him just yet. Buck had reacted to his sorry traffic text with a thumbs-up, so there’s every chance he’s just got his hands full and isn’t trying to flake. And look, Eddie knows he’s not blameless here, knows that the further the time had ticked away from eight o’clock, the more Buck was probably feeling that same disappointment.
It had been like this for weeks, for months, since Eddie had moved back, since Buck made a point of giving Eddie his house back in favor of crashing with his sister. They weren’t fighting, not really, but something was just… off. It was suddenly so easy to get annoyed with one another, the smallest things prickling at their nerves. Spending time with each other outside of work or group events became a chore. They were always busy, plans with Chris, meetings with Realtors, sorry but maybe later, maybe next time. Maybe maybe maybe.
Eddie’s crashout at Halloween hadn’t helped things, he knows. But Buck had been there after the loss of his abuela, had been a silent, steady presence during the funeral, through dealing with his family and all the baggage that now comes with them, on top of their own grief. It had felt like the olive branch they’d been waiting to drop at their feet, as morbid as it felt to acknowledge. And he knows it’s not going to magically go back to the way things have been, that they have some shit to talk about, even if Eddie’s not sure he has the words for it yet.
But they have to start somewhere.
So now here he is, at nine fourteen, frustration gripping him by the throat, and Buck can’t even-
His phone rings.
“Just come in,” Buck says before Eddie can get out a full greeting.
Eddie tries the door, but it doesn’t budge. “It’s locked,” he says, and can’t stop the overwhelming need to bitch. “And I don’t have a key anymore.”
“Fuck, I can’t-” There’s a loud thud, the sound of something scraping across the floor. “Come around to the back.”
Then Buck hangs up.
Eddie’s still not in the habit of praying, but he sends one up now, asking for the strength to face whatever the hell he’s about to walk into.
He lets himself in through the kitchen to find Buck sitting on the counter, frantically waving him further inside. “You only have five seconds,” he says, breathless. “Get on that.”
There’s a stool pushed out into the middle of the floor, and Eddie stares at it, his heart starting to pound in his ears.
“Five,” Buck starts, and Eddie startles and lurches forward. “Four. Three-”
“I’m up, I’m good, I’m good,” Eddie says, balancing with one foot on a rung and one knee on the seat. It wobbles slightly, enough to make him lean down to get a firm grip on the base, trying to center his gravity.
He feels very stupid.
He glares up at Buck, still perched on the counter and watching him, much calmer now. “Okay, what’s loose? Did you buy another baby alligator from the back of a van?”
“Eddie,” Buck scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You know I wouldn’t do that again.” He leans back to rest against the upper cabinets, swinging his legs a little. “It’s just, uh…” He tips his head back, eyes glued to the ceiling, and mumbles the rest.
Eddie pulls himself back upright, careful of his balance, because he needs to look as serious as possible as he stares his friend down. “Come again?”
Buck doesn’t move, too transfixed by plain white plaster to spare Eddie a glance. “I said…” He pauses, bites his lip. “That the floor is lava.”
Eddie stares at him.
Buck stares at the ceiling.
Eddie sighs. He drops his knee from its perch, ready to step away from the stool. “Buck-”
“Hey!” Buck yells, so sharp and sudden that Eddie moves on instinct, jumps right back up onto the stool. The sudden move makes it start to tip, and Eddie doubles over to cling to the seat, not looking to smash his face into the floor tonight.
He glares up at Buck, who’s at least looking at him again. “C’mon man, I’ve been doing this all day, but Jee has these stubby little kid legs so it was just cake, y’know?” He smiles, shameless. “I want a challenge.”
Eddie looks at him closely now, at the loose limbs, the half-lidded eyes and relaxed pull of his mouth. “You’re drunk,” he concludes with a scowl.
“I’m drunk,” Buck agrees. His smile slips, dangerously close to a pout. “And you could be too, if you weren’t late.” He spits the last word like a curse. From behind his back, he produces a plastic pint bottle of Fireball, half-empty, and without waiting for an okay, tosses it in Eddie’s direction.
Eddie’s not sure how he manages to catch it without face planting, but the stool wobbles dangerously in the seconds his hands aren’t on the seat, making him hunker down again.
He wants to get angry. He had figured they would share a few beers tonight, get a good enough buzz to loosen their tongues, get the conversation flowing to the heart of the matter. It’s not going to do them any good to get blasted before even saying hello. Eddie should put his foot down, wait for his friend to sober up a little. If he really had any backbone, he’d just turn around and leave.
On the other hand.
Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?
So he unscrews the cap and takes a drink.
And he drinks.
And when he knows he should stop, he takes another few swallows, just to be sure.
He gasps for a breath as he screws the cap back on, then pushes the air out through pursed lips. His mouth is on fire from the alcohol and spice, and it burns all the way down to his empty stomach.
Buck’s looking at him with undisguised glee. Like he’s the kid and Eddie’s the candy store.
Eddie tosses the bottle back to him and claps his hands together. “So, what we got so far?”
The thing about Buck is, he loves a good pillow. There are at least a dozen of them already scattered around his house, the world’s most colorful, most unstable stepping stones. With his mile-long legs, he can step from cushion to cushion with relative ease, leaving Eddie to trail behind, pausing between long leaps to steady himself.
He can imagine Jee-Yun, leap frogging around, giggling after her uncle, and something tingles in his heart, in his stomach.
He belches.
“I got the living room so you can step from that chair to that chair to the coffee table to here,” Buck explains from his perch on the back of the couch, pointing as he goes. Everything’s been pushed away from where it must have been gathered in the center of the room, back when it was a normal living room and not an imaginary disaster site. Now everything is spread out and oddly angled, and the couch is half out the door leading to the front of the house.
“Uh-huh,” Eddie says as he catches his breath.
“You can use that pillow to get to the dining room table, which covers that whole room. Then you can go… y’know wherever.”
“You know, this sucks as a house tour.” Eddie jumps over to the cushion to take in the dining room, seeing a lot of doors he has no context for. The alcohol must be starting to affect him, because the angles feel wrong, the rooms beyond impossible. “Is that an office and… What’s that other room?”
“Oh, that’s my nook.” That seems to be a good enough explanation for Buck, because he’s back to crawling along the couch, gesturing behind him. “Next we gotta make a way to the bedroom.” He pulls the Fireball from where he had stashed it in the back of his waistband, taking a quick slug. “I think if I line up all the table chairs down the hall, it should just about make it.”
Eddie catches the bottle when it’s tossed back to him, and against his better judgment takes another drink.
The real challenge comes from Buck absolutely not letting them touch the floor, the five-second rule only applying to accidents and missteps. No darting ahead and definitely no moving anything while you do it. He’s got a few pillows from his bed that they can throw around and gather up to move around more easily – which, gross, but not Eddie’s problem – but the goal is to have all his furniture in fixed places with cushions back where they belong.
The booze really hits Eddie when he’s sitting on Buck’s dining table, trying to slide chairs across the floor using just the power of his legs. Buck’s waiting in his weird little nook, which connects to the front hallway, offering a whole lot of instructions and opinions that Eddie dutifully ignores. He’s already successfully done it twice, and he doesn’t need any help, even as the third chair catches on nothing and crashes onto its side. Eddie starts to laugh so hard his stomach hurts.
Or that’s the whiskey. Who can say at this point?
“Why is your house like this?” he says through his giggles, throwing a pillow down to jump over and right the fallen furniture. He puts it back closer to the table, determined to have another go at sliding it over, to get it right this time.
Buck, for what it’s worth, is laughing as well, and the sound of it makes Eddie feel lighter than air. “I know, right? It’s the best.”
Once the chairs are in the nook, they spend at least an hour working on lining them up down the front hallway. Or, Eddie thinks it’s an hour. Who can really say? They forego the pillows and set out like a bucket brigade, passing the next in the line between one another, one of them scooting it as far out as they can before letting the other pass to set up the next.
They keep ending up on the same chair, clinging to each other as they fight for balance. There’s probably an easier way to do this, but Eddie sure can’t think of it right now. Besides, it’s easier to pass the bottle between them this way, sharing shots as they go.
The bottle’s empty when they finally let themselves collapse on the couch, the way to the bedroom and, crucially, the bathroom, secured. They sit there in quiet satisfaction, pillows piled on the floor in front of them to protect their feet, and just… are together. Like old times.
God, Eddie’s missed this.
“I miss you,” he says.
Buck laughs, but not the same bright laugh as before. It’s quiet. Nervous. “What? You see me every day.”
Eddie can’t do this right now, the pretending like everything’s okay. He can feel Buck drifting away again, and the thought of him slipping back out of his reach makes his guts seize and writhe.
Or that’s just the whiskey again. But the fact of it is, if he doesn’t take a leap now, he might never get another chance. So he braces himself and launches off, asking the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since he returned to LA. Or since he left in the first place, if he’s being really honest.
“Are you still mad at me?”
Buck makes a pained whine in the back of his throat, throwing his head back dramatically. “Do we have to do this now?” he asks with a pout.
Eddie sighs, lets himself pout a little too. “Buck…”
“I know, I know. We gotta, like, talk, or whatever.” He waves his hand around in front of him, trying to swat words out of the air. “That’s why… I thought, take a shot before he gets here, maybe it’ll be a little easier. And then you were late.” He spits that word out again, like it’s the highest offense he can think of, and right now maybe it is. “So I kept… kept taking shots…”
“Buck, it’s just me.” He twists in his seat, turning to finally face him. “Why are you so…?” Afraid? Weird? Eddie’s not sure. But no matter what Buck is so, Eddie’s so too, and he already knows there’s no real answer, nothing they can put words to even if they weren’t fucking hammered.
“It just feels like no matter what I say it’s going to be the wrong thing. There’s no right way, so I have to be careful. It’s like… it’s like…”
It hits Eddie all at once, a fist to the sternum, a bullet to the shoulder. “Like the floor is lava?”
“Yes!” Buck smiles, wide and sure and warm. “Yes, exactly, the floor is actually lava.” He sighs and shuffles further down on the couch, posture so rotten you could barely call it sitting, his torso practically flat. “You’re so smart, Eddie,” he says with a pleased little sigh.
Eddie shakes his head, shakes the compliment away. “No, I just know you, Buck. I know what you’re trying to say even when you don’t.” He tries to reach out to grab him by the shoulder, turn him back towards him, get the eye contact going again. But his coordination is shot and his muscles are jelly, so he just kind of slaps his hand down against the side of his neck. “That’s why there’s nothing you could say that would be wrong.”
Buck does turn his head, and the angle’s a little awkward, but his eyes are wide and shining. “Really?”
“Really,” Eddie says with a short nod, trying not to blink. Another thought strikes him, and he feels his lip curl, unbidden. “Unless… unless what you’ve been wanting to say is that you hate me now or something.”
Buck’s eyes manage to get wider, his head shaking frantically, stubble scratching at his hand where his palm rests against his jaw. “I would never, Eddie. Never.”
“Then there’s no problem here,” he says, settling back himself. They both turn, lying parallel, facing each other. “Even if you’re still mad at me for whatever, you just gotta talk to me. How else am I gonna make i-”
He can’t talk, all of a sudden Something’s stopping him.
Between one blink in the next, Buck’s back to where he was lying before, eyes wide with shock, hand clapped over his mouth. Eddie stares back at him, silent while his brain runs the calculations, tries to work out what the hell is going on.
“I’m,” Buck chokes out before his hand clamps down again, cutting himself off. Then he’s up, on his feet so fast that Eddie’s dizzy, frantically looking around, paralyzed by indecision, by all of the routes he could take to make an exit.
“Careful,” Eddie says, still on an autopilot programmed by the rest of the night. “The floor.”
Buck freezes, just for a moment, and jumps gracelessly onto the nearest cushion, one of the throw pillows from the couch they hadn’t collected yet.
He just kissed me, Eddie finally realizes, and he feels himself go hot. He just kissed me and now the fucker’s trying to run away.
Fueled by the thought of how much the last few weeks had sucked, the thought of it continuing, the thought of it getting worse, Eddie launches himself off the couch. He kicks forward to propel himself onto the coffee table, then leaps onto the same cushion Buck has stranded himself on. Buck startles, tries to shuffle back an inch to make more room for him, but it’s barely big enough to hold them at the same time. They both wobble, tipping dangerously, uncoordinated on un-solid ground.
Eddie reaches out, tries to steady them both. Buck’s arms had shot up and out, a desperate attempt to find some balance, so Eddie ends up grabbing him around the torso, hands flat on his back and pulling him close for stability.
They stand there, chest to chest, flushed and breathless.
He just kissed me, Eddie thinks again, can’t seem to think of anything else. He just kissed me and I missed it.
That’s the worst part, he realizes. He hadn’t been able to react, and now he can’t even call up the memory of how it felt. How he felt.
So he lets himself tip forward and kisses him himself.
It’s nice. Buck’s mouth is soft and giving, lips already parted from trying to catch his breath. Eddie hums into him, parts his own lips, sweeps his tongue out and –
Buck’s pulling away. Which, why?
“You’re really drunk,” he gasps, voice ragged and desperate.
“Yeah, well, so’re you,” Eddie says, a little defensive even as he tries to lean in again.
But Buck dodges back further, bending at the waist. He clutches at Eddie’s biceps, grip bruising, trusting him to keep them upright. “Eddie, you’re straight,” he says, like it’s some law of the universe he’d forgotten.
Which, yeah, okay.
But.
“But you’re Buck.”
Buck stares at him, brow furrowed in confusion, but Eddie doesn’t think he can make it any more clear. He’s Buck, and he’s Eddie, and there’s really nothing more to say about that.
So instead of trying to say any more, he leans back in and kisses him again.
Buck doesn’t pull away this time. And after a moment, he even kisses back.
Buck eases his death grip on Eddie’s arms, lets his hands trail up across his shoulders, up his neck until he’s cupping Eddie’s face. His hands are callused but gentle as he runs his thumbs along his cheeks. Eddie’s head is swimming. Buck is just so… big. Big and solid and warm, despite his claims he runs cold, and Eddie has to tip his head back slightly to kiss him, and his stubble is making the skin around his mouth tingle. It’s different, in a way that’s not at all weird or unpleasant. It’s actually kind of wonderful.
And he smells good, which, Eddie realizes, is a thing he already knew.
Their weight shifts as they try to pull each other closer, and the pillow squishes down in just the wrong way for them to stay upright. They pull apart as they find their own balance, and Eddie’s foot slips and lands solidly on the hardwood. Eddie gasps, lifting his leg like he’s been burned, and Buck gasps, slipping a hand behind Eddie’s bent knee, keeping his foot aloft like he’s been burned. Eddie has to throw his arms around Bucks neck to stave off the danger of them falling again.
They finally look at each other, eyes meeting for the first time in endless minutes, and together they realize the position they’ve found themselves in. Buck crumbles first, burying his face into Eddie’s neck with a groan, then a laugh, then a press of his lips against his rabbiting heartbeat.
“Maybe not the best place for this,” Eddie murmurs, ready to hop his way back over to the couch.
Buck hums his agreement into his pulse, and Eddie feels it along his whole body.
Then Buck is leaning down, slipping out of the circle of Eddie’s arms.
Then Eddie’s off the ground.
“BuuUUH?” Eddie cries as he flops forward over Buck’s shoulder, and his stomach twists dangerously as the world flips upside-down.
“Five-second rule,” Buck says, tightening his grip around Eddie’s thighs. “Count me down.”
Eddie absolutely does not count him down as he makes a break for it, dodging around the chairs that line the hall. Then he’s throwing them both down onto his bed with a yell of triumph.
“That’s cheating,” Eddie says once everything’s stopped spinning. “You’ve gotta start over and do it right, you caveman.”
“Ah, but if I’m a caveman, then I’d be very good with lava.” Buck’s leaning over him now, hand hovering close to his face for a few seconds before he confidently touches the tip of Eddie’s nose. “I’ve seen pictures.
This might be the stupidest conversation they’ve ever had, but it’s also the best night Eddie’s had in a long time.
So instead of worrying, or arguing, or asking what the hell Buck is even talking about, Jesus Christ, Eddie grips him by the shirt and pulls him back in and shuts him up.
~*~
Eddie’s head is splitting open.
It’s not the worst hangover he’s ever had, not by a long shot, and he still remembers every moment of giddy idiocy from the night before, so it could be so much worse. But, God, he feels every second of his age right now.
The light in Buck’s bedroom is soft and muted, at least, so it’s not so bad when he forces his eyes open. He’s somehow rolled himself up completely in the sheets, and it’s so very tempting to just give up now and go back to sleep.
But Eddie had woken up alone, which means Buck has had more than enough time to get all up in his own head, and he guesses he should probably go deal with that now rather than later. It is now the tomorrow he had put this off until, after all.
He fights his way free and to his feet. He feels disgusting. He’s still in yesterday’s clothes, and the feeling of sleeping in jeans is bad enough by itself. But he’s also got the feeling of sweating out his portion of a half-pint of whiskey during the night, and everything just feels heavy and irritating.
He finds where Buck keeps his sweats easy enough, helps himself to some clean pants and an old t-shirt. Buck isn’t that much bigger than him but his clothes sure feel over sized, like he’s swimming in them a little. And that’s for sure making him feel a way or two, but that’s not important right now. He needs to focus.
The line of chairs is still set up down the hallway, nowhere near as neat or nicely spaced as they had been convinced they were the night before. He stops at the bathroom, keeping the light off as he steals Buck’s toothbrush and some mouthwash. His bedhead is too much for him to deal with right now, yesterday’s gel keeping it in such a gravity-defying state that he has to look away from the mirror. They had debated if the bathmat had counted as a good enough landing space, and it was still pushed right up against the toilet for convenience. He moves it back by the shower as he swishes, stares at it until he spits.
He moves it back before he exits. They’ll deal with the whole thing later.
Buck’s sitting on the counter again when he enters the kitchen, coffee clutched against his chest with both hands. He’s changed his clothes as well, and his face is drawn and pale, eyes bloodshot, curls hanging messily over his forehead. His head shoots up when Eddie walks in, and he watches him with bleary, unfocused eyes as he searches the cabinets for a mug of his own.
“You look like shit,” Eddie offers when he finally finds them, pulls down one with the Spurs logo that surely must have been his at one point.
“Yeah, well…” Buck says, and pointedly looks at Eddie’s hair. Eddie ignores him, focusing on getting coffee inside of himself as soon as possible.
He’s not even done with his pour when he senses Buck shift uncomfortably. There’s a raspy, humorless laugh. “We really overdid it last night, huh?” Eddie looks over, and Buck’s staring down into his mug more intensely than any coffee deserves. Buck clears his throat. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you… if you didn’t remember-”
“Okay, we’re not doing this,” Eddie says, abandoning his mug on the counter. He steps over and inserts himself into Buck’s space, letting his knees dig into his stomach for the moment it takes Buck to catch up a little and part his thighs to make room. He still looks shocked as Eddie leans in, probably still looks shocked when he kisses him.
“Wait,” he says, turning away to break the kiss. Eddie backs off a little, almost worried, but Buck just carefully puts his mug down on the counter next to himself before pulling Eddie right back in.
And it’s nice. Just as nice as the night before, if less intense, with soft lips and giving mouths and the taste of coffee instead of cinnamon. Eddie should probably feel bad about thinking these early kisses are just ‘nice,’ but he doesn’t, he can’t. It’s already so easy, so familiar, and they’ve already proved the heat and desire can come when the time is right.
He backs away after only a few seconds, rubbing his hands up and down Buck’s thighs in long, soothing lines. “Okay?” he asks, needing to be absolutely sure.
Buck’s more awake now, color back in his cheeks, the corners of his lips twitching as he fights to keep the smile off his face. He nods once, short and sure.
Eddie turns back to his coffee. Good morning kisses might give him a kick of energy but he’ll literally die if he doesn’t get some caffeine in him soon.
“I was just giving you an out,” Buck says after a moment, taking a sip from his own mug. “For the record.”
“Sure you were.”
Eddie leans against the counter and they sit in silence, interrupted only by the occasional slurp of too-hot coffee. Buck keeps looking over at him, eyes darting and head turning slightly for the briefest of glances before he has to look away, like he’s watching some personal tennis match, like Eddie’s not openly watching his every move. His lips purse and twist as he keeps trying not to smile, as if showing his happiness is going to ruin it all.
It’s adorable. Eddie wants to kiss him again, to see if he’ll still be surprised by it the third time around. But he stops himself. He has to.
“You’re going to hate what I’m about to say.” He starts cautiously, focus completely on Buck. “We still need to talk.”
There’s a loud thunk as Buck throws his head back against the cabinets, and Eddie winces in sympathy. “Eddie…” he whines, more than a little pathetically.
“Sorry, but it’s true.” He sips his coffee, finds some pleasure in holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down. “The world’s sloppiest make out session might have answered a couple questions, but we should still probably make sure we’re on the same page.”
“I know.” Buck pouts down at his own coffee, but doesn’t offer up any further protest.
They drop gently back into silence. Eddie’s pleased that he’s got them this far but he still hasn’t fully solved his problem of having no idea what to even say about any of this.
After a few more seconds, Buck turns to look at him and manages to not look away. His nose scrunches. “It was pretty sloppy, wasn’t it?”
Eddie barks a laugh, surprised but happy with the turn they’ve taken. “Pretty sure your tongue went up my nose. More than once.”
“Oh god,” Buck groans, laughing at himself. “I thought I was being cute, I think.”
“Oh, I wasn’t complaining. I think I was kinda into it,” Eddie admits, feeling himself flush but liking the way Buck’s face has started glowing too much to stop. “Turns out, I’m a little bit crazy when it comes to you.”
“Oh, well.” Buck looks away again, staring at his thumb as he traces it around the lip of his mug. “I’m a little bit crazy about you, too.”
“Pfft, I already knew that,” he says, mostly to see Buck make that shocked face again. “Guess I’m just starting to realize how much I like it.”
“Come over here, I need to kick you.”
“Kick? Or…” Eddie easily dodges around Buck’s flailing limbs as he steps back into him, catching him around the thigh and holding his leg around his hip. He stops just short of kissing him again, even as Buck curls his other leg around him and tries to pull him closer. He’s being so good about keeping things on track, he can’t let himself get distracted now.
“Listen, I think there’s only one way that this is going to go. Only one way we both want this to go. Which is back to that bedroom with a few less cases of whiskey dick.” Buck flushes and his eyes dart away, and Eddie has to cup his face in his hands, to keep his attention, and because he goddamn can now. “And everything after that. Everything I know you want I… I want it too. I just need you to stop keeping it all in all the time. I meant what I said last night. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to be the wrong thing. There isn’t any lava.”
Buck’s looking him in the eye again and Eddie swears he can see when he stops holding back. His face softens and his eyes shine, and he looks so downright smitten that Eddie’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah?” he asks, voice a little breathy, bashful but full of hope.
“Yeah, Buck.” He allows him one more soft kiss, wouldn’t have been able to stop himself if he tried. “Just keep talking to me.”